Chapter Text
If there was anything worse than being a slave to one Hutt on Tatooine, it was being stuck in the presence of every Hutt in the Galaxy on Nal Hutta. The stench alone was overwhelmingly putrid, and the mere thought of the fat slugs sitting on their thrones made the urge to vomit all the more powerful.
As the Imperial shuttle landed, Vader made only a disgusted sound as the ramp opened to let him and a handful of his Battalion out of the comfort and into the hot, swampy planet that was Nal Hutta. The Emperor had given him an order and Vader was happily obliging to his Master’s commands. No one would have more pleasure of carrying them out than he would.
He was received by Jabba’s tribe and lead into the Palace. His walk was confident, arrogant and his golden eyes glowed as he watched every single Hutt that lined up to meet him. They spoke in Huttese. They thought Vader could not understand anything they were saying. So, they insulted the Empire. They insulted him. The corner of his lips lifted in a cocky smile. If they only knew Vader spoke their language as fluently as he spoke Basic, they might have been more careful.
One by one, each of the Hutts had their slaves present Vader with chests of gold, spices, datasticks, all meant as tributes to the Empire while their protocol droids and servants translated to make it seem like they were flattering him. The rest of the court would clap to further reinforce the illusion, but some of the bounty hunters had the sense to be wary. They knew that Vader was an infinitely worse enemy than any Hutt, his ruthless reputation preceded him in every corner of the Galaxy.
As the last bits of applause died down, Jabba began to speak, and his protocol droid— Vader hadn’t bothered to hear its designation— translated. “The Mighty Jabba observes that all of these are gifts for the Emperor and the Empire. He wishes to offer a personal tribute to Lord Vader,” the droid said, making the language much more flowery than what Jabba had said, which was more accurately translated as ‘ bring out the whore.’
There was a loud groan as one of the doors on the far side of the audience chamber was raised. Several of the Hutts made a rumbling sound of pleasure as the band switched to playing a more sultry tune that was quiet enough to let the sound of clinking metal be heard. Vader turned his head to see the source of the sound and a small, quiet gasp left his mouth.
To say that it was a woman would be an insult. The attending slaves who flanked her in the typical garments of Hutt captives were women. But the one in the center was nothing short of glorious, a goddess. The other women were clothed in dark, dull colors, she was adorned in shining gold cloth that artfully displayed her ample breasts, slender limbs, and sculpted body. Their hair had been pulled back into single thick plaits, her radiant brown tresses were sculpted into countless tiny ones that grew loose at the small of her back and held away from her face by a twisting golden crown. Their skin was bare, her throat was decorated by an elaborate collar of gold and glittering jewels that matched her crown. And where they were unmarked, her fair skin was painted in red glyphs from nearly every language in the galaxy, most noticeably the one written on both her arms in Huttese. Shag Kwee-Kunee. Slave Queen.
The way her face was painted helped him put the last piece of the puzzle into place. Pure white, marked by two red beauty marks on the cheeks, crimson paint on the upper lip and a single stroke of scarlet down the middle of the lower lip. This was Padmé Amidala, the former Queen of Naboo. Many in the Galaxy had forgotten about her, about her story. They believed her to be dead, missing, or hiding.
Vader, however, remembered her very clearly. Are you an Angel? The words echoed in his mind, memories that he longed to forget, creeping up to him.
She still walked like a Queen, striding confidently to stand before Jabba’s dais and sinking to her knees in front of the corpulent gangster. Vader’s brow furrowed as he saw her kneel, it was a position that did not suit her and the Sith was eager to remove her from Jabba’s claws. The other slave girls detached the billowing train from the back of her costume, revealing a skirt cut into panels that gave a glimpse of her supple legs and the faintest hint of the womanhood between them.
“This one is here to serve you, Exalted One,” Padmé intoned in Huttese, keeping her head bowed before Jabba. “What is your will?” The ugly, guttural language sounded wrong in her soft, sweet voice. And yet, at the same time, oddly seductive.
“Put on a show for us, Slave Queen,” ordered Jabba. “And make it a good one.”
Padmé rose as the drummer among the musicians began to strike a beat. She extended one arm, and then the other, clapping in time to the rhythm as her feet began to carry her across the floor. As she lifted one leg to spin, Vader caught a whiff of some kind of flowery perfume mixed with a deeper, headier scent. And he saw the folds of her clit, glistening with some kind of oil and completely bare of any kind of body hair. He had to bit the inside of his cheek to keep his composure. All of his training had not prepared him to his encounter with the former Queen.
The music began to pick up speed and so did Padmé. As the rest of the court had started keeping the beat, she stopped her clapping and placed her hands on her shoulders, unhooking a clasp Vader had not noticed before. The entirety of her golden dress dropped to the floor, leaving her standing in nothing but the jewels and the body paint. There were more pieces he had not seen before, a moonstone glistening in her navel, diamonds pierced through her nipples, which were surrounded by gold paint. And on the perfectly smooth mound that led to her nether regions were the glyphs that gave Nal Hutta its name. Precious jewel.
