The doors to Detention Corridor 1138 hissed open, and the sharp, recycled air of the cell block’s main artery met the burnt ozone stench clinging to Vader’s armor. The troopers standing post stiffened as the black-clad monstrosity glided down the hall, boots silent, cape whispering in his wake. Captain Dreis, a pallid officer with the soft jaw of an Imperial trust-fund brat, looked ready to wet himself as he delivered the news.
“They’re ready for you, Lord Vader. The senator and the… insurgent.” Dreis’s adam’s apple bobbed. “She’s the one who stole the plans. The—uh—data thief.”
Vader’s mask turned fractionally, considering. “Bring them.”
The blast doors cycled open with a hydraulic groan. Princess Leia glided between two troopers, chin high, wrists bound in elegant restraint. Her white shift was somehow immaculate, as if the Empire’s best efforts at humiliation had only allowed her to launder it by sheer force of will. She made a show of yawning as she was marched into the cell block’s interrogation chamber.
Vader didn’t move. “Princess Organa.”
Leia let out a sigh, as if she’d been hoping for someone else. “Lord Vader. I see the hospitality at this facility is as charming as ever.”
“Your attempts at levity are wasted,” Vader said. “You will provide the location of the rebel base.”
Leia arched an eyebrow. “You’re supposed to ask me how I am first. Interrogation etiquette, Lord Vader. You catch more rebels with honey.”
He moved so close she could see the fine carbon scoring around the grill of his respirator, the helmet’s obsidian surface casting back a warped version of her own face. “You found our last session amusing, then?”
“You should try the diplomatic meetings I have to endure,” Leia said.
She would never admit it, but having three men fuck her at once, even having Lord Vader taking her in her asshole, had been a bit thrilling. Quite the change from the endless speeches and small talk she normally had to endure as a princess.
“But this time, Princess, it is not you alone,” Vader said, stepping aside so the last of the corridor’s lights caught Leia’s face in hard relief.
The doors behind her hissed open. Leia turned—only as much as the stormtrooper’s grip allowed—and saw the other prisoner, still dressed in a stolen imperial uniform. Jyn Erso, walking, or being walked, chin up but hair askew, a scab splitting her lip at the center.
Leia’s heart stuttered, just for a moment. Jyn’s eyes met hers, and Leia tried to project calm, that cool Alderaanian stoicism she’d once practiced in a mirror.
“Your friend will suffer if you do not cooperate,” Vader said, the words as casual as if he were noting the time. He nodded at one of the troopers. “Demonstrate.”
A trooper stepped behind and reached forward, gripping the front of her shirt and pulling it open, leaving her breasts bare to the cold air.
Jyn looked annoyed and simply closed her top once more.
Leia’s mouth went dry. She tried to keep her face blank, but she could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. Forcing these indignities on her was one thing. She could take them. But it was quite another to see her fellow rebel in such a situation.
She forced a smirk. “Well, if this is your idea of intimidation, Vader, I’m afraid it’s a little pedestrian.”
Vader gave a barely perceptable nod to the trooper behind Leia. Standing behind her, he reached forward, his hands purposefully caressing over Leia’s breasts. Her face involuntarily grimaced. Then he tore open her dress, baring her naked breasts for Vader to see.
Leia struggled to contain the wave of shame that came over her.
Vader’s mask was an abyss. “Where is the Rebel base?”
From the corner, Jyn spat blood from her split lip. “Don’t tell them anything, Princess. They won’t break us.”
Leia’s heart twisted, but she didn’t look away from Jyn. “She’s quite right, Lord Vader. You’re not getting anything from me. Or her.”
Vader inclined his head to the stormtrooper. “Proceed.”
The stormtrooper behind Jyn came forward again and this time grabbed Jyn’s shirt with more violence, tearing it open and making her wince. She knew better than to try to close it this time.
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The trooper’s gloved hand closed around Jyn’s exposed breast, squeezing hard. Jyn’s body tensed, but she made no sound. Leia’s vision tunneled, rage and panic mixing like acid in her stomach.
“Stop,” Leia said. Her voice was ice now. “You want to threaten me, Vader? Threaten me. But if you touch her again, I will make you regret it.”
