C-3PO stepped out the oil bath slowly, savoring the feeling of his newly-lubricated servomotors and gears sliding sensuously in place. Ignoring the towel offered to him by R2 (who carefully averted his baleful blue eye), 3PO stepped demurely over to Luke.
"Luke."
"Call me Master, bitch."
"I see, Sir Luke."
Luke slapped 3PO sharply.
"What do I look like, a Jedi knight? Come on."
3PO gently reached down with one glistening gold hand, caressing the bulge beneath Luke's sand-worn utility belt. He smoothed Luke's khaki pants, then moved his hand up to a small device hanging on the belt.
"Would you like to restrain me, Master?"
Luke gripped the restraining bolt activator tightly, extricating it from 3PO's grasp.
"What about the condensers on the North Ridge, Master?"
"Fuck 'em."
Luke gently flicked the switch. With a metallic shudder, barely perceptible in the waning light of the twin sunset, 3PO was immobilized. Luke waved a hand in front of his eyes.
"Are your speech centers still activated?"
"Yes, Master."
"I want it in Bocce."
"Suuejik gelia iksta moom." (I'm hot and ready)
"You like it with humans, don't you, whoredroid?"
"Suuejik huis napra refilia." (I fuckin' love it)
Luke dropped to one knee, his eyes fixed on 3PO's gleaming groin. He licked it brusquely, leaving a filmy swath of saliva over its glistening sheen, obscuring the reflection of his own flushed visage. He pried 3PO's codpiece loose and began chanting rhythmically, breathlessly.
"I'm gonna get a dianoga, and I'm gonna have the dianoga fuck you. And the dianoga's gonna vomit in your face, and I want you to swallow the vomit. You gonna do that for me?"
"Woon." (Yes)
3PO tingled at the thought of the dianoga's long, slimy tentacles wrapping themselves around him, its red, bulging penis (often mistaken for an eye on a stalk) forcing itself into his warm metallic confines.
"I want the dianoga to die while you're fucking him. Then I want you to go behind and smell the dying farts of a dianoga. You gonna do all that for me?"
"Woon, iksta baga lampeel. Baga lampeel!" (Yes, and more than that. And more!)
Luke gripped his modestly-sized penis. As soft and shapeless as a dead mynock. He snorted.
"I'm not hard yet, whoredroid. Tell me a story. Something dirty that'll get me going."
"I'm sorry sir, I'm really just an interpreter, and not very good at telling dirty stories."
Luke looked up at him, his eyes shining. "You know what I did to my last protocol droid?"
"No, master."
"Disintegrated his ass. Improvise, whoredroid."
3PO's circuits began blazing, trying to come up with something. He began shaking with the effort. "Well master, uh...a long time ago..."
"Yeah?" Luke began masturbating listlessly.
"On a planet...really far away..."
"Go on, whore."
"There was this new hope for, uh...Actually it was a dark time for the...Rebellious Fighters."
"Which was it?"
"Well it was a dark time...but there was also a new hope. The Rebellious Fighters had just...stolen the blueprints for a space station built by the...the evil Galaxy Federation."
Luke dropped his flaccid penis. "You're right, you can't tell stories for shit. Well, you had your chance." Luke wearily got to his feet.
"Viilesa japsta womoni pustell iks bambam." (Master, I am fluent in over 6 million forms of fellatio)
"Save it for the Spice Mines of Kessel. Or maybe I'll just blast you into...who-the-fuck-knows-what." Luke unhooked his blaster from his belt, and put it on its highest setting. 3PO began trembling.
"Viilesa, gradoo!" (Master, wait!)
"Now what the fuck?"
"R2 is projecting some kind of message."
"Yeah, right."
"The message appears to be important. A young lady."
"Is she hot?"
3PO shrugged. "Nothing to shout about."
"Shut the fuck up, then. Fucking protocol bullshit. I told Uncle Asshole I didn't want another babbling protocol 'bot. But whatever Luke wants, he has to do the opposite. Sometimes I wish some Imperials would burn his wrinkled ass down with a blaster on low. Set me free from this shithole. I'd lick their boots clean." |