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Zygerrian Triumvate; the Rescues of Obi-Wan Kenobi	By : Jade_Max Category: +S through Z > Star Wars: The Clone Wars Views: 6748 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Star Wars is George's sandbox, I'm simply destroying the sandcastles and make no money off of this

Chapter List
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Author's Note: None of these Rescues are related; they're all 'stand alone' sequences. Enjoy.
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Rescue #1
The slave auction went off without a hitch, the Kiros Torguta having fetched a price that was astronomically ridiculous, and Obi-Wan had watched as Ahsoka had matched it, cred for cred, until she came out with the winning bid. Enough, he knew, that the Jedi council would raise their eyebrows and refuse to pay it; but hopefully it would give them an 'in' to the location of the Kirosians.
"You seem eager to have many slaves of your own, Quinthel Deria," the Queen offered casually as she rose to her feet. "Whatever will you do with fifty thousand Torgrutans?"
"What else?" returned Ahsoka nonchalantly. "Pick through them to supply myself with more compatible slaves and resell the rest at a profit."
The Queen's lips tilted. "Ah. Well. If you require our services to facilitate such a transaction in the future, perhaps we will be able to negotiate a nominal fee to ensure your slaves are dealt with appropriately."
"That would be most welcome, your highness." Ahsoka bowed. "Now, if you've no objections, I wish to inspect my new acquisitions to ensure you're dealings are now as they ever were, in Zygerria's past."
"Of course," the Queen pressed a button on her console and spoke to it. "Atai."
The voice of her minister came through promptly. "Yes, my Queen?"
"Quinthel Deria has the winning bid on the Togrutan slaves. Arrange it; she wishes to inspect the slaves before final acquisition."
"Immediately, my Queen."
"There," she waved one hand dismissively. "Atai will make the arrangements; he will meet you outside my booth."
Ahsoka inclined her head, smiled a tight smile and, with a glance at Obi-Wan, turned to go. "I look forward to doing more business with you in the future, your majesty. Good day."
That left Obi-Wan, a silent shadow and still dressed in his golden nothings, with the end of his chain in the Queen's hands.
People came by the box at that point, other slavers who'd made acquisitions, and Obi-Wan knew that the Jedi task force Ahsoka would now be contacting covertly, once she had the information on the Kiros Togruta, would be picking them up one by one as they left and freeing their acquisitions.
Quietly, so not to draw suspicion on those left behind.
Almost an hour later, she rose to her feet and, chain still wrapped around her fingers, turned to leave, giving the coil a brief tug. She hadn't, yet, placed a shock collar around his neck and Obi-Wan suspected it was due to his 'good' behavior thus far. Obedient slaves had no need to be controlled by such means.
He obligingly went with her, falling into step just back and to her left, determined to do nothing that would earn him one of those collars.
They headed back to the throne room, where the Queen ascended to her throne once more and Obi-Wan was left, chain dangling, to the side of the throne in the shadows. Untended, he stayed where he was, a silent statue, though the sandals had begun to make his feet ache. The Queen proceeded to ignore him, casting the odd look his way as if to ensure he was still on his best behavior, but basically tending to business as normal as if he'd never been acquired.
That Ahsoka had gifted him to the Queen in an effort to win her favor - and a substantial discount of whatever slaves she should happen to wish - grated a little, but he silently applauded the move as a genius one. The Padawan had a distinct flare for dealing with the slavers, experience or not, and had more than proven her worth.
The day passed and Obi-Wan was escorted from the Queen's throne room by another attendant before being taken to slave quarters where he was told to refresh himself. Thinking that the Queen would undoubtedly call on him, forcing him to play the role in which he'd been left, he did as instructed with a sense of resignation.
Night, however, passed without summons and the next four days passed in much the same way; he an ornament for the Queen to display, either in gold, silver, green or blue, but never summoned after dark.
