Title: Jaxxon's Twi'leks 14 --- Choice
author: helgaleena helgaleenas@yahoo.com
Series: post TPM
Rating: PG-13 for non-con and femslash implied,
Warning: masturbation
Disclaimer: Lucas owns the StarWars universe and I am nothing
Summary: Twi'lek feminine solidarity aboard the Rabbit's Foot, on its way to Ryloth
the continuing slash adventures of Quinlan Vos
She hadn't chosen this. Or had she?
At some point, she had decided to take advantage of Bib Fortuna. That he had been exiled from Ryloth for life didn't mean that he was powerless, or poor. He only wanted what any male wanted from a female. She was expert at pretending to like it. And it was in many ways comforting, to have so many choices, so many responsibilities, taken away.
He found out where she was getting her birth control, and stopped it. He tied her up and took her, systematically, until she was carrying. Then she'd had a hostage, to use against him for her own gain. She thought that she'd done well for herself, until now. He'd had her shipped away, to so-called safety, where she couldn't get at him.
Her mind and her body pulled her in different directions. Her mind wanted to dig her hands into her own entrails and rip out the parasite, now that it had outlived its usefulness. Her body would not let her, by violence or by potion. Her body was full of wonder at the changes that life was fomenting inside her, grander than any scheme of her mind.
Since Bib was not here, could not be here, she could pretend that she was mistress of his possessions, instead of one of them. And the others could not deny her the basics; for all their jealousy, she was still one of them, a sister.
Niala was the only one who spent any time with her by choice. The dark skinned painter was the one pressing small treats on her, like dried rycrit cheese, or those lichen supplements that Bib had begrudged her, but which Niala always carried.
She hadn't yet figured out why.
And every time she visited, (for Kyara seldom left her cabin, even listened to ensure the corridor was empty before going to the fresher) there was always something light and inconsequential for them to say to one another. How Oni was singing again. How Rena made herself a whole new outfit out of one shirt from Lana. Sometimes it was the latest painting on display against Niala's charcoal flesh. Sometimes it was the iniquity of males. The captain didn't like her. Kim Kiffar scowled at her. She couldn't get at them. Just like Bib.
"He is a horrible man. And what is worse, I miss him." Kyara was hunched around her belly, knees up, rubbing her hands up and down her arms as if she were chilled. She had not bothered to adorn her lekku today. They hung, still and limp, obscuring her face. Niala noticed for the first time that they were pierced, for half a dozen rings each. The piercings gaped empty now; some of them were torn away and scarred over. She sucked in an angry breath-- that must have been excruciating.
"No, you do not miss that horrible man," was all she said out loud. "What you miss is contact with another being, holding you as your belly holds your child."
"Holding me? Don't make me laugh," Kyara snorted. The expression on her muddy pink face would have been ugly, if it were not so miserable. At least she was no longer concealing it.
Niala bent down, her deep orange eyes liquid with concern, to hold her attention. "Sister," she said, making of it an affirmation. Kyara felt isolated from her fellows, by her own ruthlessness if nothing else. But she was still a female, and had been painted by Niala herself for her blessing, not that long ago.
"Let me massage you, give you relief." She reached for Kyara's hands, still aimlessly roaming up and down her own arms. Kyara was startled, and pulled away.
"Don't touch me! I mean--" The younger woman was struggling to calm herself, embarrassed by her own reaction. Her small hands came together, kneading at one another as she gnawed upon her lower lip. At last she managed to take a full breath, and looked up. The little pink eyes were wistful.
"Would you really?" If Twi'leks were a crying race, Niala would have shed excess moisture then, at such an admission of need. Instead, she gestured with her lekku toward the bunk.
Kyara sat gingerly on the edge of it, still wary. The older woman wisely began with one hand. Kyara would be won over by the pleasantness imparted first to a small subdivision of herself. First pressure around the thumbnail, seat of the upper heart... then the back of the hand, seat of the lungs....Kyara's hand, at least, was relaxing beneath the delicate deep gray fingers. At the external margin of the palm, seat of the internal organs, she at last elicited a deep sigh from the younger woman. Tension released from her small hand was having its effect upon the rest of her. Niala smiled.
