Seeing a never-ending barrage of visions of her own possible deaths, Jedi Master Shaak-Ti is driven insane in her attempts to escape her inevitable fate. If being a Jedi will lead to her death, another, lewder path might spare her, at the cost of her identity, sanity, and dignity.
-o-o-o-
A blue blade flashed through the dark serenity of the meditation chamber. A sharp hissing, whooshing sound carved the silence, followed by a shrieking gasp as it plunged through deep brown robes and supple scarlet flesh. A pair of black eyes welled with tears, staring down at a lightsaber protruding from a heaving cleavage. White lips opened in a pained whimper, a final rush of air passing their soft plumpness as breath left the impaled chest one last time.
Shaak Ti whimpered and pushed herself up from her bed, sweat sticking to the sheets as she rose in a panic and scrambled instinctively for the only item that gave her comfort. Nimble ruby fingers wrapped a sleek silver tube, grasping it tight and lifting it. Her thumb found a small black button and pressed it, an electrical thrumming sound joining her heavy breaths in the darkness of the room.
In an instant, there was light, as luminescent blue liquid as thick as honey oozed lazily out of the tube and into the former Jedi Master’s slobbering mouth.
The proud and stoic Togruta master groaned and gurgled, her lips smacking and tongue wriggling wetly at the end of the tube, guzzling down as much glowing goo as she could in between ragged breaths.
The tube slowly emptied, its contents chugged and swallowed down loudly and messily as Shaak Ti’s long lashes fluttered and her pounding heart slowed to a steady, lazy beat.
Azmoti venom had been used by some of the tribes of Shili for time immemorial, the thick psychedelic sludge being used to trigger visions, to aid meditation, and for some like Shaak Ti, to trip balls to escape the cruelty of reality.
The former jedi master flopped back onto her messy bed with a happy sigh of relief, eyes glowing faintly blue as the toxic slime was absorbed into her bloodstream and carried straight to her brain.
Once upon a time, Shaak Ti had only used Azmoti once or twice to aid with her meditations into the nature of the force. The psychedelic state it placed her in had granted her visions of the galaxy and beyond, the light and the dark, the future and the past, and it was the visions of the future that had begun her journey from member of the Jedi High Council, to where she was now:
A bimbofied, drug-addicted prostitute living in the slums of Coruscant’s deepest, darkest levels.
Shaak Ti giggled and watched streams of colour and glitter trail behind her outstretched hand, waving it through the air and grinning as the entire world rippled and swam like water around her fingers.
Her other hand wandered lazily between her thighs, caressing naked scarlet flesh before petting the pale white lips of her slathering cunt.
For the first fifty decades of her life, Shaak Ti had been a stoic, sexless person. The Jedi order forbade all attachment, especially romantic, and encouraged its members to focus on the spiritual, rather than the physical. Since her induction into the order before her first birthday, Shaak Ti had been a religious follower of those rules. Whilst certain jedi did, on occasion, indulge in masturbation when their physical needs grew distracting, there were also those like Shaak Ti who took the opposite route, taking libido-suppressors and eliminating the distraction altogether.
Those suppressors had long since worn off, and thanks to a mix of despair, circumstance, and a truly dangerous amount of Azmoti recklessly devoured every single day, Shaak Ti’s libido had not only returned, but exploded in intensity.
Two dainty fingers sank into her twat and began to curl and pump into her nice and hard. It wouldn’t be enough to satisfy her, but Shaak Ti had enough sense not to try and stumble out onto the streets to look for customers whilst the walls seemed to be melting and dribbling into zero-gravity. Going out high was her usual routine, but not totally shitfaced, that was how she liked to come home.
The two heavy silicon balls of her breast implants heaved and wobbled under a thin layer of scarlet skin, white nipples swaying as the Togruta’s head-sized melons rocked with every pump of her hand. Beneath her, an equally enhanced ass ground and rolled into the seedy mattress, a gigantic red peach of meat just begging to be grabbed and pounded.
