The cards slithered across the dejarik table’s hologrid with that particular click-hiss only worn sabaac decks made after one too many spice smugglers had shuffled them in sweaty cantinas. Lieutenant Renzel’s right eyelid fluttered as he stared at the shifting symbols. The smell of ion engines leaking through the gambling den’s ill-fitted airlock couldn’t mask his cologne’s sharp tang—something Core World and expensive, clinging to his spotless gray uniform collar.Leia let her fur-lined boot brush his shin under the table. “Problem with your hand, Lieutenant?”The muscle beneath his left eye jumped this time. Eighteen minutes into the game and she’d catalogued every tell—left eyelid for bluffs, right for concealed panic. His code cylinder glinted when he reached for his drink, the gold cap’s encryption ridges catching the dim light. So close. Almost there.“You’ve got an interesting play style, Miss…?” His gaze lingered on the plunging neckline of her backwater aristocrat disguise, the pearlescent fabric tight enough to make breathing an afterthought.“Lena.” She tapped her fifth card’s edge against the table, letting the motion sway her shoulders just enough to deepen her cleavage’s shadow. “Your move.”He drummed fingers still smudged with engine grease from whatever classified shuttle he’d been hauling through the Outer Rim. The den’s swirling hololights painted sweat tracks down his temples. Her thighs pressed together under the table—not from the game’s tension, but the way his throat pulsed when she uncrossed her legs slowly. Mothma’s briefing had been explicit: His weakness isn’t credits.“All in.” Renzel shoved his remaining chips forward. The stack trembled. “Unless you’d prefer to…renegotiate the stakes?”She let her lower lip catch between her teeth for three calculated seconds. “I prefer winning.” Her thumb slid across the card reader. The hologrid flared, her hidden modulator overriding the illegal casino’s safeguards. His eyes widened as her deck flipped—pure sabacc, shimmering in midair.The lieutenant’s chair clattered against the permacrete. “You’re cheating.”Leia rose, letting the slit in her dress expose thigh all the way to the holstered vibrocuff controls. “What’s the phrase?” She stepped into his personal space, fingertips grazing the code cylinder. “Ah yes—the stars sing for silent victories.”His pupils dilated. She felt the tremor run through him before his hands seized her hips, slamming her against the nearest booth’s durasteel divider. The clang reverberated through the den, ignored by Twi’lek dealers and Gran smugglers already drunk on Tarisian ale.“You think you’re clever?” Renzel’s breath hit her neck, hot and uneven. His belt buckle dug into her stomach, the hard line of his arousal unmistakable. “I know what you are.”Leia laughed, low and throaty, as she palmed the cuffs clipped beneath the booth’s edge. “Then arrest me, Lieutenant.” Her knee nudged his groin, not hard enough to deter, just enough to make him groan. “Or show me how Imperials handle treason.” His mouth crushed hers, all teeth and desperation. She let him fumble with her dress’s magnetic clasp, her own hands working faster. The vibrocuff’s first bracelet locked around his wrist with a click he mistook for her belt. When he tore the dress open, she arched into him, her breasts flush against his now unbuttoned uniform. “Take it off,” he rasped, nipping her collarbone. “All of it.”Leia obliged, shimmying until the fabric pooled at her waist. His gasp was worth every minute spent in the Falcon’s ‘fresher prepping—waxed skin gleaming under the den’s lurid lights, the Rebel Alliance’s standard-issue inhibitors masking her pheromones replaced with Mandalorian arousal balm. She caught his wrist before he could grope, steering his hand to the cuff’s other half bolted to the table. “Hold there,” she murmured, teeth grazing his earlobe. His uniform trousers hit the floor. His cock strained against black briefs, the outline already glistening. Leia sank to her knees, her hair veiling the data spike she slotted into the table’s concealed port. “What the—?” His hips jerked as she mouthed him through the fabric, the damp heat making him forget the cuff’s weight around his wrist. “Trust issues?” She eased his briefs down, her tongue flicking the bead of precum. His moan shook the booth’s flimsy curtain. “Relax, Lieutenant…” Her lips sealed over the crown, sucking hard as her free hand found his balls. He chanted her alias. Lena. Lena. Lena. She timed each bob of her head to the data spike’s quiet hum, Renzel’s cortex implant uploading code cylinder secrets with every pulse of his heartbeat. His fingers tangled in her hair, urging her deeper, and for a moment she let him think he was in control—let him fuck her throat until tears blurred her eyeliner. Then she pulled back, saliva stringing between her lips and his swollen tip. “My turn.” She stood, the booth’s cushions crackling with static as she straddled him. His remaining hand pawed at her breasts, pinching nipples hardened by the den’s overworked AC. Leia positioned him at her entrance, watching his face as she sank down. His mouth fell open, all pretense of military discipline undone by her tight heat. Vaginal biometrics confirmed, her ocular implant flashed. The data spike pulsed faster. “Move,” he begged, slamming his free fist against the table. She rocked her hips in tormenting increments, her inner muscles clenching each time he tried to thrust up. “Wait for it…” Her whisper danced across his lips. “Wait for the drop.”When the data spike pinged completion, she bit down on his bottom lip. His back arched off the seat as she rode him in earnest now, slamming down until the booth’s joints creaked. The vibrocuff rattled as he strained to touch her, to reclaim any semblance of power, but Leia kept his trapped arm stretched taut. “You’re close,” she taunted, her breasts bouncing with every collision of their hips. Sweat matted his chest hair, and she ground her clit against his pelvis with each downward stroke. “Want to come inside your little Rebel spy?”His shout echoed off the corrugated ceiling, his release triggering her own. She milked him through it, clenching rhythmically until he whimpered. Only when his cock began to soften did she slip off him, the data spike’s warm casing nestling between her breasts as she redressed. “Stay.” She blew him a kiss, her heel clicking the vibrocuff’s remote. The second bracelet snapped around his ankle, chaining him to the table. “The House always collects its debts.”

