Fennec to the Rescue!

Fennec rushed up behind the slavers, with her arms pressed to control her jostling chest. With no weapons, she used the one move she had available and kicked the first slaver hard enough to go ankle deep in his groin. The Zabrak turned a sickly pale as he collapsed in a ball of agony.

She managed to scream, “Run for it!” to Jaia before a stun blast from the other slavers dropped the woman. Another stun blast and the last thing Fennec remembered was collapsing face first into Jaia's olive-skinned breasts.

* * *

By the time Fennec awoke, the slaver’s ship was already in hyperspace. Though her and Jaia had everything on them removed, they, along with other human women and a set of Twi’lek twins, were crammed into a cramped cage too short to stand in and too small to spread out. They had **** but to lie against and over the top of one another, flesh rubbing over flesh. The pheromones in the other girl's systems ensured an endless supply of roving hands. The continual press of soft parts against her exposed skin and moans in her ears not only made focusing on escape impossible, it made it impossible for Fennec to focus on anything beyond the fact that she was woven into a mesh of naked bodies.

At their destination, the cozy cage was opened and the red-faced women were ordered to crawl out the waist-high door and line up at the ship's cargo ramp. Before Fennec could unentangle herself to deal with these scum, one of the Twi'lek sisters rushed a slaver. She barely made two steps before a bolt of abject agony struck the entire lot and left every woman in the room writhing helpless on the deck for what was probably seconds but felt like hours. When it was over they lay panting on the floor as control slowly returned to their trembling limbs.

"Did I forget to tell you?" the Zabrak slaver asked with a gleeful grin. "While you were taking a little beauty nap, we implanted each of you with a slaving chip that lets us track a **** anywhere in the sector and just as remotely punish or even kill her. So don't think you can get away with any heroics."

Fennec blanched. She could take any of these slack and grungy slavers apart barehanded, but that chip rendered all of that skill and experience completely useless. Anyone in the sector could render her helpless with the push of a button.

The Zabrak continued. "You'll be on the auction block this afternoon. Let's all hope you sell, because anyone that gets downgraded to the bargain bin may need some reconditioning." He emphasized his point by letting his fingers linger near the punishment button on his belt. "But you're in luck. The finest **** auctions in Nar Shaddaa are just a few blocks from this port. The whole city watching you sluts parade your bare cootches down the street should be all the advertising you need. Now, line up at the ramp!"

The other women whimpered and whined, but Fennec stayed resolute, determined to give neither her captors nor Nar Shaddaa's degenerates the satisfaction of seeing her act like some powerless, squealing captive. She told herself, 'Walking a few blocks in the buff is nothing after everything you've seen in this galaxy,' and she disembarked proudly with one arm over her chest, another over her groin, and, most importantly, her head held high.

The ship must be a regular because there was already a small and fast growing crowd of leering humans and aliens waiting at the foot of the cargo ramp and they were waiting with a barrage of jeers and come-ons. No matter how hard she tried, the ceaseless derision made it impossible to ignore she was helplessly exposed in the midst of a mocking mob. Before they were out of the spaceport, Fennec's face burned red from the insults. However, the auction house was only a few blocks straight ahead from the port gates, and she could keep her composure that far, but instead of a short, straight line the slavers made them turn a corner and begin a long, slow circuitous walk back and forth across the smuggler's moon, collecting observers as they went. Each judging face and pointing finger added to the crowd took its toll on Fennec's resolve. By the second turn, she was clutching her breasts and crotch tight in a feeble attempt to shield herself against a storm of quips and scorn as the whole city poured out to judge the women's bodies and morals. By the third turn, the others wilted before the ridicule and begged their enslavers, crying, "Get us out of here!", "Make this stop!", "Take us to the auction, already!", and "Just lock us in our cells!" But Fennec endured it in silence, shuffling along with nothing but her metaphorical tail and literal fingers between her legs. She was mortified when her fingers felt the public embarrassment making her loins warm and nipples stand-up stiff in the hot, muggy air, facts that were readily seized upon by the throng to fuel her further humiliation.

The slavers slow marched them up one street and down another, turn after turn, giving them as much exposure to the mocking crowd that gathered round them as they could. Fennec's composure unraveled step by step until finally the mighty mercenary was reduced to yet another powerless, squealing captive begging her captors to be taken away and locked in a cell. A dozen meters from the auction house, the slavers finally relented and let them flee toward an open side door. They were so frantic to escape the public humiliation, the woman ran without concern for covering themselves. Fennec was in the middle of the pack, another set of jiggling tits and ass sprinting to their enslavement.