Padmé’s dance took her closer to Vader, close enough that he could pick out individual braids in her hair as she swirled past him, dancing along the edge of the circle. Some of the bolder members of the court reached out, cupping her backside or her breast, tugging at her hair, anything that was within reach, and she leaned into their touch with a smile. He hissed, knowing exactly who he would strike first. His plan of letting Jabba be entertaining for as long as possible was going, very soon, down the drain and Vader would slaughter them all with pleasure to get Padmé safely to his ship, a primal need of protection consuming him.
Spinning back towards the center of the circle, she fell gracefully to the ground and spread her legs wide, giving everyone a view as she reached down and began to stroke herself. The smell of her arousal mingled with the perfume and the stench of the Hutts as her wordless moans grew louder, building to a climax.
“Nobata!” bellowed Jabba before she could finish, and Padmé immediately stopped, shifting back to the prostrated position where she had started. Vader shook his head slowly, breaking away from the spell she had cast on him.
“Has this one pleased you, Exalted One? ” she asked, her shoulders heaving as she regained her breath.
“It was a splendid performance. Does the sleemo think so?”
“The Mighty Jabba wishes to know if you enjoyed the performance of his most prized slave, the Whore Queen,” the droid asked Vader.
“Yes,” was his short answer, licking his dry lips.
“This is Darth Vader, Slave Queen, ” Jabba said. “You are his whore now. For good.” Padmé made no response, only bobbed her head slightly.
“The Mighty Jabba offers the Whore Queen to you as a gift, Lord Vader” the protocol droid informed Vader. Even if he didn’t, he would rip her away from him. While the dance had aroused him and made his body ache for her, his greatest need was to cover her, to protect her.
“What do you say, Slave Queen?”
“This one is saddened to leave the service of the Exalted One, who has been a great master, ” Padmé answered. The other Hutts laughed and clapped while the rest of the court whistled and called out the names painted on her skin. Padmé didn’t flinch once. It had been a year and a decade since the fall of Naboo, Vader could not begin to imagine what Jabba and the Hutts had put her through. Suddenly, the darkness swirling around him intensified at the thought, his face becoming stonily cold and his eyes glowing dangerously.
“You have pleased me and my court greatly, Slave Queen. Do the same for this Imperial fool, so that he will show the Hutts favor when he replaces the current fool,” Jabba commanded in a booming tone that could be heard over the other voices. Vader lifted one eyebrow. Jabba would soon know just what this fool was capable of. He had been patient for too long now and he was getting antsy, gloved fingers itching to grab the hilt of his lightsaber to end the hypocritical parade Jabba was leading. “Go to him now.”
“The Whore Queen has been the favorite of all Hutt courts for many years,” the protocol droid informed Vader as Padmé rose and began to walk towards Vader in the same confident strut with which she had entered the room. “She is known for always bringing pleasure to her bedmates. She will serve you well.”
“This one is yours now,” Padmé said in Basic, kneeling in front of him while simultaneously raising her eyes to meet Vader’s. They were the same beautiful, deep, fathomless brown he remembered, but there was a gleam to them now. A kind of ice that had not been there before, shielding her true feelings. “Master.”
Vader removed one of his gloves. He wanted to really touch her, feel her skin. He cradled her chin and caressed her cheek with his thumb softly. “Don’t move. It will all be over very soon.” It was the first time he had spoken more than a single word, his voice low and gentle as he dropped his hand and raised his eyes to meet Jabba’s. Finally, he would strike. His Battalion was standing a few feet away and their orders were to kill the Bounty Hunters that would be foolish enough to come at him, however, the Hutts, were his to slaughter.
“Great Jabba, the Empire thanks you for your loyalty,” he spoke, loud and in Huttese. “ However, your latest illegal dealings have not pleased our Emperor and unfortunately, we are to take action.” Vader grabbed his lightsaber and initiated it, the blood red saber casting a terrifying glow over the Sith’s face. “I, however, thank you for your gift.”
“He knows our tongue! ” One of the other Hutts shouted, turning a paler, sicklier color as he realized the offense that had been committed. But it was already too late.
The red blade of the Sith dispatched every Hutt in sight, Vader’s moves effortless and deadly as he took great pleasure, slaughtering the tribe, starting by the ones who so disgustingly grabbed at Padmé during her dance. He slashed protocol droids in half, leaving a trail of metal and disgusting Hutts’ body parts in his wake.The final one standing was Jabba, and Vader had barely exhausted himself as he murdered his entire tribe. As the slaves all cowered at the edges of the chamber to hide from his wrath, Jabba could only attempt to slither back on his dais. He was trapped, and everyone knew it.
Vader destroyed the protocol droid at the service of the Hutt, before standing in front of Jabba. “ Any last words, you disgusting, good-for-nothing creature?”
“We could help each other,” Jabba implored desperately. “I am the only one left, spare me.”
