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Short-term smut prompt.
I'm between two ideas with this prompt with the short interaction down below acting as a broad idea for the vibe I'm imagining; either an enslaved Twilek or Jedi companion, both plucky, and endlessly infuriating to their Sith 'owner' and/or ally whom they torture regularly by teasing them. The context for their relationship is of minor importance to me, only that they've come together and that my character / our Sith, Sylvan, has developed a Force Bond with YC. It's love at first sight. And, as a result of it, they find YC's every action and movement intoxicating. It makes them very prime material to be good-naturedly flustered and made hot and bothered as what is basically a failgirl lesbian.
Our Sith is, however, still very much a creature being shot at from every direction by their worst impulses and desires. Whether YC is fully aware of this is up to you, but it is NOT my intention for Sylvan to indulge them. Most of what makes her fun to play in my mind is that she respects YC too much (and loves them too dearly) to do anything that would endanger their relationship. I like her ignoring her demons and treating this RP as a fully consensual, lovey-dovey 'making love, not fucking' story.
The plot itself is highly flexible here. I don't care if we toss out the text below completely. My only real concern is a very pentup, sexually frustrated Sith having highly consensual and enthusiastic sex with her very annoying, cockteasing friend that she has a sapphic Force Bond with. Expect a lot of foreplay, kissing, repeated orgasms, Sylvan being a service caretaker. Sex positivity. Failgirl lesbianism. HANDHOLDING.
WHY DOES SHE WALK LIKE THAT?!
Unfathomably, the soft sway of the Twilek's hips in front of her only seemed to become more sensual, each step drawing Sylvan in deeper as they walked together down the busy streets of Nar-Shaddaa. Not beside one another, though. No. Sylvan had gotten distracted ten minutes ago by the soft, delicate-looking arms of her companion, and now she was stuck behind them like she were trapped in a tractor beam. The very second that her... whatever she was, had noticed her state, they'd done everything they needed to keep her trapped behind them by ten paces, walking and then abruptly stopping in perfect tandem, all of this for five whole minutes.
'Everything' meant 'barely anything.' All they'd needed to do was a shitty little stage walk, one foot in front of the other, putting a gentle little 'kick' into his movement of her thin, practically fucking invisible hipline. There was barely anything there. She was thin as a twig.
Why. Can't. She. Stop. Looking.
"Hey, um, Sylvie?"
[I hate that name.]
Sylvan chokes on her own heart when she hears her nickname. The one her supposed slave had picked for her. When she looks up, the Twi'lek has stopped, turning to look at them through the sweltering fog arising from a vent beneath her feet, beads of sweat tracing down her body, including around the gingerly curious smile directed her way, slowly falling onto the collar wrapped around her throat.
"Y...yeah?"
"You need to sit down? Seem preeeetty slow, man."
[Drag her down the street by her collar.]
"Oh. Sorry. I'll... I'll walk faster."
Her face creases with what she knows is bullshit concern, and they follow it up by getting closer to Sylvan. Very close. Close enough that her breath catches in her throat and Sylvan has to struggle to hold her breath even as her body shakes and the putrid part of her soul screams at her.
"Dude. I just wanna know if you're okay is all. Nothing going on?"
[Punch her in the face.]
"N...No." Her voice is pathetically weak. Raspy. The slave's worried face makes her want to laugh and cry. God, she's pretty. The blue of her skin, it's...
"Really? 'Cause," and they lean in close now, and Sylvan knows that she's being fucked with, because the other woman's modest but nonetheless entrancing cleavage is allowed to show through the top of her shirt, and Sylvan can't help but glance, and the tip of the slave's lips twitch ever so slightly upwards. "...You seem pretty distracted. Absolutely nothing going on?"
[If you want to see her body, tear off her shirt and-]
"Please stop," she mutters.
"Stop what?"
"Not you."
"... Huh? Who?"
[Lick the sweat off her lekku.]
"Oh my Stars," Sylvan groans. This day couldn't end any faster.