"Did you know that each spot upon hand or foot contains a connection to the entire rest of your body? If I could not reach the rest of you, I could help you quite a bit through just one hand." For a moment, her patient tensed up again in suspicion, but as the pleasurable sensations continued to reach her from her hand, she let herself accept them.
" I see you and Oni holding hands."
"Oni and I met as children. We like to touch one another, for familiarity as well as love."
"That sounds nice." From Kyara's tone, it sounded like merely a pleasant fable. Her own childhood experience with touching was of surreptitious huddling against one another for warmth, taking care not to be caught at it by daylight. But she had seen the grey painter and the green singer together openly holding hands, and sometimes more. It must have some truth.
Niala had traced around the base of each nail, worked the tensions out of each knuckle, softened gently each quadrant of the pink palm. Now she began stroking and gentling upward along the wrist, toward the elbow. When she was satisfied with her progress, she reached silently for Kyara's other hand, and Kyara gave it over for soothing with no reluctance. Its owner was almost hypnotically bemused by this luxury of non-sexual touch.
"Would you like to hear the story of Oni and me?" Kyara signalled a terse affirmative with her lekku. A once-upon-a-time would be nice, as she got used to this new skill of relaxing. It took practice, she found.
"Once, upon an estate on Ryloth, Oni and her family were farming slaves. They had been cultivating lichen farms and fungus orchards for generations. They sang as they worked. Oni was still a girl, but already her voice was amazing. I had been very sad and wanted to die, because I had a child, but my master took him away and sold him. Then he decided not to pleasure himself with me anymore, because he had disliked the color of my child. He sent me to tend the rycrits."
Kyara glanced up at the dark face, looking for any change of emotion at this history. But the calm smile was unchanged, as was the gentle pressure upon her shoulders. How could Niala not be full of rage? Why didn't she take revenge?
"I found out that rycrits are a lot like Twi'leks. In many ways they are wiser than us. And because I was among them, schooling them through the lichen allotted to them by the overseers, I could hear Oni sing.
"She didn't sing any great romantic stories, or deep philosophy, just those simple working rhymes. But she cheered me.
"In return, I gave her pleasure, and taught her pleasure skills. We were happy among the fungi and the rycrits. Then our master's heir took over, and began to mismanage the estate.
"Oni and her family were sold along with their farms. But she didn't want to leave me. So we ran away."
How matter-of-factly she put it, thought Kyara, as her spine came unknotted. Niala had laid her on her side, and was stroking her into such contentment that she could imagine she was a rycrit herself.
"We were recaptured, after two weeks of sneaking and pilfering to live. By then, the estate had been lost, due to back tariff payments. We were remaindered to Bib, and to Jabba. We were lucky, in many ways."
"Hmmm...." was Kyara's only comment, so relaxed was she.
"Roll to your other side, sister; I need to balance you." Dimly she gathered that Niala wanted to massage parts that she couldn't quite reach. She rolled, with her swollen belly against the standing masseuse.
Her belly, yes; Bib's present to her. "How did you feel about having a child?" she asked idly. Not that the answer mattered to her.
"He was the most beautiful boy in the universe." Kyara's eyes flew open at that.
She truly looked at Niala. She wasn't joking! She was smiling with eyes as warm and soft as rycrit fluff. "You will feel the same, Kyara, when your child comes."
Kyara snorted. "Are you sure about that?"
"Yes, I am. Even rycrits feel this way." But I am not a rycrit, thought Kyara...
Niala felt the younger woman tensing up, with a frantic flight response, instead of being soothed, undoing her efforts. "I have no choice, then?" Her breaths were getting fast and shallow.
"Hush, hush, sister. You can choose not to love your child, when you see it." She bent down again, to look Kyara full in the face.
"Even if you do not love it, I will love it for you. I remember how." Under the warm umber eyes, and the soft dark hands, Kyara settled back again, considering this.
At last she spoke again, with hesitation. "I'm afraid-- I don't know how. You can show me how,-- if I wish it?"
"If you wish it. I can show you now, how to start. Like this."
