stand your ground, you're not his property

"No, Jabba," you bark out, resisting his slimy command to approach, before some **** girl decides to hook a collar around your neck. Seriously, could this situation get any worse? You spin around, utterly exasperated, only to find yourself now chained to his repulsive dais. He starts pulling you forward like you're some prize bantha, and you **** and struggle against his grip. "No, I am not your property!" you yell, your voice dripping with frustration as you fight against his disgusting strength.

Cloaked in this embarrassing excuse for attire, your skin practically crawls beneath the lecherous gaze of the Hutt's sycophantic courtiers. It's like they've never seen a strong, independent being before. The outfit, if you can even call it that, is more like a mockery of clothing, emphasizing your vulnerability in the midst of this twisted spectacle. Sweat beads form on your forehead, not just from the heat, but from the sheer aggravation of it all, as you trudge forward towards that repulsive crime lord.

The revelers around you are like a pack of ravenous nexu, their eyes fixated on you like you're fresh prey. It's disgusting how they salivate over every step you take. And those chains? They clang with each movement, a constant reminder of your **** submission.

Jabba's grotesque form comes into view, and you can't help but roll your eyes at the sight of him. His bloated, slimy mass practically oozes depravity, and the stench? It's like a rancor's breath after a meal of rotting garbage. You fight the urge to gag as you draw nearer, the anticipation of what's to come making your skin crawl.

The atmosphere in this wretched place is suffocating, the air thick with the stench of sweat and excess. It's like being trapped in a garbage compactor with a bunch of drunken Gamorreans. And don't even get you started on Jabba's courtiers, a sorry bunch of flatterers and backstabbers, each one more repulsive than the last.

As you finally reach Jabba's throne, his bulbous eyes light up with a sickening glee. The Hutt's repulsive form seems to pulse with a dark energy, and you can practically taste the anticipation radiating off of him. The revelry around you becomes a cacophony of debauchery, and you can't help but wonder how you ended up in this nightmare.

"Ahhhhh," Jabba purrs disgutingly, "so good of you to join us, my little khankee." You grit your teeth in frustration as he tugs on your collar, pulling you forward like you're nothing more than a mindless pet.