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A couple have short stories, and the rest are just summaries of what has happened to them so far. I'd also like to point out a few things that I haven't discussed. First, the ProCorps training will only work on humans. There are also quite a few male ProCorps troopers, the MX series. Last, only a very few ProCorps troopers are from the Galactic Alliance. Most are recruited from the Empire.

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Seventy-Two's cunt clenched, and she couldn't quite hide the blush that rose to her cheeks at the question. Then he stood straight, unshackled her hands, and slapped her ass. Every girl in the corps was also a fully-trained Imperial Navy trooper. As Seventy-Two blushed in shame, she stepped back, and glanced at the cargo master.

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Seventy-Two followed Vixer in silence, resisting the urge to run her hand over her damp snatch. Garowyn fell in step behind, admiring her ass, and the way she walked. Psychological assessments and corrective therapy helped me realize the best way for me to serve the Empire was on my back. This is the 10th Star Wars story that I have written. Seventy-Two liked that.

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Vixer gave her an apologetic look. The procedure ensured that Seventy-Two wasn't going to be taken advantage of like that. She was used to the lack of clothes—she hadn't worn anything except restraints since the freighter left Bastion—but she felt properly naked now, without the shackle on her neck. Authoress's notes: The following story takes place soon after the conclusion of Legacy of the Force. She had nothing but disdain for most of the current 'prissy little Rebel bitches.

She wasn't embarrassed at her nudity. Garowyn chuckled at the obvious lie. The girl shifted sleepily in response, vaguely remembering that 'Essex' was her name—or at least, the one the crew of the transport ship had made up for her, using the letters of her Imperial SerialSX Officially, she didn't actually have a name. She hadn't originally trained to be a prostitute.

Seventy-Two didn't answer. She blushed in embarrassment as she looked up guiltily at the man standing over her. The steady beat of the boots reached into her dreams, making her frown as she realized there was something she should be remembering—but she was still exhausted from her on-duty shift the night before. She had been taught to accept this treatment—to obey and be admired, to be used and enjoyed however the heroic men and women of the Galactic Empire's Starfleet wanted to treat her.

Vixer grinned, and ruffled her hair in a gesture of genuine affection. Apart from the tattoos, the only things she wore was the heavy durasteel collar round her neck, with the chain leash fastened at the front. Just one thing left to do here. Then she Star wars prostitute, and felt, the rhythm of booted footsteps on the deck. I think she'll behave now. Her eyes kept exploring Seventy-Two's naked body as she continued. Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience Star wars prostitute suggest improvements.

But she didn't correct the NCO. She knew her place, and she enjoyed it. Did I ever tell you you're one of the best sluts the Empire ever gave me to fuck?

Seventy-Two thought. SX—Seventy-Two, for short—was naked. The phrase Imperial Property was printed across her tight butt-cheeks, too—one word on each side of her ass. Seventy-Two nodded, blushing. The main purpose of processing was to make sure she wasn't carrying any spice. C'mon, Essex. She was embarrassed that she hadn't woken up immediately when called. Someone was standing over her, blocking the glowpanel. Please read and enjoy all of my stories, and vote me a five! She had brown hair that was cut very short, and she was slim, lithe and slight of stature, but athletic.

Vixer laughed at that. In return, she gained pleasure from her sexual duties, and from the fact that her obedient service improved the morale and thus the strength of the Imperial military. Right now, she was Star wars prostitute beat to think much—and she didn't really want to leave the pleasant memories of how she'd been used.

She put one hand to Seventy-Two's shoulder, and gripped her firmly. On the toned abs of her lower belly, between her navel and her smooth, hairless pussy, she had a tattoo of the Imperial sigil, with her official title— Imperial Prostitute —and serial inscribed beneath it. She shifted sleepily again, as she realized the footsteps had stopped. She had spent a lot of duty hours here, and she had to suppress a smile of remembered pleasure. She'd been fucked virtually non-stop for the whole eight-hour session, injected with a powerful stimulant to make her last longer, come more often, and come harder.

She liked being appreciated for what she was, and she was pleased that her new commanding officer had the confidence to do that.

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As she moved, the chain that linked her durasteel collar to the cargo ring on the deck shivered. She was forbidden from discussing her past, but she was a better person now, and she was glad that Sergeant Vixer had noticed—and appreciated. She saluted her new commanding officer, then followed the cargo-master across the familiar cargo bay that had been her home for the past five weeks, with her head held high like she'd been trained.

Garowyn was, in effect, her new owner. Besides, this belongs to the ship.

Then she felt the toecap of a boot nudge her naked body, and she became more alert, her guilt increasing alongside her awareness as she realized where she was. Why would she want to stop doing a job she loved? Also, apart from the pleasure she felt in satisfying her superiors' sexual urges, the lost equipment and demerits acted as an excuse to allow her to perform extra duties, something she always looked forward to. Vixer smirked again, walked over Star wars prostitute the naked Imperial Prostitute, and reached up, unfastening the chain from her collar, and replacing it with a short leash.

It wasn't far to the area where slaves and other human cargo were processed. The woman, naked and half-asleep, shifted on the deck as she heard the hatch to the cargo bay slide open. After going off-duty the night before, she had been chained up by Sergeant Vixer in the corner of the transport's cargo hold, and she had fallen asleep in her usual spot on the deck. She certainly didn't need one, and she liked it that way.

Seventy-Two bit her lip in pleasure as two fingers probed her asshole, but she accepted it without question. I filed a report with ProCorps, but. Rebel agents trying to discredit the Empire had tricked some ProCorps troops and newly-purchased Twi'lek slaves into serving as 'spice rontos,' with pouches of ryll and gliterstim hidden in their pussies. She had incurred several automatic fines for the 'mistakes', and she would have to earn the debt back—with interest—by letting Captain Garowyn pimp her out during her off-duty hours.

The female officer looked down at the slim girl on the floor with an expression even more contemptuous than the man beside her. Private Essex here's spent most of the trip bein' punished. Vixer grinned nastily in approval. She had long gotten used to her permanently hairless pussy, and liked it like it was, smooth on the outside, often wet on the inside—but she also liked the training that meant that she couldn't touch it without permission, except when she was cleaning it after use.

She obeyed, half-hoping for a kiss or even a quick fuck—but with an officer watching, she knew that was unlikely. SX obeyed instantly, standing up fast and assuming the parade position: feet apart, hands clasped behind her ass.

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Flew out specially so we could make the cargo transfer early. Then, slowly, she began to walk around Seventy-Two, inspecting her naked body. She didn't need to be told to stand with her legs apart on the grille, or to lift her hands for the pair of manacles hanging from the ceiling. She's officially in charge of you as of oh-two-hundred.

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Beside the man was a woman in an officer's uniform, with a pretty face, and a stern expression. Her lean muscles had the strength and definition that came from months of intensive ProCorps workouts. Her body was obviously strong and nicely curved beneath her Imperial tunic and breeches. Instead, he produced a transmitter and ran it across the side of her collar, opening the lock and then lifting the heavy shackle away from around her neck.

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Seventy-Two nodded, understanding all that she needed to. Vixer had thrown her things in the trash compactor when she reported aboard the transport, and the series of disciplinary charges had been fabricated so he could imprison and humiliate her for the whole length of the trip to Zeta. The human male standing over her was tall and heavily muscular, with medium-tanned skin and a face that could have been carved from solid anvilstone, wearing the gray overalls of an Imperial Navy cargo-master. In reply, Seventy-Two just stood there, proud of her training, her body, and her identity.

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