She took Kyara's hands and placed them upon her big belly. The hands wanted to leave again, but she held them firmly and implacably with her own. "Feel this. You hold your belly, as your belly holds your child."
MY child? thought Kyara, trying to accept this strange new order of things. The pulse beneath her hands felt stronger than the one at her throat. Not Bib's child only; my child too? Would I choose this? Do I really care about this thing of Bib's any more than the trinkets in his boxes? What has it to do with me?
Her hands thought she did. Her belly felt warmer beneath them, welcoming her own touch. And she knew she was not just touching herself. Someone else was there. "My child," she whispered, looking up at Niala in amazement.
Before she had chosen, this someone had chosen her, to be its mother, and so it was there. She could feel its confidence in her; it knew no evil of her. What would she do with its trust?
Niala was moving her hands upward now, placing one upon each breast. "Your body will make nourishment for your child. All you need to do is feed yourself."
As Kyara touched her own breasts, which had gone so swollen and tender, she felt a thrill of pleasure within the discomfort. "My body has decided this?"
"Yes, sister. Now you must decide what to do about your body." She left Kyara's hands where they were, experimentally squeezing at herself. Her lekku were at last showing some signs of normal movement.
"I will massage you again another time, you and your child." Silently Niala left her, alone but not alone.
Relaxed as she had not been for ages, stroking herself in discovery, Kyara repeated: "Feed myself...feed myself..." and she fed herself pleasure, with her hands, enjoying the play of the muscles in her ripening abdomen, the reflexes tightening each nipple. She imagined the child, rocking as she rocked, inside the bowl of her. She imagined it taking pleasure in her pleasure.
At last, with a combination of stroking of her limbs and rocking against her own hands, she found release. Places in her responded which she had never felt before. Her body had changed so much. Warmth pooled in her new large breasts, longing to spill out of them to the new someone for which they were designed.
As her breathing stilled, as she began to drowse, as she cradled her belly and its occupant, a part of Kyara's mind made itself up.
"If anyone threatens us, I will feed myself. I will eat their heart." And she slept.
author: helgaleena helgaleenas@yahoo.com
Series: post TPM
Rating: PG-13 for non-con and femslash implied,
Warning: masturbation
Disclaimer: Lucas owns the StarWars universe and I am nothing
Summary: Twi'lek feminine solidarity aboard the Rabbit's Foot, on its way to Ryloth
the continuing slash adventures of Quinlan Vos
She hadn't chosen this. Or had she?
At some point, she had decided to take advantage of Bib Fortuna. That he had been exiled from Ryloth for life didn't mean that he was powerless, or poor. He only wanted what any male wanted from a female. She was expert at pretending to like it. And it was in many ways comforting, to have so many choices, so many responsibilities, taken away.
He found out where she was getting her birth control, and stopped it. He tied her up and took her, systematically, until she was carrying. Then she'd had a hostage, to use against him for her own gain. She thought that she'd done well for herself, until now. He'd had her shipped away, to so-called safety, where she couldn't get at him.
Her mind and her body pulled her in different directions. Her mind wanted to dig her hands into her own entrails and rip out the parasite, now that it had outlived its usefulness. Her body would not let her, by violence or by potion. Her body was full of wonder at the changes that life was fomenting inside her, grander than any scheme of her mind.
Since Bib was not here, could not be here, she could pretend that she was mistress of his possessions, instead of one of them. And the others could not deny her the basics; for all their jealousy, she was still one of them, a sister.
Niala was the only one who spent any time with her by choice. The dark skinned painter was the one pressing small treats on her, like dried rycrit cheese, or those lichen supplements that Bib had begrudged her, but which Niala always carried.
She hadn't yet figured out why.
And every time she visited, (for Kyara seldom left her cabin, even listened to ensure the corridor was empty before going to the fresher) there was always something light and inconsequential for them to say to one another. How Oni was singing again. How Rena made herself a whole new outfit out of one shirt from Lana. Sometimes it was the latest painting on display against Niala's charcoal flesh. Sometimes it was the iniquity of males. The captain didn't like her. Kim Kiffar scowled at her. She couldn't get at them. Just like Bib.
