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Princess Leia, Rebel Slave

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Leia wistfully sighed.

It all started simply enough. When the recruiters first approached her, they only wanted her story. A record of what Jabba the Hutt did to her and other women in his harem would boost the Rebels' ranks, they said. How could it not, when the Empire freely traded with a beast who had the power to capture princesses and Twi'lek chieftains' daughters and force them into service as his personal pleasure slaves? Of course, they made sure to emphasize that her ultimate triumph over Jabba with the very chain he used to keep her at his side would have a place in the tales they spread.

Then they saw the numbers and wanted more. Showing off the slave outfit sounded innocent enough. 'Raising awareness', the recruiters called it. At the time, pictures of the gold bikini and long maroon loincloth were just a few of many photos used to demonstrate what happened inside Jabba's sleazy palace. It could have been any slave's uniform, and in fact, the recruiters left their owner unnamed.

... Until paintings of Princess Leia wearing that bikini appeared on the sides of X-Wing Fighters.

That was when it all went downhill. That was when every casualty and deserter became another reason why the men needed another reward for risking their lives to fight the good fight. With quiet, simmering irritation, Leia signed off on a series of official pin-up drawings with her likeness in a variety of suggestive poses. Before long, nearly every X-Wing cockpit, barracks and mess hall was absolutely littered with pin-ups.

Many styles. Many poses. Many messages meant to aid the cause, all with Princess Leia in her famous slave outfit. In one, she looked down and squeezed her breasts to, as the caption put it, 'Check Your Guns!'. Another, with tentacles looming behind her and one slithering its way up through her cleavage, advised the men to 'Watch For Traps!'. A third showed poor defenseless Leia's chain yanked by some off-poster menace, the princess crying for help as its message reminded the rebels to 'Defend What's Ours!'. All those flavors joined her official recruitment poster, starring Leia trapped inside a bird cage, hands wrapped around the bars, mouth gaping and eyebrows raised in fear as she shouted her lone missive: "Join the Rebels! You're my only hope!"

Those were the good posters, the ones that served a real purpose and helped their troops stay alive in the field. Some didn't even grant her image that much respect, like one especially awful pin-up of her full body with all its wondrous curves and nothing but one word in big bold letters above her head: SLAVE.

Which happened to be the one she found herself standing beside that day. There was just one slight change to the poster since the recruiters started their campaign: they'd stopped using the drawn versions when she started posing for them.

Leia wasn't angry anymore. She didn't have time to be angry. She was too busy sitting on a table, chomping on a slice of cheesecake in her hand in full view of Rebel fighters. Crumbs dribbled out the corners of her mouth, disappearing into a mysterious land of cleavage she gained the day her handlers sent her in to make her boobs bigger. Their weight and size still grated on her, every heaving breath making the pair jiggle obscenely in a top made far too tight for comfort.

It wasn't about preserving history for posterity or informing the galaxy about the Empire's horrors anymore. It might never have been. It was all about drawing in fresh young cadets with the promise of a chance to see and meet porn star of their fantasies Princess Leia in the flesh. As she heard a whistle and her name called from across the room, she hopped off the table and carried on with her new mission in life.

Her boobs bounced wildly as she strutted, in a sexy gait trained to perfection by her handlers to maximize her allure. Her long braid swished against her bare back, the tip swiffing teasingly short of her Rebel logo tramp stamp. The chain, a piece she so desperately wanted to cut and toss in the trash, scraped along the floor behind her. It worked like a ringing bell, announcing her passage to every single person in earshot who wanted to take a good long ogle of their prized Rebel slave.

They didn't call her that, of course. They were 'better' than that. They weren't the sort of disgusting Empire men who captured famed politicians and made them wear sexy, degrading clothes for their pleasure. They weren't the sort of men who made idle threats to try to make women offer themselves for whatever twisted kinks they had in mind.

"Hey, Princess. These guys are fresh off the starship. Think you could show them some of the perks they signed up for?"