By morning of the fifth day, three days after he was supposed to have been rescued and abandoned his charade, he was starting to wonder if the Jedi Council had abandoned him to his fate. Not that they condoned slavery, but was it possible they'd simply forgotten he was still on Zygerria and a virtual slave for all he'd not done slave like things?
That morning followed much of the same pattern, until around noon when a woman - blonde with blue eyes and wrapped in a silver shirt so tight he wondered how she could breathe let alone move, that flowed into a filmy, flowing skirt of pale blue, entered the throne room. She was buxom and curvy and held an air of regal intent about her that immediately made him wary; he knew her.
She shot him a look as her gaze scanned the room before she came to a halt at the base of the stairs.
"Folte Tayash, your majesty," an aide announced.
Folte.
Obi-Wan managed not to betray any kind of response though her name rang bells; familiar, illicit bells. One of his last undercover assignments - posing as a merc - had been as her partner; that run in with this mercenary had resulted in him coming home with bloody furrows down his back; not all of them from mutual enjoyment.
She was a dangerous and unpredictable ally or foe and he was wary of the fact she should show up now - especially since she owed the Council a favor. Surely they hadn’t sent her to secure his release?
“Miraj Scintel; her Majesty of the Zygerrian Empire-”
Obi-Wan directed his gaze back to the floor as her honeyed accent flowed through the room like a slow caress, the gentle jingle of her jewelry and rustle of her dress a background murmur that only accentuated the exotic lilt in her words.
“- it’s been a long time, Miraj.”
“Folte,” Queen Miraj’s tone was something Obi-Wan had never heard - a kind of amused tolerance that was laced with anticipation and delight. “What brings you to my court?”
“An old friend can’t drop in to say hello?”
Miraj rose from her throne, making to descend, and Obi-Wan dropped to one knee as did the rest of the slaves and ministers – all but Folte. She simply crossed her arms over her chest and tossed her gleaming mane to the side; a motion Obi-Wan caught from the corner of his eye. It was hard not to notice Folte; she was striking, even among humans.
Beautiful but cold and deadly; she loved credits and little else aside from the odd sexual thrill.
“You never simply drop in to say hello,” Miraj told her with an amused tilt of her head as she stepped off the stairs. “I’ve not seen you since my ascension to the throne.”
“I’ve been busy,” offered Folte with an effortless shrug of one shoulder and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but note the way her bosom heaved under the tightly wrapped top, threatening to spill over it. “A girl has to make a living when she’s not the heir to a throne.”
“Is this your way of seeking forgiveness?” Miraj casually reached across and grasped the chain attached to Obi-Wan’s collar, drawing him with them as they headed for a room just off to the left. He took the opportunity to examine the contrast between the two women even as they entered an anteroom.
Folte was more beautiful than the Zygerrian Queen in a human kind of way, with curves the alien didn’t, and couldn’t, have. Hips that were well rounded, a bosom that was equally so, but firm and high, her hair trailing loosely over her shoulders down to her waist. He’d not seen it loose very often and even now the effect was enough he was exerting considerable willpower to ensure his physical reactions would not manifest; it would have been very, very obvious and immediately so in his tight costume.
With a laugh, Folte shook her head. “I never ask for forgiveness, Miraj,” she teased affectionately, “especially from you; surely you’ve not forgotten that.”
“Perhaps,” countered Miraj as she motioned towards a pair of full, plush cushions near a low table that stood off to the side, “however, it is always worth asking to see if you’ve changed.”
Folte settled on the proffered cushion and extended her leg with a pointed look at Obi-Wan. “Do any of your slaves give foot rubs, Miraj? Perhaps this… fine specimen? He appears to know how to use his… hands.”
"His hands?" Miraj looked intrigued. "What is your obsession with hands, Folte?"
“What else?” accepting the glass a nearby servant proffered as Miraj beckoned Obi-Wan near with a tug on the chain, Folte smiled a mysterious smile. “There are so few other parts on the body that have so many uses… and few with such potential for pleasure.”
“Slave; rub her feet.”