“He’s a bad fuck, Master,” Padmé announced bluntly as she stood naked in the center of the carnage. “You were right to call him good-for-nothing, he begs like the scum he would throw to the Rancor.”
“Ungrateful slut! ” Jabba roared before Vader’s eyes flashed and he decapitated him. The head of the last Hutt fell to the floor with a tremendous thud that echoed through the hall.
“Now he no longer speaks or insults anyone,” Vader said coldly, turning around to look at Padmé, standing very calmly just like he had asked her to. He removed his heavy robe and came down the dais, wrapping it around her body and clasping it at the front. “It’s time for us to leave.”
“Sir,” his General came forward and saluted.
“What of the Bounty Hunters, Rex?” Vader asked, not tearing his eyes from Padmé’s brown ones. She blinked, furrowed her brow, and tilted her head to one side as if inspecting him.
“Some of them fled, and the ones that decided to stay, have been shot down.”
“Good,” Vader said, raising his hand to caress Padmé’s cheek softly. In the process, he smudged the white paint. “Take the slaves, remove their chips and send them to the Imperial Palace to be taken in.”
“What of her, Sir?” Rex asked warily.
“This one belongs to Master Vader,” Padmé answered before Vader could, moving closer to him.
“She will come with me to Mustafar and is not to be mentioned to the Emperor.” Vader dropped his hand. “Come with me,” he whispered, stepping in front of her, walking out of the Palace and letting two of his most trusted soldiers behind, Fives and Echo, to gather the slaves to take them aboard. She followed, placing her bare feet delicately around the scattered body parts and rocky patches of the ground.
“What do you wish to call this one, Master Vader?” she asked as they approached the ship. “Jabba called this one Shag Kwee-Kunee, but this one will be whatever Master Vader wishes.”
Vader stopped and offered her his hand to climb aboard his ship. “You have a name. I will call you by it. Padmé,” he said with his hand extended towards her.
She placed her hand in his but shook her head. “Master Vader is mistaken. Padmé is dead.”
“You look very much alive to me,” he squeezed her hand, helping her up the ramp. Rex and the rest of the group he had brought following them.
“This one is not Padmé!” she insisted firmly, then ducked her head. An immediate gesture of apology and subjugation. “This one does not mean to contradict Master Vader. If Master Vader wishes this one to be Padmé, this one will be Padmé. Forgive this one’s impertinence, it will not happen again.”
He looked at her with his brow furrowed, observing every inch of her petite self. “We will work on that,” he said with a small sigh. While she had been gifted to him as a slave, Vader was not inclined to treat her as such. For starters, he was against slavery, and no one in his Palace at Mustafar worked there against their will. The way the Emperor ruled the Galaxy was one thing, his personal home, was another. However, he knew it would be troublesome to break eleven years of slavery imposed rules, so patience was a must. He wasn’t very good at being patient, but for her… for her, he would.
Silently, and still holding her hand, he took her to a vacant cabin of the ship. “You are free to shower and while we don’t have female clothing aboard, we do have some clothes you might wear until we reach Mustafar. You can also rest easy. No one will disturb you and we have a few hours of travel to do.”
She undid the robe, dropping it to the floor the same way she’d dropped her dress. “Much can happen in a few hours, Master.”
Vader shifted from one foot to another and just lifted the robe with the Force, placing it on her shoulders again. “Yes, but nothing will. I do not want to bed you, Padmé,” yet. “All I want is for you to rest, clean this paint from your body and feel secure. No one here will touch you against your will and no one will enter without previously announcing themselves.”
“Why does Master lie?” she asked, sinking onto the bed of the cabin.
“I am not lying and I would like for you to stop calling me Master,” he said. “I will be available if you need me. I will leave you be.”
“You are lying,” she said, emboldened by his leniency. “You do want this one. And you will have this one. Just as every other man offered this one has. It is natural. You desired this one, during the dance.”
He lifted one eyebrow. “I am not saying I don’t desire you, Padmé. You are a beautiful, desirable woman. That was not what I said. I am not bedding you,” he took one step closer to her and again caressed her cheek. “Unless you want me back. For now, I wish you to be comfortable. You were gifted to me, but you are not a slave anymore. I want you to trust me.” He paused. “Please.”
She leaned in and crushed her mouth against his, cupping his face with both hands as she did so. The force with which she did it brought their bodies slamming together, he could feel her hips writhing against his as her tongue bumped against his teeth. “Whether you are called Master or not, this one is yours,” she whispered against his lips.
Vader growled and kissed her back, wrapping his arms around her waist. It was not a demanding kiss, it was a fire-fueled one. He bit down on her bottom lip, asking for entrance and then he devoured her mouth, tasting her and simple being consumed by her. Yet, he pulled his lips away and nuzzled her cheek. “Get some rest. I will have a droid bring you some food,” he tightened the robe around her shoulders with a sultry smile and left the cabin.
“You will have this one,” she called after him. “As soon as you command it.” Outside her cabin, he listened to her words and just shook his head. When he had her, it would be because she’d asked.