CHAPTER 1:
The rain on Nar Shaddaa didn't just fall; it hammered. It was a relentless, oily deluge that turned the vertical city into a slick, neon-drenched nightmare.
Ahsoka Tano moved through the storm like a white-hot knife. She leaped from the railing of a suspended cargo barge, flipping backwards through the air, her dual white lightsabers ignited. Snap-hiss. The blades vaporized the raindrops instantly, creating a shroud of hissing steam around her as she landed on the durasteel gantry below.
Fifty meters ahead, Fennec Shand was already moving. The Master Assassin didn't run with the frantic energy of a fugitive; she moved with the calculated precision of a machine. She vaulted a rusted ventilation duct, her modified MK-IV sniper rifle locked in her grip, scanning for the kill box.
"You have nowhere to go, Shand!" Ahsoka’s voice cut through the roar of the industrial sector. She pushed off the ground with a burst of Force speed, blurring forward.
Fennec spun around, skidding to a halt near a heavy blast door. She didn't look worried. She looked bored.
"I'm not going anywhere, Jedi," Fennec’s voice crackled through her helmet modulator. "I'm just finding the right angle."
Fennec raised her rifle. Ahsoka, anticipating the standard blaster fire, brought her shoto blade up in a defensive guard. She had done this a thousand times. Deflect, redirect, close the distance.
But Fennec didn't fire immediately. Her gloved thumb flicked a toggle on the rifle’s stock, disengaging the Tibanna gas cycler. A heavy mechanical clunk-click echoed—the sound of a solid-state chamber locking into place.
Ahsoka frowned. The Force whispered a warning—Danger. heavy. physical.—but her muscle memory was faster than her intuition.
Fennec fired.
There was no whine of plasma. There was a sharp crack of gunpowder. A yellow muzzle flash lit up the gloom.
Ahsoka swung her main blade to intercept. It was a perfect parry for an energy bolt. It was catastrophic for a slug of lead alloy traveling at supersonic speeds.
KW-CHAK!
The sound was wrong. It wasn’t the hum of energy meeting energy; it was the sickening crunch of solid matter hitting a containment field. The lead slug didn't disintegrate cleanly; it liquefied instantly against the white-hot plasma blade.
FZZZT-SSSHHHH.
"Gah!" Ahsoka gasped, stumbling back as a spray of superheated liquid metal erupted like a miniature volcano. It wasn't a clean cut; it was a splatter. The molten alloy splashed across her right shoulder and chest, searing instantly through the fabric of her tunic.
It stuck. That was the horror of it. Unlike a blaster bolt that cauterized and vanished, the lead clung to her skin like napalm. It wasn't just heat; it was heavy. The molten slag didn't drip—it sank, a dense, boiling weight dragging down her skin, burning past the dermis and cooking the muscle beneath. It smelled of ozone and singed meat. The pain wasn't a sharp slice—it was a heavy, throbbing anchor of toxic heat that made her arm spasm uncontrollably, breaking her concentration for a critical, fatal second.
Fennec didn't wait. She dropped the rifle to her hip and fired three more shots—this time, standard plasma bolts to impart kinetic force.
Ahsoka gritted her teeth, fighting through the burning pain. She batted the bolts aside—thrum, thrum, thrum—and channeled her pain into anger. She reached out with her hand.
WOOSH.
A telekinetic blast slammed into Fennec, knocking her back against the blast door.
"Enough!" Ahsoka roared. She leaped, clearing the thirty meters in a single, gravity-defying bound. She led with a Force-enhanced kick, her boot aiming directly for Fennec’s midsection to wind her.
It should have shattered ribs. It should have folded the assassin in half.
CLANK-WHIRR.
The impact was solid, but it felt like kicking a blast door. Fennec’s torso didn't give because there was no flesh left to bruise. Her entire midsection was a reinforced hydraulic lattice, the servos whining as they automatically compensated for the massive blow, locking her hips in place.
Ahsoka’s eyes widened. She had connected with the Force, but the machine inside Fennec had simply calibrated to the stress.
Fennec grinned. "Mainframe core replacement, honey. Courtesy of Boba Fett."