Obi-Wan knelt next to Folte as she and the Queen continued to speak, Folte lifting one leg to him as he slipped one elegant sandal from her foot, the chain at his collar slackening a little. He paid attention as Folte and Queen Miraj discussed their latest acquisitions, Miraj giving the mercenary the details as to how he’d been acquired and making her laugh.
He paid little attention to the story itself as he took Folte’s foot in his hands and, starting with her toes, began kneed the tension from the muscles. Her foot flexed as he struck a particularly sensitive spot he remembered at the arch and applied a dual knuckle press that had her gasping mid-sentence - an act that made Miraj cock her head at him.
“Is he good, Folte?”
“Mmm, I’m surprised you’ve not tried this one yourself, Miraj,” Folte reached out and ran a finger down Obi-Wan’s bare cheek, her nail drawing a faint red line against his skin.
Miraj’s people had ensured he’d been scrubbed, shaved and cleaned every day and though it was a degrading routine, he knew better than to protest or draw more attention to himself. For the moment he was her new sparkling toy, a mark of her prestige and a showcase of her power; that was enough attention for now. He didn't object to the caress as he continued to rub her foot, lifting it to ease closer, his fingers digging into her flesh with firm, easy strokes. It was a routine he well remembered; it wasn't the first time he'd played her 'slave' - though it was the first that actually had him in literal chains.
"I had thought to test him this evening," Miaj replied mildly, breaking the news as much to Folte as Obi-Wan, "you however, appear to be enjoying his talents. Tell me; do all humans enjoy foot rubs this much or is it simply a quirk of yours?"
"Oh mine," Folte assured her, pressing into the caress on her foot as Obi-Wan moved to her heel. Her skin was surprisingly soft for a woman who wore footwear as a necessary evil. "There's just something so... alluring about a man who knows how to press the right spots."
Unseen to Miraj, Obi-Wan flashed Folte a faint smile tinged with mischief and pressed again.
"Is the wine not to your liking, my friend?"
"Hmm?" Folte glanced at the still full glass that had been forgotten in her fingers and took an obliging sip. "My apologies, Miraj; I am enjoying your slave far, far too much. He’s very talented.”
“Is he now?” Miraj sounded decidedly intrigued again. “And you’ve deduced this all from having one foot rubbed?”
“One foot rubbed properly,” Folte agreed, kicking off her other shoe and pulling her foot free from Obi-Wan’s grasp before presenting the other. “However, you are right; one should always ensure the first time is not a fluke. Again, slave.”
He shot her a tight look but bent to the task, his fingers kneading the flesh of her foot with practiced eased, touching the most sensitive spots knowingly and taking a kind of dark delight in making her lose her train of thought as Miraj and she spoke about things other than his capture.
Done with her foot, he moved to her ankle and calf, loosening the muscles without being ask even as Folte shifted in her chair to uncross her legs for him. He glanced up to find her watching him and she quirked an eyebrow his way. “The whole leg now, slave; Miraj seems to think feet are not enough.”
“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan murmured, complying with the leg he was working, sliding his fingers up and further under her skirt, over her knee and onto her thigh. Well remembering the voracious appetite of this woman, he cast a sidelong look at the Queen from the corner of his eyes, considering his next move, and decided it was better than staying where he was.
Folte would either kick him away or leave him be.
His fingertips dug into her muscles, making her leg flex and her breath hiss on her words stuttered but didn’t stop, his hands slid up the length of her thigh, stopping just shy of the apex, teasing the sensitive skin with caresses instead of the firm massage. One hand worked to ease the tension in her muscles, the other gently stroking in a sensitive circle at the uppermost edge of her thigh.
She shifted unexpectedly, his fingers brushing against the dampness of the curls at the apex; she wore no under things.
Interesting.
She looked at him from the corner of her eye as he transferred his attentions to the other leg, spreading them further and causing him to brush intimately against her before settling once again at the tender flesh along the crease of her thigh and hip and sliding away.
