Revan\'s Quest For Pants

I try not to spend more than 30-40 minutes on these, so I had to cut this one sort of in the middle. I'll continue it in the next chapter (probably aptly named 'Jergan's Deal Pt. 2'), apologies for any potential blueballing.




--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------




Jane was all for second chances. Now, in most cases it was herself who was given the second chance - but with the tables turned, she reluctantly granted the same to the cantina. It was a large place, and all things considered not half bad - she just had to avoid the bouncer, hope the brat was out of town this day, and convince some twat-waffle named Jergan to tell her all about the crashed escape pods. After spending half an hour cleaning herself up and making herself presentable - at least enough for the establishment - she made her way over to its entrance, sharp eyes scanning the multitude of patrons that either entered or vacated the premises. With a crack of the neck to steel herself, she slipped into the stream and became one of them.


It had a different feel to it at this time of the day. Gone was the relaxed (space-)jazz of the Bith musicians. Instead, a heavy, electronic theme pulsed through the cantina in sync with the low-lit headlights above. Any standing space was hotly contested and almost immediately occupied when spotted. Seats were a fairy-tale - though a good deal were empty, they were all reserved by their immediate neighbours. Almost immediately, her initial plan - to find Carth, dump the task on him, and get drunk - went out of the window. Finding the man, especially with his nondescript looks and lack of a reputation, was as likely as Jane going berserk with a lightsaber and chucking Sith around with the force.


The music didn't make thinking any easier either; not only was it loud, but every beat and rhythm that dictated the crowd's tempo did the same to Jane. Only through sheer strength of will did the woman resist the urge to mindlessly foot-tap to the beat, if not dance. ''Enough.'' She thought, smashing a balled up hand into her own side several times. Not enough to crack anything, but just enough to focus her mind around the feeling of pain, wrapping her thoughts around it and using it as an anchor to steady herself in the middle of the disorienting environment. Of short posture, she couldn't ram through the crowd like a transport barge - so instead she coursed through it, slipping through the smallest opening, though more than once she ended up on the wrong side of a congestion, pinned between pair of drunkards. Her foul mood only worsened when in the middle of one such stop she felt a hand - a hand with a purpose, at that - resting on her rear end. Any uncertainty as to whether this was just coping a feel or more was gone when the large palm pressed up against the middle of one of her cheeks, the meaty fingers - too large to belong to a human, that was certain - squeezing down on the pliant flesh. Giving in, her ebony skin gave in under the pressure, until the stranger's digits sunk deep into the woman's plump ass, almost disappearing in the mound of flesh. A grimace formed on her face as she attempted to twist and turn, but it was futile - even a Wookie would struggle in these conditions. Unopposed, the hand continued its exploration of her rump, aggressively groping and pulling at the left cheek. With no reaction coming from Jane, the hand's owner grew bolder, moving in his second... and third... and fourth onto her body. 


One rested on her other asscheek, one slipped around her torso and began toying with her chest, while the final one rested on her thigh. Hands turning into fists, she growled and moved a hand to her hip where she kept the blade - a tad too short to be a sword, a bit too long to be a dagger. As she struggled with the weapon the Besalisk, for it had to be that race, kept up his groping of her hourglass frame, the hand on her chest quite literally mauling her breasts. The two on her ass seemingly had a mind of their own - one was carefully, almost gently massaging its correspondent cheek, whilst its partner - after a failed attempt to slip its meaty fingers into her pants, their tightness for once a boon - had taken a firm, controlling hold on the other asscheek, gripping it tightly. All that came to an end when she managed to both tug the blade out of its scabbard, but also hold it between her other arm's elbow, driving it backward with the brunt of her strength. A satisfyingly shlicky sound was the result, a manic grin splitting her face as she repeated the thrust half a dozen times. A muffled - as the pulse of the music filled her ears, leaving almost no room for anything else - cascade of shouts turned screams told her the Besalisk, if not dead, was out of it. Well, that, and the fact that the hands disappeared, leaving her body alone. Having no desire to test the rumours of the severity of the Sith law courts, she left the scene of the crime, halfway to panting from excitement as she emerged out into the area surrounding the bar, half a dozen bartenders working their asses off at meeting the demands of the coiling masses. The wetness on her gloves was wiped away on a passing-by Tarisian, her blade back in its scabbard as she made a mental note to clean it later. She doubted that it was rust-proof for its price.


