Revan\'s Quest For Pants

Schwooom.

The break-locks released their heavy weight with a soft hiss, letting the cylindrical pod slip out of its opening in the burning hull of the ''Endar Spire''. The Republic ship was soon to be a wreck, circling the orbit of Taris below - the blur of turbolaser fire was a constant reminder of the reason why. A Sith ambush caught the ship by surprise, leaving none alive in their path - and with the ship empty, its prize gone, the Sith ships were working away on turning the enemy into dust. 


Two figures huddled inside the escape pod, hastily secured straps keeping the pair from bashing their brains out on the fiberglass overhead. Jane Holsten, a new recruit of the Republic fleet, was one of them. Current occupation: staring daggers at the other occupant in the spinning vessel. Though a decorated war hero and famous pilot, Carth Onasi was in deep shit with the woman, and for good reason - instead of letting the pragmatically-minded Jane scavenge the Sith for credits and weapons, he tore her away and nigh tossed her into the depths of the escape pod. Not only that, but he had an unholy obsession with a Jedi named Bastila - more concerned with her than himself, even. Pftooey. Probably jacked himself off to a poster of her every night, the uptight prick.

Sure, the ship -may- have exploded half a minute later... but that was still enough time for some lootin'. ''You know, if we run out of credits I'm not the one going hung-'' ''I know, I know... listen, I messed up - lets leave it at that. Besides, it's not right to loot the dead - Sith or not. Agreed?''

 With a heavy sigh, she knocked her head back on the wall, half intending to knock herself out so she'd not have to listen to Onasi's sermon-like preaching. Irony, as ever, was a foul companion - exactly that happened a split moment later when the pod entered the atmosphere of the city-planet. With a dull thud, her head knocked up against glass of a window, unconsciousness rapidly seeping into her mind.

''Ugh...'' Something, or rather someone, was groaning. It took Jane no short moment to realise that that 'someone' was herself, and the wetness she felt on her cheek was her own drool. ''Puh-lease tell me I am dead...'' No response. Onasi must be passed out, or even dead. Not his style, but what did she care? Cracking open one cobwebbed eye, she looked up and frowned in exasperated confusion. Why is there a light above? She made no attempt to stifle another groan - this one of pain - a she pushed herself up with an elbow, using her other hand to rub at the crusted-over blood that covered the vision of her right eye. ''Huh. Guess he's more competent, and considerably less dead, than I thought.'' An apartment! Not even a terribly shabby one at that. Light, a... bed? nudge nudge, aye t'was a bed she was on, and no bed mites either. Truly a wondrous day - now if Onasi was just courteous enough -not- to return, then she'd be on cloud nine.

Jane's wish was dashed as quickly as it was made, however; the mechanical click-clack of the Tarisian-style double doors announced his return. ''Happy to see m-'' A third groan interrupted him, serving as an answer at the same time. ''Ah. Well, at least you're alive - and healthy enough to be complaining. Food's in the next room, so is running water. We'll need to go out and look for Bastila soon, though.'' 

As he talked, Jane moved up to her feet, wobbling over - and swatting away a worried hand from Onasi - to the sink. Filling it up, both hands clutching its rims, she stared down at her own expression, watching it grimace at the bloody sight. Her companion managed to save her life and her freedom - Sith patrols were sure to be swarming the area of the crash by now - but he did little in making it pretty. With her mind not even half focused on her companion's inane blib-blabber about saving some Jedi princess, Jane methodically washed away evidence of the violent crash-landing with cupped hands, each splash of water bringing a soothing coolness to her bronze skin and, more importantly, to her mind. ''Ah... refreshing. Now,'' she spoke while turning on the heel of one foot ''I've little idea what you think we are supposed to be doing, and I care just as much - I will consider it, given the whole 'you saved my life' thingaschming, but... I'll consider it after a drink. Good? Good.'' She was already halfway out of the door as the last word left her lips, a half amused, half irritated hand wave the only answer Carth could come up with in time.

