The Princess strikes back

Ethan hadn’t stopped thinking about it all day.

The blowjob. The way her tongue had milked his cock until he’d shot like a firehose all over her face. The look in her eyes when she’d whispered that she was his fantasy, bound to him by the emerald.

But when he tried again, nothing happened.

He lined up half a dozen different figures on his desk — Leia in bounty hunter disguise, a beat-up **** Leia from the 90s, even a vinyl-caped Jawa for laughs. He pressed the emerald against each one, muttering prayers and curses, willing something to happen.

Nothing.

Not even a flicker of light.

By late afternoon he was pacing the room, clutching his hair. “I’m losing my mind. That’s it. I’m cracking up.”

He grabbed the emerald, turned it over in his hand, stared at the old Kenner Leia. She looked as stiff and plastic as ever, her tiny painted face mocking him.

“It was a dream,” he muttered. “Some fucked-up wet dream.”

And yet…

He placed the emerald back against her chest, exactly as it had been the night before. He left it there.

Then he collapsed into bed, pulled the sheets over his head, and eventually drifted into restless sleep.

When morning came, the first thing Ethan felt was warmth.

Sunlight poured through his blinds.

The second thing he felt was a presence. Again.

His eyes shot open.

And there she was.

Leia. Standing at his window, hands clasped behind her back, gazing out at the car park below like it was a warfront. The rising sun blazed through the thin white fabric of her gown, turning it translucent. Her body was silhouetted perfectly — narrow waist, the swell of her breasts, the soft mound of her pussy framed by a wild patch of dark curls.

Ethan’s cock jolted to life under the sheets instantly.

She turned her head, smiling. “Morning, nerfherder.”

Ethan sat bolt upright, glasses crooked on his nose. “Holy shit. You’re— You’re back. You’re real.”

Leia walked towards the bed, hips swaying under the see-through gown. “Of course I’m real. Leia Organa, Princess of Alderaan. Senator of the Galactic Council. Enemy of the Empire.” She placed a hand on her chest dramatically. “At your service.”

Ethan’s jaw worked soundlessly. “You—you think you’re really Leia? Like, from Star Wars?”

She frowned. “Star Wars? I don’t know what that is. I told you, I fight to take down the Empire. To depose the Emperor. To restore freedom to the galaxy.”

Then her lips curled into a wicked grin. “And also…” She leaned in close, her breath hot on his ear. “…to suck and fuck you into a galaxy far, far away.”

Ethan nearly came on the spot. His cock throbbed painfully in his boxers.

He **** himself to speak, words tumbling out. “Leia—listen—this world—Earth—it’s not your galaxy. You’re… you’re fictional here. You’re a character from a movie. You don’t exist.”

Leia blinked. “A movie?”

Ethan scrambled off the bed, tripping over his jeans as he rushed to his VHS shelf. “Yeah—look, I’ll show you.”

He jammed Episode IV into the VCR, the tape crackling to life.

Leia sat beside him on the bed, eyes wide, watching herself appear on the screen. “That’s… that’s me,” she whispered.

For hours they watched together — A New Hope, then Empire Strikes Back, then Return of the Jedi.

Leia laughed, gasped, cursed at Vader, rolled her eyes at her own lines. When the **** Leia scene appeared, she smirked. “Hutt slime. At least they got the tits right.”

Ethan glanced at her chest, flushed.

By the end of the trilogy, she leaned back against his wall, arms folded. “So in this world, I’m a fantasy. A story. Interesting.”

Ethan nodded nervously. “Yeah. And now you’re here. With me.”

Her smile softened. “Lucky you.”

His heart pounded. “Leia, I—I want you. Like, properly. Not just… what happened last night.”

Her grin returned, sharper than a vibroblade. “Then take me.”

She stood, grasped the hem of her gown, and pulled it over her head in one swift motion.

Ethan’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull.

She was naked. Utterly.

Her breasts were small, pert, tipped with dusky pink nipples already tight. Her stomach was flat, her hips narrow, her thighs toned. But what really caught Ethan was the thick bush of dark pubic hair between her legs — wild, untamed, unapologetic. A full 1970s forest, gloriously natural, the kind that swallowed the mound of her pussy and screamed vintage.

Ethan’s cock surged so hard it hurt.

“Oh fuck—” he groaned, and before he could stop it, his balls clenched.

He came.

He actually came.

Right there in his boxers, untouched, spurting warm cum across his stomach with a helpless moan.

Leia froze, then burst into laughter. Not cruel, but mocking, playful, her voice rich with amusement. “Oh, you poor thing! Premature detonation!”

Ethan covered his face with both hands, mortified. “Fuck—shit—I’m sorry—”

Leia stepped closer, brushing his hands aside, smirking down at him. “Don’t apologise, nerfherder. It just means you need training.”

She tapped a finger against his sticky chest. “Training to control your meatsaber.”

Her grin widened, eyes sparkling with mischief. “And to master the ****.”

Ethan groaned, torn between humiliation and pure arousal. His cock, already softening, twitched again under her gaze.

Leia bent down, kissed his forehead, and whispered: “Don’t worry. We’ve got all the time in the galaxy.”