Athleticism and litheness had been transformed into fatness and curves as Shaak Ti abandoned her daily training regimen along with every other aspect of her past life. Her diet, once of fresh produce and healthy protein, was exchanged for cheap, greasy garbage and gallons of spunk. In a matter of months Shaak Ti had gone from being a natural beauty to a degenerate slob, and it was only when she started losing attention from her nightly clients that she’d changed.
If men and women didn’t fuck her she’d have no money, nowhere to live, nothing to wear, and most importantly, nothing to keep her mind distracted from the horrors she had seen.
She had saved, stolen and scrounged every credit she possibly could over weeks, eating out of dumpsters, fucking anyone and anything who had even a few spare credits, and at long last she had wobbled into a seedy underground surgery and spent every last bit on making herself into a living sex doll.
Every ounce of fat that wasn’t thrown away was added to her gigantic ass. Every blemish and imperfection was cut, carved, or disintegrated from her flesh. The biggest and best implants money could buy, ones no reputable surgeon would carry, let alone install into a person’s body so casually, were slipped into her chest turning her b-cup breasts to K-cup balloons of titmeat and saline.
Just looking at herself in the mirror, even Shaak Ti could believe that her former life was just the daydream of a drugged-up fuckslut living in the slums. How could a worthless plastic bitch like her ever be a Jedi? She was always horny, every moment of every day of her new life she craved and dreamed of sex. It was all she thought about, all she cared about, and her only goal in life was to be fucked, and fucked, and fucked until she died of old age coated in cum with a dick still in her cunt.
It was better than the alternative.
Shaak Ti moaned and pushed a third finger, then a fourth inside her gushing hole, eyes squeezing shut as a passionate groan burst from her lips and…
Cold air. Harsh white light. The clank of metal feet on metal floors. Two jedi came to a halt, faces hard with anger and worry.
“I’m sorry Master Kenobi. I failed.”
A harsh, rattling, rasping voice spoke mockingly. Sharp talons scraped over her montrals. A blue blade burst through her breast, spearing her heart as the Jedi before her drew their own lightsabers too late to save her.
Shaak Ti shrieked, eyes snapping open and hands flying away from her cunt to her titanic tits where her chest had been impaled.
Her breaths quickened, her eyes watered, her fingers sank into the vast wobbling red shelf of her breasts and felt them heave.
“S’not true…” she whined, lips pushed out in a childish pout. “Didn’t happen. Jus’ bad dreams.”
She rolled, a little awkwardly thanks to the red basketballs on her chest, and crawled on all fours off the bed and across the messy floor of her hovel. Discarded clothes, empty bottles, stray bras and still-sticky dildos shifted around her as she made her way to a small crate and opened it up.
The ruined Togruta chewed on a used condom as her face was lit up with a ghostly blue light, her stockpile of Azmoti glowing up at her.
As Shaak Ti grabbed two bottles and brought one to her lips, she sat her fat scarlet ass down in the landfill of her bedroom and fuck den and closed her mind down even further.
She wasn’t a jedi anymore, so she couldn’t be killed like that, or any of the other ways that came to her in visions every time she closed her eyes. The new Empire that had annihilated her home, her family, her entire way of life, was only interested in eradicating the remnants of the Jedi Order, they didn’t care about stupid, worthless old bimbos like her. Nobody did.
She was safe in her squalor, in her drug-addled, sex-crazed, wretchedness. No clones would shoot her down. No Inquisitors would cut her to ribbons. No assassins would chase her into the jaws of a Sarlacc.
Her connection to the force had saved her life, they had also ruined her. When she fled the Jedi Temple just hours before every man, woman, and child inside was massacred, she had still harboured every intention of fighting back, of resisting, perhaps even rallying any other survivors. But then, every single night, every single quiet moment, another vision of her death more horrible than the last filled her mind.