Leia, disguised as Lena, outmaneuvers Lieutenant Renzel in a game of sabacc, using a hidden modulator to cheat and win. She then seduces him, using the distraction to upload secrets from his code cylinder via a data spike concealed in her hair. After successfully extracting the data, she leaves him cuffed to the table.



The cards slithered across the dejarik table’s hologrid with that particular _click-hiss_ only worn sabaac decks made after one too many spice smugglers had shuffled them in sweaty cantinas. Lieutenant Renzel’s right eyelid fluttered as he stared at the shifting symbols. The smell of ion engines leaking through the gambling den’s ill-fitted airlock couldn’t mask his cologne’s sharp tang—something Core World and expensive, clinging to his spotless gray uniform collar.

Leia let her fur-lined boot brush his shin under the table. “Problem with your hand, Lieutenant?”

The muscle beneath his left eye jumped this time. Eighteen minutes into the game and she’d catalogued every tell—left eyelid for bluffs, right for concealed panic. His code cylinder glinted when he reached for his drink, the gold cap’s encryption ridges catching the dim light. _So close. Almost there._

“You’ve got an interesting play style, Miss…?” His gaze lingered on the plunging neckline of her backwater aristocrat disguise, the pearlescent fabric tight enough to make breathing an afterthought.

“Lena.” She tapped her fifth card’s edge against the table, letting the motion sway her shoulders just enough to deepen her cleavage’s shadow. “Your move.”

He drummed fingers still smudged with engine grease from whatever classified shuttle he’d been hauling through the Outer Rim. The den’s swirling hololights painted sweat tracks down his temples. Her thighs pressed together under the table—not from the game’s tension, but the way his throat pulsed when she uncrossed her legs slowly. Mothma’s briefing had been explicit: _His weakness isn’t credits._

“All in.” Renzel shoved his remaining chips forward. The stack trembled. “Unless you’d prefer to…renegotiate the stakes?”

She let her lower lip catch between her teeth for three calculated seconds. “I prefer winning.” Her thumb slid across the card reader. The hologrid flared, her hidden modulator overriding the illegal casino’s safeguards. His eyes widened as her deck flipped—pure sabacc, shimmering in midair.

The lieutenant’s chair clattered against the permacrete. “You’re cheating.”

Leia rose, letting the slit in her dress expose thigh all the way to the holstered vibrocuff controls. “What’s the phrase?” She stepped into his personal space, fingertips grazing the code cylinder. “Ah yes—_the stars sing for silent victories._”

His pupils dilated. She felt the tremor run through him before his hands seized her hips, slamming her against the nearest booth’s durasteel divider. The _clang_ reverberated through the den, ignored by Twi’lek dealers and Gran smugglers already drunk on Tarisian ale.