Inside, the red-faced women found a room full of mirrors and beauty products. They were given a few short minutes to primp and paint themselves to catch a buyer’s eye before being herded into a wide hall to join other girls already there and made to kneel along one side with hands on heads. Even letting an elbow droop came with the painful reminder of what a slaving chip could inflict. There they sat, exposed to the scrutiny of perspective buyers and gawking spectators wandering in through the wide-open doors. Fennec stared at the unguarded entrance and daydreamed of running away or at least covering herself with her hands.

As she knelt there, displaying her bare body to the whole of Nar Shaddaa, she realized the most humiliating part. This entire time not a single weapon threatened her nor chain held her, yet that **** chip ensured she had quickly and meekly complied with every order. To any outside observer it would seem as if Fennec was willing, almost happy, to be enslaved.

Wait. Was she?

"Nice definition at the withers. Healthy sheen to the hair."

The voice shook Fennec out of her reverie. It came from a distinguished human in sumptuous robes with an aristocratic air and well-styled silvery locks. He and his rotund red-skinned Jablogian companion circled her. Unable to move a muscle without permission, there was nothing she could do to keep them from taking in every square centimeter of her naked body. Oh, what she would do right now to have a tenth of their clothing!

Well-manicured fingers ran down her side. "Flank toned without being bulky. Good curve at the haunches."

His heavy alien friend pulled back her lips with clawed fingers and squinted beady eyes at her teeth. The word, "Healthy" was mumbled somewhere in its jowls.

The handsome man's hands swept up to cup her breasts and took a couple experimental squeezes. "Good feel, but insufficient. A bio-modder will have to bolster them," he explained as his companion jotted notes on a datapad.

Fennec's jaw hung agape. Even if she was free to break their faces, she was too shocked to do it. Her body being intimately examined and publicly discussed like she wasn't even there left the mercenary completely dumbstruck.

"Ex-excuse me!?" she finally sputtered. "What do you think you're doing?"

The big Jablogian wrinkled his pointed nose. "Bit of gumption left in this one."

"Apparently." The man's lips pulled into a wry smile as he finally addressed Fennec. "What were you before this, little one?"

"I'm a mercenary," she snapped.

"Ex-mercenary. You'll be put to more amicable pursuits from now on." He gave her breasts a squeeze to emphasize his point.

"You don't understand," she stammered as her cheeks blushed, "I'm Fennec Shand, an elite trained-"

"Shhh, little one." Pinched nipples silenced her. "Hired muscle is cheap and common, but a body like this is a rare treasure. No reasonable businessman would risk ruining such a valuable asset in a silly fight."

Half of Fennec's mind was aghast at what he said, the other half found it oddly complimentary. Before she sorted her conflicting emotions well enough to respond the pair had moved on.

"Lots 43 and 44," the Jablogian read from his datapad, "Twi'lek twins..."

Her brain reeled as it tried to imagine her potential future. They wouldn't really turn a master assassin into a pleasure ****, would they? Her bare body and tender nipples told her that not only would they, they already had. Could she could escape? Her fine tactical mind spun through a dozen plans. She walked through each one, what she would do, how they would respond, step by step, and each ended in her inevitable recapture.

Her shoulders slumped as far as she dare let them. She'd always assumed this career might end in a shallow grave, but she never imagined it ending with her leashed to a metaphorical bedpost. The memory of that silver fox and his hands came rushing back sending a blush to her cheeks. Well, there were worse things than being a rich man's kept woman and a private pleasure palace had to be easier to escape from than any of the other possibilities. She couldn't believe she was saying this to herself, but that was the best option available here. Of course, that hinged on her being bought as a private pet instead of some other horrible fate. This meant one thing - Fennec Shand the master assassin had to become Fennec Shand the desirable pleasure ****.

When time came to be auctioned, the elite mercenary (ex-mercenary she reminded herself), walked the full length of the hall, swinging her ass with every step, stopping occasionally to pose, casting suggestive winks, and blowing kisses like a shameless trollop to maximize her value. She continued this shameful strut up and down the hall through the gawking crowd until she was told to resume her position among the row of purchased slaves on the other side of the hall to patiently await collection at her new owner's convenience.