Predator

My sleep lasted for many hours; he knew how to exhaust my sexual needs. The week would pass quickly, and besides, it kept him quiet—a fair trade.

After a week, 3B3 needed an overhaul and reinforcement. I had somewhat abused its potential to satisfy my sexual urges.

- Mistress, you will question the people of the planet to find information about your Wookiee. I'm not sure your mercenary outfit...

- Do you take me for a fool? Of course I won't get anything on him that way. It might work on Tatooine, but here on Chandrila, no, clearly not. With that, I changed into my courtesan attire.

- Do you know how this turned out for you?

- Yes, that's why you're going to have a complete overhaul of yourself first, and then of the ship, ready to depart urgently.

I was heading towards the entertainment district. I knew the owner of the Charmille Sails brothel; she was always happy to see me. I brought her extra clients when I came. She didn't ask any questions; she just took advantage of it.

When I walked through the doors of the brothel, I heard a pleasant but authoritative voice.

-We're not open yet.

- Charmille, it's me, Tinty. I'm just passing through and I thought you might take on a freelancer.

I saw the Twi'lek come out and give me a big smile.

- Tinty, you always arrive when you least expect it and disappear when no one does.

She rushed towards me and hugged me tightly.

- Can I stay for a few days?

Of course, my dear, as long as you like. I'll let some of the clients who sometimes ask for you know.

For several days in a row, I indulged different clients. It was always intense; the aliens loved having a human delivered to them and hearing her scream as she was penetrated by their appendages, or other things. It was profitable but exhausting, and sometimes it required considerable care.

Finally, on the fourth night, I saw some clients I hadn't noticed before, but I was looking for someone who arrived late, a Cathar named Aryana. She would be my third client of the evening. I hoped she could answer my questions, but first, I had to satisfy her desires. I was going to be the mouse in her hands.

When she arrived, she didn't speak to me and gestured for me to follow her to the suite she kept for our meetings, the BDSM room. I shuddered; she was always imaginative in eliciting my pleas.

I had barely entered the room with her St. Andrew's cross, whips, riding crops, nipple clamps, chains hanging from the ceiling, electric cage... when she shoved me into the room and ripped off my clothes.

"On your knees, little female dog, I've missed your cries." Her claws dug into my hair, drawing a sharp whimper from me as she **** me to kneel on the cold floor. The scent of leather and massage oils filled the room, mingled with the more pungent odor of my own aroused fear.

"Breathe, little prey," Aryana murmured, her hoarse voice betraying her already palpable pleasure. She took a dog collar and fastened it around my neck. Without a word, she chained me by my hands and feet, my back to the floor at waist height.

She pulled down her pants, revealing her sex. I remembered she had a wild, musky taste that I particularly loved; I was salivating at the thought.

- You like my pussy, don't you? You're not my little female dog. Come on, honor my sex and my clitoris as they deserve.

I approached on all fours and extended my tongue. The first lick of my tongue against her sex made Aryana shudder, a low groan escaping her throat. Its taste was more intense than I remembered, musky and wild, imbued with her desire.

- Yes, that's good if you try harder. I might be less rough, but don't get your hopes up, my beauty. I love to hear you scream.

She pressed my head against her sex, whose scent and bouquet filled my nostrils like never before.

Her claws dug deeper into the nape of my neck as she pressed my face against her burning flesh. My tongue traced a frantic path along her swollen lips, collecting every drop of her spicy nectar. A rumble rose in her chest as I gently sucked her clitoris between my teeth, alternating pressure with rapid flicks of my tongue.

"Harder," she gasped, her thighs trembling on either side of my head.

Her claws gripped my hair with brutal ****, preventing me from moving even an inch. I felt her clitoris harden beneath my tongue as I quickened the pace, my lips sealed against her burning flesh. A musky, salty taste flooded my mouth as she suddenly arched her back, her thighs tightening like a vise around my head.

Her thighs tightened around my head as the final spasm rippled through her, her semen becoming slow, thick, almost syrupy on my tongue. A low, guttural groan escaped her as her claws finally loosened their grip, leaving fiery marks on my damp skin.

I felt her weight shift slightly above me, her feline muscles still trembling with satisfaction. I barely had time to moan before she dragged me toward the St. Andrew's cross, the leather handcuffs already open, waiting.

The cuffs snapped around my wrists with surgical precision, the cold leather biting into my already marked skin. Aryana circled the cross, her claws tracing burning furrows along my ribs as she adjusted the straps with expert movements.