A Massive Sandstorm

As Sabine dozes off in her tent, the first signs come subtly. A distant tremble through the ground. The occasional breath of cool air, strange in the endless heat. Her brow twitches, then relaxes. She's still lying there—naked, skin gleaming with sweat and slowly drying beneath the tent’s thin shade.

Then, BOOM.

The storm hits like a dreadnaught out of hyperspace.

Tent flaps flail violently, snapping like cracked leather. Sabine jolts awake, blinking sweat and dust from her eyes. Her first instinct is to reach for her blaster, but she’s completely naked.

Sabine: “Shit! The storm—!”

Before she can react, a tremendous gust rips through the canyon. Her tiny tent peels away like tissue paper, exposing her bare, **** body to the full wrath of Xypherion’s storm.

Her gear—armor, suit, boots—everything vanishes into the whirlwind, spinning like toys in a dust devil.

Sabine: “NO!!”

She lunges forward, tits bouncing wildly, ass jiggling with every panicked movement, trying to grab anything. The sand wraps around her, but it’s not harsh—it’s almost soft, like the wind itself was caressing her.

Her nipples stiffen instantly in the cooled air, now hard pebbles against the open wind. The grains of sand swirl and kiss her chest, brushing across her breasts and teasing her inner thighs. She gasps, more in shock than arousal.

Sabine: “Gah—fuck, it's in everything—!”

Her legs churn as she stumbles toward her speeder, the only object not flying away. She reaches it just in time, bare feet slipping in the shifting sand. She grabs onto the handlebars and presses her chest to the frame, ass high and totally exposed as the storm howls around her.

The wind rushes between her thighs, the soft sand tickling her pussy lips with every gust, sticking to the sweat still clinging to her skin. She bites her lip, both humiliated and furious.

Sabine: “I swear to the fucking ****...”

She holds on for hours, naked as the storm rages around her. The suns sink behind the canyon wall, and darkness falls—along with a bone-deep chill. By the time the storm ends, there’s nothing left.

Sabine crouched by her speeder bike, arms wrapped tight around her knees, shivering in the sudden silence. The storm was gone. The twin suns had vanished beneath the rim of the canyon, casting everything in a deep twilight chill.

Her nipples jutted out in the cold, hard from more than just temperature. Every breath she took lifted her chest visibly, sand catching in the curve of her tits, brushing and sliding as she shifted. It tickled her pussy lips too, stuck there in the sweat-wet folds of her most sensitive place, forcing her to squirm every time she moved.

Sabine: I... I can't fucking believe this.

Her fingers dug into the sand at her sides. No gear. Not a scrap. Her helmet, breastplate, even her boots—all vanished into the abyss. Just her and the speeder. And her shame.

She coughed, spat sand from her mouth, and wiped her lips with the back of her hand.

Then—chirp-chirp. The comm unit blinked.

The screen lit up with New Republic priority flags. Hera Syndulla’s call sign.

Sabine: “...oh fuck me...”

She hesitated.

Then hit the comm.

Hera: "Spectre Five? Come in, Sabine. Ghost Actual. Sensors reported a severe level-9 sand vortex over your last coordinates. Report status. Did it hit you?"

Sabine’s voice cracked. She **** it into something that sounded like a warrior’s.

Sabine: “Hera. Yeah... it hit.”

Her eyes darted across the endless desert. She was completely fucking naked, her ass dusted in sand, her bare feet buried beneath soft dunes. Cold air teased her still-wet pussy lips, and her nipples felt like they could cut glass.

Hera: "You sound rough. Status report? Gear intact? Need immediate extraction?"