"He is a horrible man. And what is worse, I miss him." Kyara was hunched around her belly, knees up, rubbing her hands up and down her arms as if she were chilled. She had not bothered to adorn her lekku today. They hung, still and limp, obscuring her face. Niala noticed for the first time that they were pierced, for half a dozen rings each. The piercings gaped empty now; some of them were torn away and scarred over. She sucked in an angry breath-- that must have been excruciating.
"No, you do not miss that horrible man," was all she said out loud. "What you miss is contact with another being, holding you as your belly holds your child."
"Holding me? Don't make me laugh," Kyara snorted. The expression on her muddy pink face would have been ugly, if it were not so miserable. At least she was no longer concealing it.
Niala bent down, her deep orange eyes liquid with concern, to hold her attention. "Sister," she said, making of it an affirmation. Kyara felt isolated from her fellows, by her own ruthlessness if nothing else. But she was still a female, and had been painted by Niala herself for her blessing, not that long ago.
"Let me massage you, give you relief." She reached for Kyara's hands, still aimlessly roaming up and down her own arms. Kyara was startled, and pulled away.
"Don't touch me! I mean--" The younger woman was struggling to calm herself, embarrassed by her own reaction. Her small hands came together, kneading at one another as she gnawed upon her lower lip. At last she managed to take a full breath, and looked up. The little pink eyes were wistful.
"Would you really?" If Twi'leks were a crying race, Niala would have shed excess moisture then, at such an admission of need. Instead, she gestured with her lekku toward the bunk.
Kyara sat gingerly on the edge of it, still wary. The older woman wisely began with one hand. Kyara would be won over by the pleasantness imparted first to a small subdivision of herself. First pressure around the thumbnail, seat of the upper heart... then the back of the hand, seat of the lungs....Kyara's hand, at least, was relaxing beneath the delicate deep gray fingers. At the external margin of the palm, seat of the internal organs, she at last elicited a deep sigh from the younger woman. Tension released from her small hand was having its effect upon the rest of her. Niala smiled.
"Did you know that each spot upon hand or foot contains a connection to the entire rest of your body? If I could not reach the rest of you, I could help you quite a bit through just one hand." For a moment, her patient tensed up again in suspicion, but as the pleasurable sensations continued to reach her from her hand, she let herself accept them.
" I see you and Oni holding hands."
"Oni and I met as children. We like to touch one another, for familiarity as well as love."
"That sounds nice." From Kyara's tone, it sounded like merely a pleasant fable. Her own childhood experience with touching was of surreptitious huddling against one another for warmth, taking care not to be caught at it by daylight. But she had seen the grey painter and the green singer together openly holding hands, and sometimes more. It must have some truth.
Niala had traced around the base of each nail, worked the tensions out of each knuckle, softened gently each quadrant of the pink palm. Now she began stroking and gentling upward along the wrist, toward the elbow. When she was satisfied with her progress, she reached silently for Kyara's other hand, and Kyara gave it over for soothing with no reluctance. Its owner was almost hypnotically bemused by this luxury of non-sexual touch.
"Would you like to hear the story of Oni and me?" Kyara signalled a terse affirmative with her lekku. A once-upon-a-time would be nice, as she got used to this new skill of relaxing. It took practice, she found.
"Once, upon an estate on Ryloth, Oni and her family were farming slaves. They had been cultivating lichen farms and fungus orchards for generations. They sang as they worked. Oni was still a girl, but already her voice was amazing. I had been very sad and wanted to die, because I had a child, but my master took him away and sold him. Then he decided not to pleasure himself with me anymore, because he had disliked the color of my child. He sent me to tend the rycrits."
Kyara glanced up at the dark face, looking for any change of emotion at this history. But the calm smile was unchanged, as was the gentle pressure upon her shoulders. How could Niala not be full of rage? Why didn't she take revenge?
"I found out that rycrits are a lot like Twi'leks. In many ways they are wiser than us. And because I was among them, schooling them through the lichen allotted to them by the overseers, I could hear Oni sing.
