He ordered her to strip

He orders Ahsoka to strip down for his inspection, his eyes glinting with anticipation. She sways slightly on her feet, the ****'s seductive whispers growing louder, but she clenches her fists and shakes her head. "I am a Jedi, not your plaything," she repeats, her voice stronger despite the fog in her mind.

But her fingers move without her consent, reaching for the fastenings of her armor. She fights the urge, sweat beading on her forehead as the slaver's smile widens. He knows the power he holds over her, the power of the additive coursing through her veins. The room seems to pulse with the sickly sweet smell of the ****, the walls closing in around her.

The Padawan outfit she wore clung to her, each piece of it a symbol of her identity she refused to abandon. The slaver's leer grew more intense, enjoying her inner conflict. He stepped closer, the **** of his malicious intent pressing against her like a physical ****.

"I want it all off," the slaver demanded, his voice a mix of impatience and amusement. Ahsoka's hands hovered near the helm of her outfit, trembling. She knew she couldn't give in, but the additive's hold grew stronger.

She peels off slowly the remaining amount of clothes. She fights the seductive whispers of the ****, each layer of her items feeling like a piece of her soul being torn away. Her eyes never leave the slaver's, filled with a mix of defiance and fear. The room is silent except for the soft rustle of fabric and the slaver's shallow breaths.

Her lithe frame, cute bosoms, and smooth legs were revealed to the slaver's hungry gaze as Ahsoka's clothing fell to the ground, leaving her in only her underwear. The fabric clung to her damp skin, outlining the curves of her firm ass and the swell of her breasts. She felt a strange mix of embarrassment and anger, but she held her head high.

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