Vader’s mask hovered inches from her face. “You are in no position to make threats, Princess.”
Leia bared her teeth. “Try me.”
Silence. The air between them vibrated with it, sharp as the tang of ozone. Leia’s chest hurt from holding the pose, but she would not let them see her break. Beneath the mask, Vader’s breath sawed in and out, an endless, mechanical tide.
“So be it,” he said, and motioned. The troopers gripped Leia and Jyn by the elbows and marched them down the corridor, past cells where other prisoners slumped in their own private despairs. The click of boots on plastcrete echoed too loudly in Leia’s ears, and the cold of the cuffs pressed bone-deep.
They pushed through another set of blast doors, into a chamber whose walls were studded with observation ports and restraining arms. In the center hovered a black interrogation droid, its array of syringes and scalpels glinting in the sterile light. Beneath it, two low black leather platforms gleamed.
Leia swallowed. This was not the room from last time, but its purpose was clear enough.
The troopers shoved Jyn forward first. They ripped away her battered tunic, exposing skin mottled with bruises and dried blood. Leia tried not to watch, tried not to see the way Jyn’s chin stayed high, the way her eyes burned, even as they forced her onto the platform.
A gloved hand seized Leia by the hair and yanked her head back. She bit her tongue, tasted copper, and let them strip her, too. The cold made her nipples pucker, and she tried to make a joke—something about the Empire’s fashion sense—but the words jammed in her throat.
They forced her to her knees, right at the head of the platform, so she had no choice but to look Jyn in the eyes. Jyn’s expression was a snarl and a plea all at once.
Vader’s shadow fell over Leia. He set both hands on her shoulders, the weight immense, the heat of the suit’s power pack radiating through her bones.
“Her fate is in your hands, Princess,” he said, and the droid’s needle whirred to life.
A trooper stepped forward, detached the codpiece of his armor, and his cock sprang up, already hard. Leia’s stomach twisted. She remembered the last time—how the pain and humiliation had been sharpened by the perverse, traitorous arousal in her own core. She’d hated herself for that, in the aftermath.
She hated herself for it now.
The trooper positioned himself between Jyn’s legs. With a grunt, he lined up and thrust in. Jyn’s body bucked, her face twisted, but she made no sound. Leia’s eyes stung, but she would not look away. She owed Jyn that much.
Behind her, Vader’s grip tightened.
“Tell me what I want to know,” he said, voice low, “or watch her suffer.” He tilted Leia’s head forward, forcing her to see every inch as the trooper pistoned into Jyn, every jerk of her body, every time her fists clenched.
Leia’s jaw ached. She could feel herself trembling.
The droid hovered closer, a needle aimed at the soft skin of Jyn’s throat. A drop of clear fluid swelled at its tip, ready to plunge.
Leia tried to summon her father’s calm, her mother’s wit, anything but the hot animal panic roaring in her veins. She forced the words out. “You’re wasting your time, Vader. She won’t break. Neither will I.”
Vader leaned close, his breath a furnace in her ear. “You misunderstand, Princess. This is not about breaking. This is about demonstrating what the Empire does to its enemies.”
Another trooper approached, already unbuckling his armor. Leia’s vision blurred at the edges.
On the platform, Jyn met Leia’s gaze, and for a moment, Leia thought she saw something like gratitude there—something wild and defiant, even in agony.
The second trooper forced himself into Jyn’s mouth. She gagged, but managed to twist her head enough to breathe. Leia’s own mouth filled with saliva, as if her body was bracing for the same.
Vader’s hands squeezed tighter. “You can stop this. All you have to do is talk.”
Leia steeled herself, strands of hair sticking to her damp forehead. “Oh, and miss my turn - where’s the fun in that?”
The needle plunged into Jyn’s neck. Her back arched, a strangled sound clawing from her throat. Leia’s whole body flinched. She wanted to throw herself onto the platform, to bite and scratch and rip at the trooper’s exposed flesh, but Vader held her in place, immovable as a mountain.
