Not Very Well

Less than an hour ago Fennec Shand had arrived on Corellia as an elite mercenary. She strode off of her ship armed to the teeth, shrouded in her enveloping black & orange armor, inspiring fear with the merest glance. Now she wore nothing but the flimsiest of lace bikini-panties, bound hand and foot, collared like a common ****-girl, and whimpering into a gag as she thrust out her modest chest for the pleasure of leering captors. It was unimaginable how helpless and exposed she felt. Just thinking how her fortunes could change so drastically, so quickly made her head spin and her skin flush.

Cold bumps spread out across her skin as the woman with striped-red hair let a hand trail from the band of Fennec's panties over the ridges of abs defined by countless hours of training, tracing a line between bare breasts to her collar bone.

“When I remove this gag,” said the woman as a finger traced the ‘O’ of her lips, “you’re going to tell me everything in your little, trampy brain. Not that I expect that to take long. Understand?”

She had no intention of talking but nodding agreement would get her un-gagged.

One buckle later and it was out of her mouth. Spit from the ball dripping onto her exposed nipples made her flinch.

“Those pheromones should be peaking by now,” said Red-Stripe. “Talk.”

Fennec may have been a **** captive but she was still a professional assassin, a profession built on reputation and silence. She stared back. They’d never get a word out her.

“Tough one, huh?” Red-Stripe grabbed a plastic spray bottle. Clamping a hand over her captive’s mouth, she gave a quick spray up the nose.

The odorless spray hit Fennec like a tidal wave. Her head spun and her heart raced. Her skin burned to be touched as the little embers down in her groin grew into a raging fire. She pressed her thighs together to contain the heat but skin sliding over skin only stoked the flame. Her body was yearning, begging her to do anything and everything they wanted just to get some release.

“Same pheromones you were **** with earlier, but concentrated and aerosolized. Much stronger, and that was the smallest dose,” Red-Stripe gloated before she pulled her hand away. “It doesn’t last near as long though, so start babbling, little bimbo.”

Fennec pushed the yearnings aside and reminded herself, she had withstood countless forms of pain and ****. She was a master assassin. She wasn’t the weak-willed little bimbo they assumed she was. She could handle this.

“You’ll never … not talk … out of me,” came out in a high-pitched squeal. It wasn’t the mercenary’s normal brand of imposing silence, but it would have to do.

Muscles nodded, impressed. “Her will is not gone? The little dainty is tougher than she looks.”

"That's a first, but it's fixable." Red-Stripe remarked before administering a second shot.

Fennec knew what was coming this time. She assured herself she could handle it. She was wrong.

“My name’s Fennec Shand. I only took this job because I haven’t worked in weeks.”

Fingers brushed her breast sending a new wave of heat through her body. “Good little girls tell everything.”

The rational part of Fennec’s mind repeatedly screamed JUST SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP! but it couldn’t stop the babbling fool that quickly spat out every detail as fast as she could remember them. She gave them everything they could want and more.

She finished up pleading, “Don’t tell anyone I talked or was caught like this. Please. It would ruin me,” in a tremulous little voice.

With mocking laughs, Muscles assured her, “We won't say a word, but you have to make videos of you begging for it to put on the holo-net or else I won't do whatever I want to you.”

Videos would be far more ruinous than any rumors of her disgrace. What was worse was how quickly and completely she agreed.

“Hey, Brunk!” Red-Stripe grabbed his sinewy arm. “I love photoshoots too, but we're supposed to get this info to the boss.”

With a disappointed grunt he stepped back. On their way out, the enforcer woman grabbed Fennec's discarded dress.

"For my collection of-" She was cutoff when a sullen Brunk slammed the door behind them.

Alone under the flickering light, she scanned the room and caught her reflection in a metal surface. What remained of the rational part of her mind examined the nearly naked woman with her pleading eyes, still arching her back to thrust out hardened nipples. She chewed her lip and twisted her hips, waiting impatiently to comply with whatever her captors wanted next. In its last moments before euphoria overtook it, the rational part of her mind concluded the tramp in that reflection was indeed a weak-willed, little bimbo.