She took a dose of Azmoti to try and focus her visions, to search for some path that didn’t lead to death, but all she found was the seductive quiet of a mind-melting high. She took a single dose to get to sleep when she couldn’t stand the turmoil anymore. Then she took another every night before bed. Then she drank when she was feeling hopeless, afraid, or wracked with grief at surviving the purge. Eventually, she drank whenever she thought, or felt, anything negative at all.
It was better to be brainless and happy than to be tortured by memory and fear. Shaak Ti barely remembered her own name most days, and her only complaints were her supplies of drugs running low, or a lack of lovers to play with. She was stupid, and utterly content.
She would live a long and happy life as a gutter-crawling hooker, never have any cause for grief or fear, and never meet any of the fates that her visions showed.
Assuming she didn’t overdose first.
A quiet belch bubbled out of Shaak Ti’s lips as she sat, legs splayed out and blue poison dribbling down her chin. Her eyes rolled in their sockets, glowing from the inside out, as a happy, drunken smile spread across her face.
Psychedelic spirals and bubbles filled the dingy, mouldy room and the former mentor, teacher, warrior, and scholar lay flat on her back, spread her legs, and pressed one of the empty tubes into her gushing scarlet pussy.
It wasn’t ideal, but she didn’t have the braincells to care, not as one pair of ruby fingers started pinching and tugging at her marble nipple, and her other hand scooped up a random pair of used panties from the floor and brought them to her panting face.
The scent of her own cunt and the stale cum of whatever beings had used her whenever she had worn the lacy thong filled her lungs as she inhaled, pumping faster and harder into herself every second. Her glowing eyes crossed as she bucked her hips against her own sloppy fingers, dregs of blue venom mixing with the torrent of Togruta quim gushing out of her, only giving her a secondary high as she absorbed the toxins through her eager, sensitive petals.
Her mouth opened, tongue lolling into the stained lace and tasting her own degeneracy. With a wet slurp, the entire azmoti tube vanished into her body along with her fingers. A keening whine escape the former master’s lips as she arched her spine, squirting like a fountain against the wall, her chest of venom, and herself. The stink of a bitch in heat, already clinging to everything inside, only grew as the bright red bimbo gurgled, cumming what precious little of her brain remained away. Her hands flew to her tits, mauling the gigantic spheres of milf meat and plastic, leaving the bottle still wedged nicely inside her, slowly being pushed out inch by inch as Shaak Ti convulsed and rode out her orgasm.
Her whine became a shrill squeal as she yanked on her own nipples hard enough to bring tears to her eyes, before the sound of her wallowing was interrupted by a furious banging on the door.
Moments later, a gigantic green figure barged inside, tusked mouth snarling and dark eyes full of anger. The barrel-bellied body of Shaak Ti’s Gammorean landlord looked down at the jiggling wreck beneath him and roared.
“Shut up you stupid sow!”
“Daddieeeee!” Shaak Ti gurgled, only registering a greenish haze of lights and shapes wobbling in her vision, but recognising the sound of the porcine brute who was, on top of the master of her rancid home, her pimp. “My pusssiiieeeee!”
“Don’t care about your fucking breedin hole, sow.” The gammorean grunted, giving Shaak Ti a kick to one of her basketball tits. “It’s late!”
Shaak Ti had enough sense left to recognise pain in her chest and an angry voice, and did what came naturally to her.
“Daddy… I’m sowwy daddy.” The wreck of a Jedi cooed, lips pouty and still-glowing eyes being covered by her batting lashes. She reached out and tugged at the Gammorean’s hefty belt, managing to unbuckle it and slide her slender hands around her piggish master’s fat, throbbing cock. “Missy Titties didn’t mean to make you mad… let Missy Titties say sowwy.”
The gammorrean grunted as Shaak Ti’s hot, wet mouth slipped over his bulbous green cockhead, not minding the taste, or the smell, only caring about feeling a cock inside her.
Two thick green hands grabbed the Togruta by her montrals and used them as handles to fuck her throat, as Jedi Master Shaak Ti gurgled, dribbled, and happily forgot all about her visions, her past, and her very identity.