Surely she’s not thinking to do anything here, he reflected, keeping his touch professional but also a touch taunting. She would not dare in front of the Queen no matter how well she knows her.
Folte didn’t move any further, though Obi-Wan was now kneeling between her legs, her skirt folded up to her knees, barely concealing what little modesty she had, his hands little more than a wave under the thin fabric. Her free foot suddenly moved, brushing against where his knees touched the floor, up over his thigh and then, to his surprise, to inside of it to touch his sack and, as she touched him, his swelling erection. The little shorts he wore were already uncomfortable, the sudden blood rush making them painfully so.
He had to stifle a groan of his own as she placed her foot flat against the hard ridge and pressed, her toes, more mobile than the average person’s, teasing the blunt tip even through the fabric. She deliberately stroked the ball of her foot up the tumescent length even as she spoke with Miraj.
“I like this one, Miraj,” not one to be played, Obi-Wan leaned into her foot, accepting the pressure as if it were expected and slipped the hand running the inside of her thigh to the apex. Her breath hitched as he caressed the sensitive outer edge of her sex, his fingers now slick with her essence even as his other hand continued as he’d been instructed. “How much do you want for him?”
His gaze rose to collide with hers and he suddenly saw her game. She was here to free him but not, it would appear without cost.
“All based on a half body massage?” The Queen now sounded amused. “Perhaps I should try his skills before settling on a price; I would not wish to undersell him.”
His hands stilled and Folte glance warningly at him before answering Miraj with a charming, almost nonchalant smile as she leaned back in her hair, her toes continuing to flex around his cock, flesh touching flesh with the tip now sticking out of the top of his shorts.
Sensing and seeing the challenge for what it was, he deliberately stroke one finger over her wet core, teasing with the movement before purposefully sliding his index and middle fingers into her and, without giving her a chance to react beyond a tightening of her body, curled them.
She hissed, her toes curling almost painfully, as her body jerked.
“Or perhaps not?”
At Miraj’s words, Folte straightened in her chair, his hand locked between her legs as her thighs clamped down around his arm, trapping him and then, much to his surprise, her toes hooked into the waistband of his short and tugged, freeing him further, but not completely. With his back still to the Queen, she couldn’t see how his eyelids suddenly drooped and he was forced to bite his lip and stifle a groan.
“Perhaps,” Folte managed as Obi-Wan’s breath caught as her foot resumed its task, his own fingers curling again within her body, “I might take him for a test run? I wouldn’t wish to invest in a slave that coul-uh-”
Miraj chuckled softly, “It would seem you are already enjoying him, my friend. Continue, if you wish to test his skills; perhaps a demonstration of them will show me his worth.”
A demonstration?
The words filtered into Obi-Wan’s brain as Folte’s toes slid down the length of his shaft, curling over the head before tucking into the waist band of his shorts. As they registered, the hand that had been massaging her leg slapped down over her foot, clamping it to his stomach and cock and his gaze flew to her face.
But Folte wasn’t paying him any attention, she’d cocked her head at Miraj and as a smirk appeared on her lips he didn’t recognize. “You know I don’t share.”
“I’m not asking you to share, simply showcase the talents you find so – slave,” there was suddenly a frown in Miraj’s tone, command evident in the syllables, “she didn’t tell you to stop.”
Obi-Wan’s fingers flexed around Folte’s foot, digging into the arch as it twitched against him and cast her a cautionary look. He was hot, hard and ready, but he would not give the Queen a show in the manner Folte seemed to wish. Slave or not, though the very thought of having the alien monarch watch them was not as unappealing than it could have been, he certainly hadn’t signed on for this when he’d agreed to the assignment.
At least, he didn’t recall Anakin saying anything about sexual encounters with an audience.
Though he could have been wrong; Anakin hadn’t exactly said anything about his golden attire either and he’d worn it anyway.
“He hasn’t, Miraj.”