Having grown up on the filth-infested Coruscant, Taris was a nice change of scenery. Though not as sterile and clean as the ship she was transferred to, it had a rather tidy vibe to it. The only 'p' in her philosophy of life was pragmatism, not patriotism, so the sight of the the Sith patrols that frequently passed by in the busy crowds of Upper City was not worrying to her. 'S not like she was clad in Republic gear, after all - and as she was a common grunt, there was no way in hell anyone would recognize her.  Instead, she was wearing civilian gear - not hers, mind you. That was all gone in the incinerator at the recruiting centre that swept her off the streets and turned a thief-slash-part-time-prostitute into a proper trooper. Not like she missed them anyways: the old pile of rags was dirtier than a rat's anus and probably just as appealing.

However, every step she took set a feeling dread rumbling deep in her gut. A squeak there, and uncomfortable tightness here... there was no way around it - the clothes that she picked out in haste when Trask woke her from the usual set of nightmares were not only not hers, but also more than a bit too tight. Jane held no pretenses about her looks. An inch or two off Onasi's height, she had a thin waist that held child-bearing hips and a thick rear. Even with her usual gear, she was painfully, starkly self-aware of her rump - and with the fabric of these pants fighting a difficult battle in not ripping,  she drew more than one look and raised eyebrow (or two... or three... or f- ya get the idea) on her way to the nearest Cantina.



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''Bloody snotty piece of spoilt Bith-fart, telling me to fetch her a "!$"^ drink...'' The trip to the cantina not only left her even more parched than before, but it pushed her temper into territory previously unexplored. A short exchange of words with an aristocratic brat - Gyana Laveen, or whatever she was called -who took Jane for a waitress flared both their tempers, but with the teen being the one with clout in the establishment, it was the soldier-in-hiding who landed flat on her ass in the middle of the street after the Wookie bouncer escorted her out with a single toss of his furry arm.  ''Daddy's joint, probably... just my luck. Stupid twit called my clothes trash too... though she wasn't terribly off there.'' Sighing at her fate, she quickly stifled the un-entertaining idea that it was her venomous, scathing tongue that escalated the spat and rose up to her feet. A few minutes of mindless wandering later, she was busily patting the many pockets of her clothing in a desperate effort to conjure enough money for a visit to the nearby shop - ''Kebla Yurt's Equipment Emporium'', it read.


Lo and behold, for once she was lucky - a hundred credits, stored away in a pocket, sewn into the inner layer of her jacket. Enough for something to munch on, a pair of pants, and maybe even a vibroblade or stun-stick - she lost hers in the crash. 

''...What do you mean, you have no pants?''

''We ain't got no pants, lady.''

''But...''

''None.''

''...?''

''None!''

''WHY?!''

''Quarantine, lady.'' The black shop owner shook her head in slight embarrassment, arms crossed under her chest as she eyed Jane. ''Sith landed, Sith took over... Sith needed fabric for Sith flags. Left the weapons, but not even a scrap of clothing is left in the upper city.'' With a cough, she nodded at the unfortunate pair of pants that hugged Jane's curves. ''If you REALLY need some, try the lower city... Sith don't really venture there that much.''

Sliding the blade - a short vibroblade - and a few packet rations across the table to the woman, she took the credits in return and moved to the back of the shop. 

''God DAMMIT.'' Kicking the table and quickly regretting the decision as a stubbed toe blasted out in pain, Jane swiped the bought food and weapon off the table and stomped out into the street. There, however, awaited an even more unwelcome surprise, one which manifested itself with a sharp pain in the side of her head and quickly approaching darkness as she began passing out. ''Whuh...?'' Groaning in confusion, she spotted a glimpse of a thug holding an AV-23 blaster, used to stun civilians during riots, before fading into unconsciousness.

