Ep V: Chapter 12

Enthea is a little self-conscious about her body. On Dathomir she’d be considered pretty, and being small isn’t a bad thing there. Her figure would be considered pleasing, and her penis would make her especially desirable.

She’s not on Dathomir, though. And Scora’s not subtle. Her gaze is downright hungry and she doesn’t even pretend not to look Enthea up and down at length.

“No, after you. I insist,” Scora says, standing aside and gesturing grandly.

Determined to keep the bearing of a proper Jedi, Enthea gives no outward sign of nerves and walks into the baths, feeling Scora’s eyes on her back and… she remembers how intent Scora was on that Twi’Lek’s bottom. Fortunately, Dathomirians do not blush.

The bath is a large, round room already full of moisture. They take a step down and Enthea finds herself up to her calves in foamy perfume.

“There’s nowhere to sit,” she notes.

“You don’t sit in a Pyke bath,” Scora replies, stretching her arms over her head with a groan. Enthea enjoys the view. It’s only fair.

Enthea tenses as half a dozen nude Pyke females file into the bath through another door.

“What is happening?” she asks as three come straight to her.

“They’ll bathe you,” Scora replies with a shrug. “It’s an art form. Everyone knows about Pykes and spice cartels, but it’s not as though they don’t have a culture. There are only six traditional Pyke baths in the galaxy. It’s a novelty. We spared no expense.”

“I see,” Enthea replies. It’s difficult to maintain her composure; the Pykes are all over her. Their hands have three long fingers, but they’re using their slender bodies as well, rubbing against her as they smear a gel-like soap over her skin. She watches as Scora receives the same treatment.

The body of a Pyke is not what comes to mind for Enthea when she thinks about what species would be most pleasing in this situation, but the effect is interesting at least. Their fingers are softer than expected, and it takes all of Enthea’s concentration not to make a sound as they wash every part of her with a level of thoroughness that borders on invasive. She tries not to squirm.

“I’ve learned to like it,” Scora goes on. “Although it’s really about patronizing the arts. You don’t just come to Chandar’s Resort to relax, you come to be culturally enriched.”

Enthea stares as at least nine Pyke fingers coat Scora’s soft penis with the gel, then lovingly wipe it off with spongy clothes. She braces herself for the same thing to happen to her. At the same moment, Scora speaks.

“So, you like it too,” she says.

Enthea looks down in alarm. She’s rock-hard. Scora is not, although her gaze is now fixed on Enthea’s erection. Worse, the Pykes don’t seem to mind. Calm. Calm, grace, and dignity. Bearing. She is here representing the Jedi council.

Enthea matches Scora’s calm gaze and takes deep breaths.

“A fascinating practice,” Enthea says casually.