“You think you’re clever?” Renzel’s breath hit her neck, hot and uneven. His belt buckle dug into her stomach, the hard line of his arousal unmistakable. “I know what you are.”

Leia laughed, low and throaty, as she palmed the cuffs clipped beneath the booth’s edge. “Then arrest me, Lieutenant.” Her knee nudged his groin, not hard enough to deter, just enough to make him groan. “Or show me how Imperials handle treason.” 

His mouth crushed hers, all teeth and desperation. She let him fumble with her dress’s magnetic clasp, her own hands working faster. The vibrocuff’s first bracelet locked around his wrist with a _click_ he mistook for her belt. When he tore the dress open, she arched into him, her breasts flush against his now unbuttoned uniform. 

“Take it off,” he rasped, nipping her collarbone. “All of it.”

Leia obliged, shimmying until the fabric pooled at her waist. His gasp was worth every minute spent in the _Falcon_’s ‘fresher prepping—waxed skin gleaming under the den’s lurid lights, the Rebel Alliance’s standard-issue inhibitors masking her pheromones replaced with Mandalorian arousal balm. She caught his wrist before he could grope, steering his hand to the cuff’s other half bolted to the table. 

“Hold _there_,” she murmured, teeth grazing his earlobe. His uniform trousers hit the floor. 

His cock strained against black briefs, the outline already glistening. Leia sank to her knees, her hair veiling the data spike she slotted into the table’s concealed port. 

“What the—?” His hips jerked as she mouthed him through the fabric, the damp heat making him forget the cuff’s weight around his wrist. 

“Trust issues?” She eased his briefs down, her tongue flicking the bead of precum. His moan shook the booth’s flimsy curtain. “Relax, Lieutenant…” Her lips sealed over the crown, sucking hard as her free hand found his balls. 

He chanted her alias. Lena. Lena. _Lena._ She timed each bob of her head to the data spike’s quiet hum, Renzel’s cortex implant uploading code cylinder secrets with every pulse of his heartbeat. His fingers tangled in her hair, urging her deeper, and for a moment she let him think he was in control—let him fuck her throat until tears blurred her eyeliner. 

Then she pulled back, saliva stringing between her lips and his swollen tip. “My turn.” She stood, the booth’s cushions crackling with static as she straddled him. His remaining hand pawed at her breasts, pinching nipples hardened by the den’s overworked AC. 

Leia positioned him at her entrance, watching his face as she sank down. His mouth fell open, all pretense of military discipline undone by her tight heat. _Vaginal biometrics confirmed_, her ocular implant flashed. The data spike pulsed faster. 

“Move,” he begged, slamming his free fist against the table. 

She rocked her hips in tormenting increments, her inner muscles clenching each time he tried to thrust up. “Wait for it…” Her whisper danced across his lips. “Wait for the drop.”

When the data spike pinged completion, she bit down on his bottom lip. His back arched off the seat as she rode him in earnest now, slamming down until the booth’s joints creaked. The vibrocuff rattled as he strained to touch her, to reclaim any semblance of power, but Leia kept his trapped arm stretched taut. 

“You’re close,” she taunted, her breasts bouncing with every collision of their hips. Sweat matted his chest hair, and she ground her clit against his pelvis with each downward stroke. “Want to come inside your little Rebel spy?”

His shout echoed off the corrugated ceiling, his release triggering her own. She milked him through it, clenching rhythmically until he whimpered. Only when his cock began to soften did she slip off him, the data spike’s warm casing nestling between her breasts as she redressed. 

“Stay.” She blew him a kiss, her heel clicking the vibrocuff’s remote. The second bracelet snapped around his ankle, chaining him to the table. “The House always collects its debts.”

In the seedy underbelly of an Outer Rim gambling den, Princess Leia, disguised as a backwater aristocrat, engages in a high-stakes sabaac game with Lieutenant Renzel of the Imperial Signals Corps.

The game is more than just a bet—it's a mission to obtain crucial clearance codes for a Lambda shuttle.

Leia uses her wits and charm to outmaneuver Renzel, both at the game table and in a secluded booth.

The encounter escalates into a fierce battle of wills and a steamy sexual encounter where Leia exploits Renzel's weaknesses to extract the necessary information.

Code of the Empire

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