I'm between two ideas with this prompt with the short interaction down below acting as a broad idea for the vibe I'm imagining; either an enslaved Twilek or Jedi companion, both plucky, and endlessly infuriating to their Sith 'owner' and/or ally whom they torture regularly by teasing them. The context for their relationship is of minor importance to me, only that they've come together and that my character / our Sith, Sylvan, has developed a Force Bond with YC. It's love at first sight. And, as a result of it, they find YC's every action and movement intoxicating. It makes them very prime material to be good-naturedly flustered and made hot and bothered as what is basically a failgirl lesbian.
Our Sith is, however, still very much a creature being shot at from every direction by their worst impulses and desires. Whether YC is fully aware of this is up to you, but it is NOT my intention for Sylvan to indulge them. Most of what makes her fun to play in my mind is that she respects YC too much (and loves them too dearly) to do anything that would endanger their relationship. I like her ignoring her demons and treating this RP as a fully consensual, lovey-dovey 'making love, not fucking' story.
The plot itself is highly flexible here. I don't care if we toss out the text below completely. My only real concern is a very pentup, sexually frustrated Sith having highly consensual and enthusiastic sex with her very annoying, cockteasing friend that she has a sapphic Force Bond with. Expect a lot of foreplay, kissing, repeated orgasms, Sylvan being a service caretaker. Sex positivity. Failgirl lesbianism. HANDHOLDING.
WHY DOES SHE WALK LIKE THAT?!
Unfathomably, the soft sway of the Twilek's hips in front of her only seemed to become more sensual, each step drawing Sylvan in deeper as they walked together down the busy streets of Nar-Shaddaa. Not beside one another, though. No. Sylvan had gotten distracted ten minutes ago by the soft, delicate-looking arms of her companion, and now she was stuck behind them like she were trapped in a tractor beam. The very second that her... whatever she was, had noticed her state, they'd done everything they needed to keep her trapped behind them by ten paces, walking and then abruptly stopping in perfect tandem, all of this for five whole minutes.
'Everything' meant 'barely anything.' All they'd needed to do was a shitty little stage walk, one foot in front of the other, putting a gentle little 'kick' into his movement of her thin, practically fucking invisible hipline. There was barely anything there. She was thin as a twig.
Why. Can't. She. Stop. Looking.
"Hey, um, Sylvie?"
[I hate that name.]
Sylvan chokes on her own heart when she hears her nickname. The one her supposed slave had picked for her. When she looks up, the Twi'lek has stopped, turning to look at them through the sweltering fog arising from a vent beneath her feet, beads of sweat tracing down her body, including around the gingerly curious smile directed her way, slowly falling onto the collar wrapped around her throat.
"Y...yeah?"
"You need to sit down? Seem preeeetty slow, man."
[Drag her down the street by her collar.]
"Oh. Sorry. I'll... I'll walk faster."
Her face creases with what she knows is bullshit concern, and they follow it up by getting closer to Sylvan. Very close. Close enough that her breath catches in her throat and Sylvan has to struggle to hold her breath even as her body shakes and the putrid part of her soul screams at her.
"Dude. I just wanna know if you're okay is all. Nothing going on?"
[Punch her in the face.]
"N...No." Her voice is pathetically weak. Raspy. The slave's worried face makes her want to laugh and cry. God, she's pretty. The blue of her skin, it's...
"Really? 'Cause," and they lean in close now, and Sylvan knows that she's being fucked with, because the other woman's modest but nonetheless entrancing cleavage is allowed to show through the top of her shirt, and Sylvan can't help but glance, and the tip of the slave's lips twitch ever so slightly upwards. "...You seem pretty distracted. Absolutely nothing going on?"
[If you want to see her body, tear off her shirt and-]
"Please stop," she mutters.
"Stop what?"
"Not you."
"... Huh? Who?"
[Lick the sweat off her lekku.]
"Oh my Stars," Sylvan groans. This day couldn't end any faster.
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