"She didn't sing any great romantic stories, or deep philosophy, just those simple working rhymes. But she cheered me.
"In return, I gave her pleasure, and taught her pleasure skills. We were happy among the fungi and the rycrits. Then our master's heir took over, and began to mismanage the estate.
"Oni and her family were sold along with their farms. But she didn't want to leave me. So we ran away."
How matter-of-factly she put it, thought Kyara, as her spine came unknotted. Niala had laid her on her side, and was stroking her into such contentment that she could imagine she was a rycrit herself.
"We were recaptured, after two weeks of sneaking and pilfering to live. By then, the estate had been lost, due to back tariff payments. We were remaindered to Bib, and to Jabba. We were lucky, in many ways."
"Hmmm...." was Kyara's only comment, so relaxed was she.
"Roll to your other side, sister; I need to balance you." Dimly she gathered that Niala wanted to massage parts that she couldn't quite reach. She rolled, with her swollen belly against the standing masseuse.
Her belly, yes; Bib's present to her. "How did you feel about having a child?" she asked idly. Not that the answer mattered to her.
"He was the most beautiful boy in the universe." Kyara's eyes flew open at that.
She truly looked at Niala. She wasn't joking! She was smiling with eyes as warm and soft as rycrit fluff. "You will feel the same, Kyara, when your child comes."
Kyara snorted. "Are you sure about that?"
"Yes, I am. Even rycrits feel this way." But I am not a rycrit, thought Kyara...
Niala felt the younger woman tensing up, with a frantic flight response, instead of being soothed, undoing her efforts. "I have no choice, then?" Her breaths were getting fast and shallow.
"Hush, hush, sister. You can choose not to love your child, when you see it." She bent down again, to look Kyara full in the face.
"Even if you do not love it, I will love it for you. I remember how." Under the warm umber eyes, and the soft dark hands, Kyara settled back again, considering this.
At last she spoke again, with hesitation. "I'm afraid-- I don't know how. You can show me how,-- if I wish it?"
"If you wish it. I can show you now, how to start. Like this."
She took Kyara's hands and placed them upon her big belly. The hands wanted to leave again, but she held them firmly and implacably with her own. "Feel this. You hold your belly, as your belly holds your child."
MY child? thought Kyara, trying to accept this strange new order of things. The pulse beneath her hands felt stronger than the one at her throat. Not Bib's child only; my child too? Would I choose this? Do I really care about this thing of Bib's any more than the trinkets in his boxes? What has it to do with me?
Her hands thought she did. Her belly felt warmer beneath them, welcoming her own touch. And she knew she was not just touching herself. Someone else was there. "My child," she whispered, looking up at Niala in amazement.
Before she had chosen, this someone had chosen her, to be its mother, and so it was there. She could feel its confidence in her; it knew no evil of her. What would she do with its trust?
Niala was moving her hands upward now, placing one upon each breast. "Your body will make nourishment for your child. All you need to do is feed yourself."
As Kyara touched her own breasts, which had gone so swollen and tender, she felt a thrill of pleasure within the discomfort. "My body has decided this?"
"Yes, sister. Now you must decide what to do about your body." She left Kyara's hands where they were, experimentally squeezing at herself. Her lekku were at last showing some signs of normal movement.
"I will massage you again another time, you and your child." Silently Niala left her, alone but not alone.
Relaxed as she had not been for ages, stroking herself in discovery, Kyara repeated: "Feed myself...feed myself..." and she fed herself pleasure, with her hands, enjoying the play of the muscles in her ripening abdomen, the reflexes tightening each nipple. She imagined the child, rocking as she rocked, inside the bowl of her. She imagined it taking pleasure in her pleasure.
At last, with a combination of stroking of her limbs and rocking against her own hands, she found release. Places in her responded which she had never felt before. Her body had changed so much. Warmth pooled in her new large breasts, longing to spill out of them to the new someone for which they were designed.
As her breathing stilled, as she began to drowse, as she cradled her belly and its occupant, a part of Kyara's mind made itself up.
"If anyone threatens us, I will feed myself. I will eat their heart." And she slept.
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