They were only the sort of men who wanted a little taste of what they saw on her posters.

Leia smiled, settling down on the tabletop and arching her back to give all the men down the line a nice delicious view down her top. "With pleasure, sir."

Slinking slowly to a stand, she swayed her hips into every furtive step of her bare feet. At least in Jabba's palace, she wore boots. Her new handlers wouldn't even let her wear those, any scrap of personal comfort too much to fit within their tale of a damsel princess freed by rebel heroes. As she spun her collar chain at her side, she made absolutely certain she shook her tits precisely how they taught her. Not slow; swift. Not short; wide. Not low; high. They needed to flounce and jiggle with pep, showing off every inch of sexy skin her newly enhanced boobs 'generously' gave her.

They were the real star of her show. Whenever she performed, eyes focused on the seductive sway of her 'liberated' knockers, no longer held captive by less savory types who sought to keep her bosom bounty for themselves. They were free, out and open for any able-bodied man to look upon and drool over. Leia didn't own her breasts. They owned her. And as she caught her chain, softly whipped it between her legs and ground it against her cunt, she bent over to give one of those men a better view of the luscious tits he helped protect.

"Great rack you've got there, Princess," the pervert smarmily remarked. "I can only imagine what that Jabba bastard did to them."

"Oh, it was terrible," Leia said with a feigned shallow gasp, dropping until her face fell level with his. "I'm so glad I have big, strong men like you joining the Rebel cause to keep me safe. I don't know what those awful Stormtroopers would do if they got their hands on me."

"Don't you worry, Princess. I won't let anything happen to you. You've got my word."

She pulled back. She raised and snaked her arms. She danced. As they ate and drank to the sashay of her wriggling ass, her loincloth swished across the table top, flashing her bare butt cheeks and the tiny thong wedged between them every time they parted. Her belly rolled. Her head drooped. Turning her back to one cadet, she suppressed a growl when he gave her rump a quick smack.

"Ow!" Leia softly, coquettishly muttered. "What mighty hands you have."

"You should see what I can do with other parts of my body."

"Mmm... that sounds like an invitation."

"Come to the barracks later and find out."

She squatted before him. Slid to her knees. Tossed aside her loincloth. Waving her ass side to side, she lowered her upper body until the man had a perfect up-front view of what he prized so much about her. His red palm print pulsed hot on her plump butt while it flexed and swayed. Looking over her shoulder, she saw him reaching for it, eyes wide and tongue licking his dry lips at what would soon be his.

The siren sounded. Just in time. To a choir of disappointed groans, Leia climbed off the table and sat down in the lap of the commander who so graciously asked her to entertain his new troops. She tossed her chain aside, wrapped her arms around his neck, raised her chest until her tits hung right in his face and whimpered.

"Do you have to go? There's so many things I haven't done to thank you and your men for watching over me."

"Sorry, Princess. You know the drill. We have to get back to training." Digging a hand into his pocket, he took out... one credit. One measly credit. The gold coin glimmered with a 1 on one side and Leia's likeness on the other, both set in front of the Rebel symbol.

It wasn't lost on Leia how they chose to place her on the cheapest coin in the fleet. She took it anyway, stretching her smile wider as the commander slipped it into her top and patted her boob for good measure.

"Thank you, sir. And remember," she moved in closer. Teased her full red lips against his. Breasts pressed against his chest, she lustily cooed, "You're my only hope."

She rose off his lap. Stretched her back. Walked away. While men geared up and rushed off, she slowly dropped her act and headed for the bar. She had one credit and five minutes before the next shoot of her 'documentary', after all. May as well spend it on a nice strong whiskey shot.

There might be a day when she could leave this humiliating excuse for living behind. A day when she could walk away from bikinis and photo shoots and impromptu burlesque shows and return to the diplomatic negotiations and trade agreements of her former life. For now, she was Princess Leia Organa, Rebel Slave.