She made herself watch. She would remember this. She would remember every detail, so that if she survived, there would never be a day when she forgot what the Empire was.
She would not break. Not for them. Not for this.
But the heat between her legs would not go away. Not even as she knelt there, naked and shivering, watching her friend’s dignity and flesh be torn apart.
A stormtrooper came forward, armor plates hissing, his massive cock already swollen and bobbing in time with his bootstrides. He took her by the jaw and his cock slammed into her mouth, blunt and salty, stretching her lips so wide she felt the strain in her jaw hinge. They had clearly chosen the trooper carefully for this job.
Leia gurgled, choked, gagged on the pressure. The trooper’s grip was relentless, his fingers digging against her scalp. She tasted sweat, metal, the faint sting of antiseptic. Her eyes watered and her nostrils flared, drawing in the stink of men and recycled air and her own wet panic. She tried to breath through her nose, short sharp bursts whenever he pulled out enough, mind clinging to the rhythm of the thrusts and the blackness behind her eyes. She heard herself gagging and choking.
Her mind floated, somewhere above the room, and she saw herself as if from the viewing port above—a naked princess on her knees, being used as a warm mouth by a faceless man. She was nothing but a throat and a hole. She was nothing but the taste of latex and salt, the burn of her lungs desperate for air. She would have laughed, if she’d had the air to spare.
Above her, Vader watched, his mask inscrutable.
She heard a strangled sound from the table. Jyn, still pinned, her body jerking with each thrust from the trooper between her legs. The droid floated above, its needles wet with her blood, its mechanical arms twitching.
The trooper at her mouth had come and gone, leaving her lips bruised and raw, semen crusting her jaw. Now, as Leia watched, the trooper behind Jyn repositioned her, yanking her hips up, ass in the air, and drove in again, this time from behind. Jyn’s eyes rolled back, her teeth bared in a silent scream.
Leia’s own body was yanked upright. She staggered, legs numb, knees bruised from the floor. Another stormtrooper lay on his back in front of her, armor peeled away to reveal a cock so swollen it looked painful. Hands—Vader’s?—gripped her from behind, forced her to straddle the trooper’s hips. The tip of his cock pressed against her cunt, and she realized, with a sick, shuddering thrill, that she was wet. Slick, soaking wet.
They did not hesitate. Vader’s hands shoved her downward, impaling her on the trooper’s cock. Leia’s breath left her in a gasp, the sensation a jolt of pain and pleasure, a splitting fullness. She tried to twist away, but the hands on her hips were iron, holding her in place as the cock burrowed deeper.
She glanced sideways. Jyn was limp on the table now, eyes closed, arms trembling. The droid was injecting something into her thigh. The second trooper was still pounding her from behind, balls slapping against her ass, one hand tangled in her hair, yanking her head back for leverage.
Then they flipped her over, and Leia saw Vader standing over her as another trooper came between her legs and began again. Leia could sense something in Vader - arousal? Lust? He seemed more droid than person at times, but perhaps he felt far more than he let on…
Her thoughts were cut off by another trooper coming up to her face. He was stroking himself and came immediately, pumping hot, bitter semen across her cheeks and mouth. She choked on the cock still in her mouth, but the hand on her skull held her fast. The second trooper then pulled out, jerking himself rapidly, and spattered her face with his load: hot, viscous ropes streaking her nose, her cheeks, her eyes.
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Leia shuddered, breath coming in ragged gasps, the taste and stink of cum clogging her airways. The troopers stepped back, cocks still glistening, and one of them wiped his tip against her cheek in a final gesture of contempt. The trooper below her pulled out and let her unmount him.
She wiped her mouth on her shoulder, spat onto the floor, and looked up at Vader, who now turned back to her. “Congratulations, Vader, I see your trooper’s aim has finally improved,” she said, voice hoarse.
He crouched to her level, mask inches from her face, voice a hiss of machinery. “Bring the other girl.”
The troopers pushed Jyn to her knees beside Leia. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused. Leia reached for her, cupping the back of her head. “Jyn. Jyn, look at me.” She tried to keep her voice steady, gentle. Jyn blinked, then managed a crooked grin. Her mouth worked, but no sound came. Leia nodded, pretended not to notice the tremor in her own hands.