Folte came to his rescue, her gaze not so much as flicking his way but the tight grip of her thighs on his arm eased, softening, and Obi-Wan uncurled his fingers, letting them slide. He withdrew his hand, flicking his thumb across the most sensitive part of her as he did, finding her clit hard and responsive, her body quivering as he did. His other thumb dug into the outside of her foot, massaging slow, small circles, too close to Folte to withdraw it. He eased the hand between her thighs down, firmly along her thigh to her knee and out from under her skirt and down to take her foot in both hands.
He didn’t dare give up the shield her foot offered, covering his exposed length, should Miraj choose to change her seat. Female Zygerrians, he knew from reading their history, preferred male slaves with wide and long girths to their cocks and he had no intention of having to seduce the Queen to earn his way out of her palace.
Not unless he had to.
The sound of the Queen rising to her feet reached his ears but he stayed where he was, massaging Folte’s foot, his head bent to the task.
“A private sampling you say, Folte?”
“Hmm; if you’d excuse us, Miraj?” she eased forward to run her fingers through Obi-Wan’s hair and he deliberately didn’t lean into the pseudo caress; slaves were here to pleasure their Masters, not take their own. “Or do you require more proof?”
“Just one thing.”
The purr in her voice put Obi-Wan immediately on guard, dampening his arousal enough to make it easier to breathe - though it didn’t seem to faze Folte, her nails raking the side of his skull and brushing one ear.
“Only one?”
“If he is as good as you think he will be, do you think me such a fool to believe the price you will quote me?”
Folte laughed, genuinely laughed, easing forward just that much more as she did, her gaze never leaving the Queen’s even as Obi-Wan was forced to drop her foot. He shifted his hands to her forearms kneading and massaging, working his way upwards towards her shoulders, his thumbs brushing deliberately against the outer swells of her breasts. With her legs on either side of his hips again, the scent of her excitement cloying and rich, her free hand set the wineglass down without looking before it touched the center of his chest with a deliberate caress.
“I trust that whatever number I give you will be inflated appropriately,” she countered with a knowing smile. “You must simply trust me to price him accordingly.”
“Are you eager to sample him, Folte?”
“Oh most eager,” agreed the mercenary. “It’s been some time since I last had a pleasure slave worth keeping; especially a human as alluring as this.”
“And if he’s not to your… exacting standards?”
“For the massage alone he’s worth keeping,” Folte countered, her gaze dipping briefly to Obi-Wan’s before going back to Miraj. “Harder, salve.”
He dug his fingers into her biceps, pausing long enough to deliberately and daringly - and within Miraj’s line of sight - stroke the pads of his thumbs over her obviously engorged nipples where they strained against the fabric of her shirt. His thumbs caressed the barred swells of her breast over the top of her shirt.
“Then please,” the Queen offered as the sound of the door opening could be heard, “enjoy him with my blessing. We can discuss price later when you are not so… occupied.”
“As ever, your majesty is full of good ideas.”
“I will have chambers made ready for you; until later.”
Miraj slipped out of the room and the door had barely closed before Folte’s hands both slid into his hair, drawing him upwards and forward into an intensely passionate kiss.
He pulled back almost immediately, speaking softly. “Why you, Folte?”
“Is that any way to greet your rescuer?” her eyes glittered, her volume level matching his. “I can’t explain here; later, once we’re in the air.”
“Then what- uh!”
She cut him off by reaching down to grasp the part of his cock that was outside his shorts, rubbing her hand down his shaft with such a sure, knowledgeable - but impatient - hand, it left him little doubt as to her state of arousal.
“Folte,” he spoke against her lips with a hiss, not quite believing the urgency he was feeling from her - and it had nothing to do with escape. “Here?”
“Here,” she confirmed, sliding forward on the seat even as she reached the barrier of the little shorts and then her hand flattened, dipping into the band and making him gasp, before the pressure around his hips eased. The fabric was literally peeled away and down, releasing him to her hand completely. “Now; sit back.”