''Glrk glak glfrk GLRKAAK.'' Loud gagging accompanied the solid thumping of flesh hitting flesh, both echoing in the narrow alley behind Kebla Yurt's shop. Three dimly-lighted figures set the scene - one of them, Jane, just now beginning to wake up, the other two spit-roasting the feminine form between them. One of the thugs, a tall yet lanky individual, held on tightly to Jane's dark hair, gripping it in both of his hands as he thrust a rock-solid seven inches of cock into the woman's mouth and throat. His sack swung back and forth, constantly hitting Jane's chin as he hilted himself deep in her gullet, before swinging back as he pulled his shaft out of her hole, preparing it for yet another thrust. Behind was the leader of the thugs, both of -his- hands gripping tightly onto the soft, pillow-y asscheeks of Jane's rear end as he focused on pounding her pink slit. with his baby-maker, each pump of his cock causing her thick-set ass to bounce and jiggly slightly, a wave-like, subtle ripple moving over her skin from the impact. Raising one hand from her hips, he brought it down a moment later in a thunderous smack, grinning at his companion as the spank leaves behind a quickly-fading, red handprint on Jane's ebony skin, and draws out a muffled moan of pain from their fuck toy.

Though she could not claim to be a virgin, Jane never really took to prostitution, only using her body once or twice to get out of a sticky situation. She never got it this rough, however, and never unwilling. Gagging and choking she came back to life, finding herself the victim of a vicious pounding from both ends, her slender neck home to an ever-moving bulge as the thug's cock was shoved deep into her throat with no concern whatsoever for the recipient of the skull-fucking. Any attempt at maintaining her composure was ill-fated and ended as soon as the spank landed. Not that it was a weak point or anything - it was just the drop which tipped her over the edge. Scathing anger, fueled by a desire for vengeance, was replaced by a fearful expression, filled with submissive, silent begging as her brown eyes welled up, tears brimming at the edges - and, soon enough, spilling over them. Her curvaceous body swung back and forth with the uneven tempo of the pair's thrusting. When the front one finished his thrust, sack at her chin, the leader was just beginning to thrust back in, rocking the poor soldier between them while abusing her holes with little mercy.

Fighting back was not particularly an option, either; with her pants (for they, -mercifully-, did not rip them but simply tugged them and her panties down to her knees) bundled up around her knees, she could not thrash with her lower half, nor kick out... and with both hands tightly bound by rope at the small of her back, she couldn't even land a single scratch on them. All Jane could do was endure and survive, not resisting and submitting to the pair as they ravaged her body. She was not dead yet - that was a good sign. If they wanted her dead, they'd not have stunned her but shot her when she came out of the shop. Nevertheless, her current situation was not good either, and she was brought back to it by the twitching of the thick rod that filled her throat, and by the fact that its owner stopped his thrusting. Instead, he shuddered and kept her impaled deep on his cock as his sack did work, dumping spurt after spurt of thick cream down her hole, depositing the load directly in her belly. 

He didn't let her go after finishing his orgasm, however... nor did he let her go when her brown eyes rolled up her head, showing whites only... he only let her defeated form fall face-first into the metallic floor when his cock began softening. Only then was she allowed to take a shuddering gasp, a life-giving breath, having almost passed out from the brutal oral onslaught that - at least temporarily - left her a broken mess. The pussy poundin' was a mere afterthought - though rough and painful at times, Jane's plump ass a solid shade of red from the smacks that landed regularly on it, it didn't deprive her of oxygen. With the other one finished and zipping up, the leader sped up the pace of his abuse of her cooch, one large hand keeping Jane's head pinned to the floor cheek first. Ass up and face down, his shaft a blur as he mined her narrow tunnel for precious minerals, a defeated whimper slash moan tore its way out of her cum&saliva coated lips as she felt him tense up and unload deep inside. ''Blergh...'' she thought. ''That'll take a while to clean out. G'thing I can't get preg- Ow!'' A final smack - this one to the back of her head - interrupts her mid-thought as the leader zips up, tipping her over onto her side with one shoe, smacking his minions shoulder in appreciative banter as a string of creamy, pearly white cum trailed its way down her chin, and down her thigh, leaking out of both her holes.

''Gana Lavin sends her regard, bitch.''

Ah. So -that- was her name. Aaand that's the AV-23 again, pointed right at her. ''It's all business... but you were a pretty good fuck, slut. Find us in the lower city if you need more, yeah? Heh. Can't have you following us, so... sleep well. Should be back up in a few hours.''

Sigh. Goodbye, consciousness. Hello, sweet dreams.