Vader’s shadow fell across them both. He loomed, more presence than man, the air around him ionized and humming, but his gaze—Leia could feel it—was fixed on her, not on Jyn. The troopers stepped back, clearing a circle around the three of them.
Vader’s black gloves unfastened the codpiece from his armor. For a moment Leia expected the same cold, greyish synth-unit she’d seen before, the grotesque prosthetic the Empire’s surgeons had bolted onto his ruined flesh. But what emerged was startlingly organic—a cock, not especially large or monstrous, but undeniably human. Leia blinked, unable to stop herself from staring.
She almost laughed. Somewhere, some poor stormtrooper had been marched into a medbay and told he’d be making the ultimate sacrifice for the Empire. She bit off the joke before it left her mouth. No need to push Vader too far. Not with Jyn like this.
Vader stepped between them, the cock jutting from his suit, already hard, a bead of clear fluid glistening at the tip. Leia forced herself to look at it, not away. If it was a show he wanted, she’d give him a performance to remember. She caught Jyn’s eye and tried to communicate something—solidarity, defiance, anything—but Jyn’s pupils were blown wide, her jaw slack.
Leia licked dry lips. “With a cock like that, Lord Vader, you don’t need the Force to choke me.”
The room went still, even the droid’s servo motors pausing mid-whine. The troopers shifted uneasily, hands hovering near blasters, but Vader’s only response was a soft, mechanical exhale.
Leia reached out, wrapping her hand around the shaft. It was hot and pulsing, the skin strangely soft for something attached to so much armor. She squeezed, and Vader’s hips twitched—barely, but enough. She stroked him, slow and deliberate, meeting the mask’s gaze with her own.
Jyn, coming back to herself, made eye contact with Leia. They understood. Jyn smirked in something like a dare. She leaned forward and, without breaking eye contact, licked a droplet from the tip. Leia followed suit, and for a moment, the two of them worked in tandem, tongues flickering, lips gliding up and down the shaft. If Vader wanted submission, he would have to settle for something far stranger.
Vader’s breath hitched, a new cadence in the mechanical tide. Leia pressed her lips to the head, then slid her mouth down, taking as much as she could. The helmet dipped, watching. Jyn joined her, and they took turns, one holding the base while the other swallowed him, their hair tangling together where their heads met. It was ridiculous, obscene, almost farcical. Leia choked, tears springing to her eyes, but she kept her hands steady, matching the rhythm of Jyn’s slips and gags.
On a whim, Leia pulled back and kissed Jyn full on the mouth. Their lips smeared with spit and pre-cum, the taste of Vader and blood and sweat all mixed together. Jyn moaned, low in her throat, and Vader’s cock twitched in Leia’s hand. The mask tilted, as if savoring the tableau.
Leia felt a surge of something not quite pride, not quite lust. Maybe just the satisfaction of flipping the script, even for a second. She pushed Jyn’s head back onto the cock, then followed, both of them working in tandem, mouths and hands and tongues. Vader’s body tensed, the muscles of his legs rigid under the armor.
He came suddenly, a spray of hot semen splattering across Leia’s tongue and Jyn’s cheek. Vader shuddered, the mechanical breathing skipping a beat, then steadied. Leia swallowed, then pulled Jyn into another kiss, this one slow and deliberate, messy with spit and cum. She felt the heat of Vader’s gaze, the strange, almost embarrassed hush in the chamber.
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She broke the kiss, wiped her chin, and looked up at the mask. “I hope you enjoyed that as much as we did, Lord Vader.”
As she looked at the black mask looking back at her, she felt something within him - what was it? Conflict? A confusion of warring feelings and emotions. But before she could sense more, the troopers yanked her up and onto the second black leather platform next to Jyn’s.
Vader now loomed above her again, the heat and weight of him palpable even through the deadened air. She could smell the acrid plastic of his suit, the underlying rot of unwashed flesh, the faint aftertaste of his cum in her mouth.
