Someplace with Lots of Clothes

By sheer luck, she ended under a covered table among extras of whatever this stall was hawking. Pressing her face to the ground, she could make out a pair of worn boots approach the droid below the edge of the canvas.

“What are you doing back here? I told you to find new filters for the ship’s atmo-scrubbers, not create a pile-up.”

Wonka wonk, replied the droid disdainfully.

“Yeah, I see scrubbers on the ground, but...”

So, the woman hadn’t seen her. Finally, some luck. Relieved, Fennec rested her head on a tie-dyed tunic with the silhouette of a buxom twi’lek riding a giant lizard across the chest and “Bare Back on a Dewback” underneath. Stacks of shirts, each emblazoned with equally tacky slogans were stacked all around her.

A lot of luck!

Oh, how she suddenly loved these wonderful, sexist shirts! But a thought tugged at the sleeve’s edge of her mind. With bound arms, how was she going to put anything on?

So much for luck.

She was lying on piles of clothes, but they might as well be in orbit for all the good they did her. Fate added dishonor to her discouragement when the proprietor of the stall reached below the table for more stock and grabbed skin instead of shirts. Fennec’s eyes went wide as the hand patted along the back of her leg, suction-cupped fingers brushed her inner thigh before reaching up to grab a handful of ass. Fennec had to bite her lip to keep from crying out.

“Du naga?” pondered a Rodian voice. The hapless mercenary winced as the confused merchant worked butt-flesh still sore from the droid’s punishment in his rough, scaly hand. “Esa luvi tooshi,” he observed.

“Whatever,” said the woman behind the stall, who’d she'd forgotten in the midst of all the ass grabbing. “I got a filter. Let's go before somebody makes us pay for this mess.”

The boots and droid were moving away. At the same time, the merchant’s scaly, green hand gave her backside a quick slap that made her gasp. She could hear the Rodian chuckle. No doubt he’d investigate the very grope-able thing he’d found. Once he got a bugged eyeful of her bare assassin, she’d have even worse trouble.

A split second after the pair outside turned to leave and a split second before the Rodian poked his head in, she rolled back under the canvas partition, staggered up on wobbly legs, and padded across the cold, wet pavement to the cover of the alley as fast as her naked feet would go.

The droid’s head rotated to follow her, clicking images of her jiggling backside as she went. Luckily for Fennec, the woman with it was more focused on the droid taking pictures than bothering to look for the subject of those pictures.

“What are you doing?” she accused the droid.

The old astromech gave an innocent, Honk hronk?

“Listen, if I catch you selling images of my feet on the holo-net again, I’ll sell you for scrap!” The woman continued to issue warning as the pair disappeared around the corner.

That defective droid sells images? Fennec gulped. Imagining the humiliation of millions of beings across the galaxy ogling her naked body sent a blush over that same exposed flesh. What angles were those pictures taken from? Could you see her face in any of them? What if a client or fellow bounty hunter recognized her? Would they tell the others? She could only imagine the knowing looks she’d get. After that it wouldn’t matter how much armor she wrapped herself in, their eyes would look right past it. Everyone would only remember her as a bare body laid out on wet sidewalk in the chilly Corellian night.

Her knees went weak at the thought. She told herself it was because they hadn’t fully recovered from the shocks.

The appearance of a curious Rodian merchant around the edge of the stall broke her out her daydream. While the confused alien was turned the wrong way to examine the back of his booth, Fennec fled the scene on her rather rubbery legs.