She was pretty sure they'd be of no use when it came to finding Jergan. Their frantic expressions matched hers, also reminding her to remove the grin from the premises, and the only words they'd acknowledge were 'drink, please!'. Unconsciously, she was also - for the most part - against using her feminine wiles to find information. Denial was the name of the game when it came to her rape, after all. Far from comatose or traumatised, she was nevertheless unsettled heavily by it. If by any single aspect of it, then by the loss of power - and the disproportionate punishment dished out to the Besalisk was one way she unconsciously tried to regain some of it, the alien either already being dragged out to the dumpsters or on his way to pass his last at the hospital.


However, she still needed to find Jergan. With a heavy heart, she fidgeted briefly with the waistline of her pants-covered underwear, adjusting it back to comfort, before venturing out into one of the large halls that were connected to the central bar node by a short, broad tunnel. ''Phew. Least this is less ear-rapey.''. Apparently, the Bith trio and the Twi'lek dancing duo that accompanied them were on a full-time gig; though energetic, their music was clearly a variation of the earlier jazz that played during her spat with the brat. Speaking of... ''Fuck, please no!'' With a toss of her head, she scanned the room until relief overtook her - the antagonizing noble teen was out. Not only that, but her ears - keen when needed, and 'unintentionally' nigh-deaf when given reprimanded - picked up Jergan's name in a nearby conversation.


''And you're sure they'll agree to meet me, Jergan baby?'' A red-haired Tarisian, hanging onto the shoulder of a native man, spoke into his ear - though with how loud she was being, it was likely to give the male - Jergan, presumably - ear damage. Any further crooning from her was duly ignored by Jane as her eyes bore into her target. Her streak of lucky breaks continued as Jergan patted the woman's side and directed her towards the door after she passed him a packet of credits. Jane didn't even wait until the woman - Lana, as she was called during their goodbye - was out of the door before approaching the round table. A few scattered drinks, most of them empty, were the contents as she slipped into the seat vacated by Lana, elbows up on the table. 


''And who might you be, doll?'' A bemused, nigh-patronizing question was Jergan's greeting to the new arrival. Stifling a sigh, she leaned back against the crescent-like bench that curved around the table and was against the wall. ''Jane. Jergan, I assume?'' 


With a nod and a flicker of recognition in his eyes, Jergan leaned back as well, letting her continue. ''You have information about the escape pods that crashed in the lower city. I need that information. Your price?'' Business-like, her tone of voice left little room for diversions as Jergan's eyes unabashedly assessed her body, a lecherous smile suggesting she passed the test with flying colours. ''My price... five thousand credits, doll. Deal?'' a glimmer of greed filled his eyes as he spoke and Jane spluttered, eyes widening in shock. She didn't know if she should laugh or punch him in his slime-y face for ridiculing her - both of them knew that such a sum was way out of her reach. ''No deal, Jergan - you bloody well know no deal. I can do one hundred now, one hundred after I verify the information's good.''


Four thousand. Three and a half. Two. Two and a half, after a scathing remark from Jane. Each passing minute further solidified Jergan's belief that she was desperate. Back to two. One and a half, a more reasonable sum - yet still an impossibility. Finally, as if he was doing her a favour, he gave a different offer. ''Alright, alright... we both know you're shit out of luck, probably soon to be out of time, and have little money to yourself. So this is my final offer. Two hundred after you verify it, and you get under this table on your knees and let me use that pretty little face.'' He raises his hands defensively at her murderous expression, continuing. ''I'm doing you a favour! Nobody will know, the table will hide you and the music will cover up the sounds. Better than no info, right?''


She slumped forward partially, lips a thin, narrow line as she considered it. With both hands propping her head, she kicked the table with a knee before turning to him. He knew the answer already from the defeated expression on her face, though he was careful not to push her too far, too quick. An experienced con artist, though he actually did have the info in this case, he could spot the makings of a psycho with ease, and there were enough conflicting emotions behind Jane's surrendered look for Jergan to limit himself... at least for now.


Resisting the urge to rub his hands together, the Tarisian smiled at her as if they just concluded a perfectly normal business deal before nodding downwards. ''Come on now, chop chop. On your knees, mouth wide open. Hands on your ankles, I don't want to see them near me - and if I feel any teeth, the deal's off.'' Reluctantly, she did as told, fighting a losing battle at keeping her cheeks from flushing a vivid shade of scarlet. Crawling under the table, Jane moved around the rod propping the furniture up and kneeled between Jergan's legs, the top of her head almost touching the table. Resting her ample rear on the back of her shoes, their soles slightly sinking into the backside, she kept her arms flat against her sides and parted her lips, hazel-brown eyes closing in humiliation as she felt his finger rest on her lower lip, a satisfied expression on his face as she submitted to him.