He reached for her with both hands, and she flinched, expecting pain, but he only gripped her thighs, spreading them wider until her hips strained. His gloves were hot, stinking of ozone, and his grip was absolute. Leia felt her knees pop, the soft skin of her inner thighs stretched to the point of tearing. She would not scream. She would not.
The tip of his cock pressed against her, hot and slick, and looking bigger than it had been when she’d sucked it. It was already rock hard and pulsing with angry almost purplish blood.
He gave no warning—nothing but the hiss of his respirator—and then shoved inside her, splitting her open. Leia’s breath snapped out of her, the pressure more than she’d braced for, the heat of him so at odds with the rest of his body it stunned her. She bit her lip, refusing to cry out, but her nails dug into the edge of the platform, leaving crescent-shaped gouges in the leather.
Vader’s hands bracketed her thighs, cool and unyielding. He was relentless, thrusting with mechanical regularity, the piston of his hips driving her up the table, grinding her raw. She tried to snark—to say something about Imperial upgrades—but each time she opened her mouth, only gasps came out. Her body responded in spite of her; she felt herself leaking around him, the slickness only making it easier for him to rut deeper, harder.
She squeezed her eyes shut, but the images behind her lids were worse: her body, splayed and shaking, the black monster’s cock hammering into her, the stormtroopers watching with impassive faces. She imagined Han Solo seeing her like this, and her insides twisted with a shame so dense it made her dizzy.
But there was something else. Something was wrong. She tried to push the thought away, but it returned, insistent, like a splinter under the skin. With every thrust, she felt a sense of connection—a terrible, intimate familiarity that she could not explain. It wasn’t just the memory of what Vader had done to her before, or the horror of what he was doing now.
It was something deeper, a thread of recognition that made her skin crawl. Her vision blurred, and she could feel her heart hammering in her chest, a cold sweat breaking out on her forehead. She had never believed in the Force, not really, but now there was a pulse, a throb of something in the air, something binding the two of them together. She fought to look away, but Vader’s hands kept her locked in place, and his thrusts just kept coming, relentless, as if he was trying to drive some truth into her with every stroke.
The climax hit her like a tidal wave, sudden and unbidden. She arched her back, every muscle tensed, and for a moment she felt as if her body had been unplugged from all sensation, floating in a vacuum of white noise. The pleasure was monstrous, tainted by shame and terror, and she bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.
Vader did not stop, not even when he came. She felt it, a rush of hot, viscous fluid, and she realized with horror that he was cumming inside her. The sensation was wrong—too warm, too alive, as if something was being planted in her. She shuddered, tried to squirm away, but the restraints held her just as tightly as Vader’s hands.
He stayed inside her for a moment, mask looming over her face, and for a second she was sure he would say something, reveal some secret that would explain the grotesque sense of recognition she felt.
She rolled her head to the side, willing the nausea down. Vader withdrew, leaving her gaping and empty.
The troopers seized her under the arms, forced her upright. She was still shaking, legs jelly, when Vader circled behind her. She tried to brace—tried to say something clever, but he bent her forward, and pressed his cock against her ass.
Leia’s whole body tensed. “You know, Lord Vader, if you want to see my diplomatic credentials, you could just ask.” But her voice shook, and the quip landed dead on arrival.
He pressed harder, and her anus resisted, puckering tight, but the pressure was relentless. He forced the tip in—she screamed, this time, unable to help it—and then the rest followed, stretching her so wide she thought she’d split in two. He fucked her ass with the same brutal efficiency, her face mashed against the table, tears streaming down her nose. Her mind retreated to a cold, bright place; she watched herself from above, watched her body rock and spasm as Vader’s hips slammed into her.
He came again, thick and copious, and she felt his seed leaking from both holes now, slicking her thighs and the table beneath her. She was nothing but a conduit, a vessel for his rage and need.
But that connection lingered—the Force, or whatever it was—and she felt something in him, a tremor, a recognition. Did he feel it, too? Did he know what she was? The thought made her skin crawl.
When he finished, he straightened, pulling her up by the hair so her face was visible to the room. She was a mess: snot and tears and cum streaking her cheeks, her body marked with bruises and cum, her legs spread wide and trembling.
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