Helen's Adventure

It had all gone wrong. Helen Tasker had been recruited by the government to spy on some suspected arms dealer or other, after they'd caught her with a ruthless terrorist she'd thought was a secret agent named Simon. Nevermind that the masked government soldiers had itnruded upon the safehouse before things could progress any further - and right as Helen was seriously rethinking her decision to cheat on Harry.

She'd been given two choices. Spy for them, working undercover as a prostitute named Michelle, or have her secret revealed to her husband and daughter, whereupon she'd go to prison alongside "Simon" or whatever his name actually was. So, she'd chosen the former, desperate to keep her family intact and conceal her near infidelity from Harry. So they'd given her a budget to buy sexy lingerie, and a bug to plant on the arms dealer's telephone in his hotel room. She'd gone - only to be abducted by alien slave lords before she even reached her car.

She'd been taken to the planet Tatooine, where she got to be a prostitute for real, not just pretend to be one. The alien slavers, she'd later learned, had been Twi'leks from the planet Ryloth. Not that this conveyed much to her. Helen started off as any normal person would in her situation, confused, scared and borderline catatonic, but eventually she'd gotten over it. She was a slave now and that was all there was to it. She got used to her new life of turning tricks in the Mos Eisley brothel, and in particular, she found she was usually left to her own devices because the mostly male clients preferred the alien women to the human ones. More exotic, the brothel owner had told her. The owner was a beautiful middle-aged woman whose name she'd never learned. Everyone just called her the mistress.

As a married woman who'd had one child already, and was still quite beautiful, Helen was advertised as being "seasoned" and "experienced," and she knew how to pleasure men. It didn't matter what their species was, they were all the same. Even if their cocks looked different. And so she settled into her new life as a slave, and memories of husband Harry and daughter Dana faded away into the background of her mind. There was little room for remembering your past life when your current one demanded that you suck at least ten to twenty cocks a day, sometimes the same one more than once if the customer liked you. No one knew her real name, either. When she'd first been taken from Earth, the slavers had asked her her name. Fearful that giving her real name would endanger Harry and Dana, Helen had given her captors her false identity of Michelle, and they, having no reason to suspect her of lying, had bought it, and so she'd been sold into sexual slavery under that name. Privately, despite sometimes forgetting about her family, she always thought of herself as Helen Tasker.

But one day, business began drying up and the mistress had been forced to sell some of her slaves lest she fall too deep into debt and become a slave herself. A Twi'lek named Bib Fortuna came by one day and haggled with the mistress for Helen. Helen had heard Bib's name before in connection to the Twi'leks who'd abducted her from Earth. Apparently, he worked for someone named Jabba the Hutt. Another name she'd heard a lot around Mos Eisley and in the brothel in particular. Not being from this planet, let alone this part of the galaxy, Helen had no idea who or what Jabba was. The one time she'd asked, the other girls had laughed at her and assumed she was joking. Everyone knew Mighty Jabba, they said.

She'd been intuitive enough to piece together that he was greatly feared and respected, typically called Mighty Jabba, which meant he was someone very rich and powerful. And apparently known for his cruelty.

Once before, a green Twi'lek prostitute named Oola had also worked at the brothel. Helen considered it heinous the way the tentacle-headed aliens enslaved their own kind, but kept it to herself. Slaves who voiced their opinions openly didn't last very long. And consequently, Helen had been forced to laugh along with her fellow prostitutes and their clients whenever poor Oola, the slave who couldn't do anything right, was chosen as an example of why their mistress didn't tolerate failure and humiliatingly punished in front of everyone. One day, Bib Fortuna came and bought her. Oola had been terrified, and begged her mistress not to sell her, not to Jabba, at any rate, begging to stay there. How horrible must this Jabba the Hutt be, Helen wondered, if Oola pleaded to remain with the woman who regularly saw to it she was humiliated...?

But she'd been sold and taken away in tears and now it was Helen's turn to find out just who and what Jabba was. The purchase went ahead without much hassle, as her mistress didn't dare argue with a representative of the great Jabba. The plain metal collar around Helen's neck was taken off and a new one, more ornate and stylish, was slipped 'round her delicate throat and clasped tightly into place. She grimaced and bore it. Unlike Oola, she knew the price of displeasing her betters, and so she was silent, obedient and cooperative. Taking a corded leather leash, Bob attached it to her collar and led Helen out to the hovering vehicle that awaited them outside of the brothel and Helen silently said goodbye to the den of perversion and filth which had been her home on Tatooine since her enslavement.

