velvetwand

It was never about rescuing Han. Not at first. Oh, she’d told Luke and Lando and the droids the plan: sneak in, secure intel, set Chewie as a baited trap, and open the gates from the inside. But that was the cover. The real operation lived inside Leia Organa’s private war room—the one between her thighs. The war had gone on too long. Her body, forged in the fire of rebellion, ached in ways no blaster wound ever could. She hadn’t been touched in months. And the thought of Han—so close, frozen in carbonite, his mouth locked open in a scream—drove her wild. She’d visit him in secret during the nights on Tatooine, pressing her lips to the freezing slab, whispering filthy things only carbon could hear. She wanted him back, yes. But more than that, she wanted to feel again. Wanted to be stripped, chained, used until her body trembled like the Falcon breaking orbit. So she made a plan. A dangerous, devious, perverted plan. One only a princess could get away with. She dressed in the armor of Boushh, but the mask wasn’t to hide her identity. It was to hide her smirk. Chewbacca played his part—snarling, growling, shackled. And when Jabba accepted the bounty and threw the Wookiee in the cells, Leia didn’t slip away like a thief. She waited, waited for the night, waited to free Solo. But the alarm sounded too soon and the guards stormed the carbonite chamber and dragged her out of the smoke—Boushh’s mask yanked free, revealing her face. Jabba laughed. A deep, grotesque burble of mirth. “Princess Leia Organa,” he croaked in Huttese, “I should’ve known. But now… now you belong to me.”. Exactly what she wanted. They stripped her right there in the throne room, armor clattered to the floor. Soft, royal skin exposed under the torchlight. The cold metal of the chain collar snapped around her neck and Leia… moaned. Just faintly. Barely enough to be heard over the din of Hutt laughter. The chain was thick. Heavy. It didn’t bind her—it defined her. In that moment, Leia shed her past. Not princess, not rebel—just a creature of want and control. Jabba’s tongue lolled. His tail slithered toward her, and Leia dropped to her knees without command. She played the part perfectly: humiliated, debased, exotic. But her eyes? They watched every movement of the guards, every control panel, every security cam blind spot. She served, her body bore the marks of her “service”: bruises where Gamorrean hands had gripped too hard, bite marks from Twi’lek dancers envious of her favor, the raw burn of chain against skin from how hard she pulled it while riding Jabba’s throne like a girl possessed. And yet every night, after the last moan faded from the palace walls and Jabba slumbered in his grotesque bulk, Leia would sneak. Naked but for the collar. Grease-smudged, tasting of sweat and degradation. She’d slip into the palace systems. One by one, she deactivated backup alarms. Overrode locking systems. Swapped access codes. All while moaning in pleasure as she “serviced” guards in dark corners. Her screams weren’t just ecstasy—they were cover. A symphony of smut masking sabotage.

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.

Two petite, wealthy, and sexually adventurous young women, Mala and Anne, The narrative delves into themes of mutual exploration, shared sexual history, and the thrill of discovering new kinks, all within the context of their unapologetic and adventurous relationship. They use immersive VR to explore new worlds and new satisfaction