“What?”
Her lips broke from his, her eyes flashing as he lifted her voice. “Sit back, slave.”
Arching an eyebrow, did she really expect him to cooperate, he cocked his head fractionally at her, opening his mouth to respond before closing it deliberately. Holocams, he realized. It wasn’t quite disturbing as having the Queen there in person but, when he was too slow to respond, Folte grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him back.
Losing his balance, he landed on his backside, his shorts around his knees, his erection jutting proudly before him, both hands extended behind him and to the side to keep his balance. Folte followed his fall, dropping down on his lap as she held her skirt and reach beneath it as she straddled his thighs. Her hand gripped him once more, stroking him with two deliberately firm strokes, when he was at her core, poised at the entrance.
Her gaze lifted back to his. “I shouldn’t be doing all the wo-”
Thrusting his hips upwards, Obi-Wan lodged the head of his cock inside the swollen, slick entrance to her core.
“-rk!”
“Yes, Mistress,” he agreed, his arms still behind him as he flexed his hips and thrust further, her hand releasing him as he surged upwards into the wet channel. “My apologies, Mistress.”
Her hands came to rest on his shoulders and she quickly found the rhythm he set, tilting her hips forward to match him thrust for thrust. She was primed to go off, her muscles tightening quickly around him as she squeezed his shaft within her inner embrace, accepting it, pulling it more deeply within her with each slide of flesh against flesh.
Her muscles flexed again, exhibiting more control as his body withdrew, falling into as rhythm as their breath shortened, Folte tossing her golden mane to the side as her bountiful breasts bounced before his face. Her head tilted back as she gasped, her fingers clutching his shoulders and digging in.
He reached for the Force.
Using it, touching it, he applied it, molding it to his need as he concentrated on her body. Starting at the top of her head, he swept a phantom caress downwards, touching her the way he remembered, driving her further to the brink.
“Mmm,” she moaned, tossing her head again, her hips taking on a near frantic motion. “More. More.”
He teased her nipples without really touching them, exciting the nerve clusters enough to make her gasp and bite her lip before he swept the Force-touch swiftly downwards. It grazed her belly, tucked under her skirts and found her the hard little bundle of nerves that was waiting for the right touch. She sat on the knife edge, clearly defined to his senses.
With the right nudge-
Folte screamed, a sound of triumph and delight, her body arcing backwards as she reached the edge of her control and plummeted into the abyss of pleasure.
Obi-Wan didn’t hold her, even though he wanted to, his cock still swollen and aching within her, not having found his release. Conscious of the fact he was playing a slave and that they were likely on vid or holo, he stayed in the position she’d dropped him, Folte quaking against his chest as she struggled to come down from the high. When she did, she sat bad and smirked.
And then she stood, sliding him free with a hiss as she regained her feet and straightened her dress.
Obi-Wan blinked at the unexpected tactic and was forced to his own feet when she grasped the chain around his collar and tugged. His shorts around his knees, he rose awkwardly, painfully swollen and needing release; a release he knew wouldn’t be soon in coming.
He remembered Folte alright; the woman was a machine. Kinky and devious, she wasn’t above using a situation to her advantage and this was a prime example.
She leaned in close, licking his face from chin to ear. "Soon," she whispered huskily, palming him firmly. "I promise."
And Folte, Obi-Wan knew as he bit back a groan, always kept her promises - but on her timetable. He would simply have to wait and see, to trust her to deliver.
As it turned out, they were off planet before she could; once on the ship she’d brought to facilitate his rescue, Obi-Wan had been informed that she’d been employed by the Council to infiltrate the court of the Queen and facilitate his rescue – an action that would fulfill the debt she owed the Jedi Council.
Her eyes flashed as she realized the debt she owed him - and set about clearing the slate for good.
There were, he reflected, far, far worse ways to be rescued.
fin
[end rescue 1]
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Zygerrian Triumvate; the Rescues of Obi-Wan Kenobi