~*~

They flew across a vast desert, and arrived at a very large palace that reminded Helen of something she'd seen in Arabian Nights. Guards who looked like green pigs admitted them and the human woman, clad only in her slave girl outfit, her hands bound behind her back, was dragged forcibly but without any real malice into the dark, coolly humid depths of the palace, and finally Helen Tasker beheld her new owner. Bizarrely, the first thing she noticed upon entering what Bib told her was the main audience chamber of the palace was that Oola sat on the edge of a stone dais, wearing a fishnet body stocking that revealed everything about her womanly form to the world. Quite different than the garments she'd worn at the brothel. Oola also wore a collar with a leash, which was held by the being known as Jabba.

Mighty he was indeed! At first she was revolted. Jabba sprawled like an Arabian sultan on the great dais amidst comfortable-looking pillows, puffing idly on a hookah, a great, slowly heavy mound of fat with stubby arms, a long, thick tail and a massive head that resembled a toad, with slitted, orange colored reptilian eyes, a wide, froglike maw from with drool seemed to constantly dribble, and lopsided nostrils encrusted with mucus. Helen fought to keep her meager lunch down. Stay calm, she told herself. Shocking as this is, all those ugly aliens you blew back at the brothel were preparing you for this moment. She looked at him again, and began finding the notion of being enslaved to such a disgusting creature enticing.

Jabba eyed her with something like disinterest, as Bib Fortuna approached and said to him something in the language commonly spoken around Tatooine. Helen had picked up some of it thanks to her mistress, who insisted English, or "Basic," as they called it, couldn't be the only language a slave on Tatooine knew.

"Master," Bib said, "your new pleasure slave is here..."

"Ooohhhhhhhh," groaned Jabba, belching as he sat up a little in a vague stupor from whatever it was he was smoking. "Bring her to me!"

A couple of guards undid Helen's manacles, freeing her wrists, and she was "brought" to Jabba by being shoved bodily against him. She felt his pliant form beneath her oozing and clammy against her bare skin. Like Oola, she wore a slave girl outfit, but hers was much simpler. Just some garments based on the lingerie she'd worn underneath her dress the night she'd been captured. The slavers had liked how those looked, and so she wore nothing but an embroidered bra, high-cut panties and a pair of metal-toed high-heels. She groaned as she squished and wriggled against Mighty Jabba's tummy, the beastly crime lord's hot, fetid breath washing over her pretty face. He inhaled through those horrifying slime-encrusted nostrils and breathed deep her smell. A chubby little hand stroked the small of her back. As his slime smeared over her bare skin and stained her skimpy garments, Helent felt a familiar tingling deep inside of her sex; she was becoming aroused by this monster.

"She'll do fiiiiiine," intoned Jabba, who removed her leash. "I'll make use of her after tonight's performance! Oola! Get your lazy bones up and dance for me!"

Tonight was apparently cause for some celebration, although Helen had no clue what. The leash was removed from her collar and she was moved to go stand by some other slaves as a band started up some sleazy-sounding, jazzy number, and Oola, obedient but slow, making Helen privately remark that she hoped the green Twi'lek didn't push her luck and anger Jabba, rose and began a very vibrant, erotic dance in the middle of the room.

Helen sighed and leaned against an ornamental pole of some sort, watched her former brothel-mate dancing, admiring the youthful Twi'lek's grace. She felt the music getting to her and without being told, she, too, started dancing, slowly at first, letting the beat sink into her very bones, stroking herself with her hands, mindful of the slime that'd rubbed onto her from Jabba, slowly swaying her body back and forth. Almost nobody noticed, though, because all eyes were on Oola. Overcome with a sudden desire to please Jabba and Jabba alone, Helen closed her eyes and pictured herself in Oola's place, dancing, twirling, snapping the leash that kept her enslaved to her master, the center of attention, and it was making her wet as she fondled her medium-sized breasts through the thin fabric of her bra.

As the music picked up in tempo, so did Helen's dancing, as she grabbed the pole beside her and started gyrating against it, groaning softly. Now a few people beside her were taking interest, but their attention was called away when suddenly things on the dance floor took a turn for the worse, at least for poor Oola. Hearing a groan, Helen opened her eyes, but kept dancing, watching as Oola was struggling against Jabba, who tugged playfully at her leash.

"No, no!" Oola screamed.

"Come to meeeee," Jabba gurgled.

