Run for it!!

Fennec watched the gathered slavers chortle as the still protesting Jaia went suddenly limp from a stun stick. They were in the midst of bundling her **** body into the boot of the hovercar, where hers would soon be, when she made her move.

She barely registered the decision to run. It was pure instinct, a **** flight response born of a deep vulnerability that rattled her more than she cared to admit.

Bare feet slapped against the duracrete street as she darted between market stalls, her body fully exposed to the crowd. With her hands cuffed it was hard to run and impossible to properly cover herself. Each step made her breasts bounce and sway wildly, drawing even more attention, and she could feel the paint smeared across her chest starting to dry and crack, the sensation a constant reminder of her bare skin. The brush of night air on exposed flesh made her cheeks flush even deeper.

People were staring, laughing, shouting things she couldn’t make out. She could feel eyes on her, so many eyes. Leering, astonished gazes followed every swing of her boobs and jiggle of her ass. She caught glimpses of their faces, their hungry eyes taking in every centimeter of her helpless nudity, and despite the mortification boiling inside her, there was an undeniable heat spreading through her veins, a humiliating thrill that sent a shiver up her spine.

Stars, she thought, what is wrong with me?

Behind her, she heard a shout, and then another. The slavers had noticed her escape. Panic spiked in her chest.

She needed to blend in; she needed to cover herself, and fast. Ahead was a stall laden with all manner of loose fabrics. Without hesitation, Fennec lunged toward it, grabbing the first large cloth she could reach. The vendor shouted in protest, but she didn’t stop. Wrapping the cloth awkwardly around her head and body with her bound hands, she pulled it tight, trying to cover as much of her body as she could. It felt good to have something on her skin, but the cuffs made it clumsy, and the fabric barely stayed in place, constantly slipping and threatening to reveal more than she wanted.

The thrill of her flight, the danger, and the constant tug of the scarf against her nipples sent a maddening mix of sensations through her. She hated … should hate it. But instead, her body responded with an intensity that left her breathless.

Unfortunately, blending in meant people were no longer stepping aside to gawk and her smaller frame was having a hard time pushing through the crowded marketplace. A glance back showed a Gamorrean slaver heading her way, his nose curling for her scent. The Zabrak followed in the big guy's wake as he plowed through the people. They were getting close, and fast.

Fennec’s eyes darted frantically around the street and stalls, searching for an escape route or hole to hide in. Anything! What she found was a speeder bike left unattended by a delivery driver a across the way. Without hesitation, she sprinted toward it, her breasts bounding as the scarf slipped, revealing her face and shoulders to be immediately recognized by the slavers.

Hopping on, the texture of the cool leather greeted her inner thighs and tidy bush as she settled onto the seat. Clumsy, shaking fingers fumbled with the ignition. The bike sputtered to life as the Gamorrean reached for her. His hand swiped the air she’d occupied a second earlier as she lurched forward, the sudden burst of acceleration nearly making her lose control.

“Dank farrik,” she muttered under her breath. Fennec struggled with the controls. The binders on her wrists made it impossible to grip handlebars properly. It made it impossible to steer properly. The bike veered wildly, scraping against stalls, toppling tables, and narrowly avoiding pedestrians as she shot through the market.

The vibrations of the engine sent jolts up her thighs, each bump in the road jostling her body in ways that only heightened her sense of exposure. Her makeshift scarf fluttered dangerously in the wind, threatening to slip way at any second. Every bump, every shift, every twist of the handlebars sent the fabric slipping further, but there was no time to adjust it. Her hands fumbled, desperately trying to hold onto the handlebars while keeping the cloth from slipping completely off her chest. It was a losing battle.

As she careened around a tight corner, her speed too fast to manage with her wrists bound, and the scarf snagged on a low-hanging signpost. For a split second, it held fast, tugging her body backward, nearly yanking her off the bike. She let out a startled gasp as the fabric was ripped from her body, left fluttering in the breeze behind her like a flag.

And just like that, Fennec was naked again.