"No, Mighty One!" Oola shrieked as she was pulled over a part of the floor that appeared somehow different from the rest. It looked like... a trappdor! Helen gasped and danced faster, enticed by this new development and suddenly not caring much about Oola anymore. If it was indeed a trapdoor, then Oola's fate was sealed, and Helen couldn't help her. And it turned out to be, as, with a cry of, "Green cumslut!" Jabba activated a button on his armrest, dropping Oola screaming through it and out of sight, her leash trailing after her. The door closed and with a grinding sound the great dais upon which Jabba lay lurched forward, over the trapdoor, further adding finality to what had just befallen the Twi'lek, as everyone crowd around a big grate in the floor. Helen kept dancing, knowing she wouldn't be able, or permitted, to push past everyone to see. But the earth-shaking roars and Oola's terrified screams told the story. Oola had displeased her master for the last time and now she'd paid the ultimate price.

As Oola's final screams died away, Helen realized Jabba was looking at her. While everyone was still enjoying the other slave's death down below, the bloated master was looking at the human woman through the crowd. Their eyes locked. Eager to please him where Oola had failed, Helen seductively licked the pole she was grinding herself against, and watched, in a mixture of revulsion and fascination, as Jabba licked his lips and burbled excitedly, like a baby. That was what she decided Jabba reminded her of. A big, fat, powerful baby.

"Silence!" Jabba bellowed, and all the cheering stopped. So did Helen's dancing. "You!" he said, pointing at Helen. "The performance has ended prematurely, and I am still hungry for more! Watching my beloved Rancor feast has made me hungry! Come to me, my dear, and feed your master!"

Helen swallowed, assuming he was being metaphorical, and, stepping away from the pole, moved through the crowd, which parted for her, and walked up to the dais. "Yes, Mighty One?" she asked softly. "What is it you want of this slave?"

"All of you," Jabba said, and his fat, rancid tongue slid out to slap wetly against her pretty face, leaving thick, dripping gobs of saliva. "Mmmm, yes, all of you will do nicely."

The thick tongue slithered down her body and Helen screamed, realizing suddenly the evil Hutt baby-monster hadn't been speaking metaphorically. Helen screamed piercingly as her beautiful face twisted and contorted in a horrified grimace, as the surprisingly long and thick and even more surprisingly powerful tongue slid around her waist and lifted her up. Her legs kicked, flinging her high heels through the air. Jabba threw his head back and Helen twisted as the tongue lifted her in the air. She reached down and grabbed at the tongue trying to make it release her, but her fingers just slid wetly across the saliva-slicked muscular surface. She felt herself being lowered and braced her bare feet against Jabba's upper and lower jaws in an effort to forestall the inevitable, but Jabba responded to this by flicking the tongue up, releasing her body to hover in midair for a few seconds before she fell back down and was seized by the tongue again which drew her bodily into the great maw, which stretched wide to accomodate her petite form.

She straddled the tongue, which wriggled, grinding itself against her pussy. Her supple body arched and writhed as the human woman was pleasured by her master and devourer. Soon only sexual pleasure filled her mind, to the point where she actually ripped off her top, exposing her naked breasts to all who cared to look, and everyone did indeed care! Jabba was careful, though. The moment he felt his meal was about to hit her peak, he drew her further into that horrifying maw, and Helen, realizing in her sex-adled mind she was going to be swallowed without being allowed to orgasm, shrieked at this final cruelty, "Nooooooo!" while reaching one arm desperately but weakly towards freedom, before the thick, pustule-covered lips clamped shut, encasing her forever in tight, hot, smelly darkness.

Her arm poked out of the mouth but Jabba just burped and slowly sucked the weakly flailing limb inside slowly. He gulped and Helen felt herself moving slowly and irrevocably backwards and down through a tight, fleshy tube to be deposited in a great, stinking sac. Her master's gut. A roiling belch shook the form around her. Jabba's body went to work on her and slowly began digesting her. She sobbed, writhed and moaned, fought and kicked, heard muffled laughter as everyone enjoyed what must've been some very sexy wriggles and bulges in the great Hutt's belly.

Slowly, her struggles died down and she accepted her fate... but there was one thing Jabba couldn't take from her. Ripping her panties off, she fingered herself, thrusting her smooth, well-manicured digits in and ought of her experienced but still-tight cunt as she sank slowly beneath the rising tide of horrifying digestive juices, and right as she lost consciousness, her naked, slime-covered covered form was rocked by the best orgasm she'd ever had. And so Helen faded away and sank languidly beneath the juices of the stomach and it set to work on her, slowly transforming her sexy form into nutrients for the Hutt, who belched, and, feeling satisfied, puffed on his hookah for a bit, and then slowly drifted away into a contented doze.