Before Ahsoka could retract her leg, Fennec grabbed the Jedi’s ankle with terrifying strength. She twisted, using Ahsoka’s own momentum against her, and slammed the Togruta face-first into the wall.
Ahsoka grunted, tasting blood, but she was a veteran of the Siege of Mandalore. She spun out of the grip, igniting her sabers again and slashing low. Fennec backflipped away, nimble as a cat, but she left her rifle behind on the wet floor.
Ahsoka saw the opening. She’s disarmed.
"It's over!" Ahsoka stood tall, chest heaving, the burns on her shoulder radiating heat. She reached out with the Force, gripping the discarded sniper rifle in an invisible vice. She pulled it into the air between them.
With a flick of her wrist, Ahsoka slashed her lightsaber horizontally. The rifle was sliced neatly in two. The halves clattered to the deck, smoking.
"No more tricks," Ahsoka panted, pointing her blade at Fennec.
Fennec stood ten meters away, hands raised. But she wasn't surrendering. She was pressing a button on her wrist gauntlet.
"You Jedi," Fennec shook her head, her voice calm. "You always think the weapon is the gun."
Ahsoka frowned. She looked down at the sliced rifle on the floor. Inside the severed stock, a small, blinking blue light began to pulse rapidly.
It wasn't a power cell. It was a modified Seismic Charge, rigged to a dead-man switch.
"Run," Fennec whispered.
The air was sucked out of the world—a sharp, vacuum-sealed THWIP—followed by absolute zero silence. Then… BWAAAA-OOOOM.
The Seismic Charge didn't explode with fire; it exploded with pure sound. A shockwave of blue energy rippled outward, cracking the duracrete floor and shattering every window in a three-block radius.
For a human, it would be a severe concussion. For a Togruta, whose hollow, striped montrals were evolved to sense the subtle vibrational shifts of the universe, it was a biological apocalypse.
"AAAAHHH!"
The sound didn't just hit her ears; it pressurized the hollow chambers of her skull. Ahsoka dropped her lightsabers as if they were red-hot coals, clapping her hands desperately over her head, but the agony was internal. It felt less like a sound and more like pressure. Like being dragged to the bottom of the Kaminoan ocean instantly. Her hollow montrals didn't just vibrate; they compressed, the internal membranes stretching to the point of rupture, turning her own biology into an echo chamber of agony. The world didn't just spin; it dissolved into fluid chaos.
Her equilibrium shattered. The floor seemed to tilt ninety degrees, sending her crashing to her knees. Bile rose instantly in her throat—a primal reaction to the vestibular system failure.
Fennec Shand, shielded by her helmet’s dampeners, walked calmly through the aftershock. She stepped over the smoking remains of her rifle.
Ahsoka tried to crawl away, blinded and deafened, her connection to the Force severed by the overwhelming sensory trauma. "Can't... stop... nnnn..."
Fennec stopped in front of the crawling Jedi. She sighed, looking down at the legendary warrior now reduced to a trembling mess.
"Messy," Fennec noted. "But effective."
She reached down and unholstered her sidearm—a heavy stun pistol. She adjusted the dial to maximum output.
Ahsoka sensed the movement, or perhaps just the shadow falling over her. She tried to ignite a saber, summoning it to her hand, but her fingers were numb, shaking uncontrollably. The hilt wobbled on the ground, mocking her.
Fennec kicked the hilt over the edge of the platform.
"Nap time, Commander."
THRUM.
The blue stun ring slammed into Ahsoka’s chest point-blank. The Togruta arched her back, eyes rolling back into her head, mouth opening in a silent cry as her nervous system shut down completely. She collapsed onto the wet metal, limp and broken.
Fennec stood over her prize for a moment, listening to the wail of sirens in the distance. She keyed her comms.
"Bring the ship around," she said, her voice smooth. "And prep the Containment Unit."
She looked down at Ahsoka’s insensible form, her eyes lingering on the boots that would soon be removed.
"I have a new slave to train."
---
CHAPTER 2:
Fennec Shand sat on a reinforced cargo crate, the hum of the hyperdrive vibrating pleasantly through the soles of her boots. She removed her helmet and changed into her form-fitting black undersuit and leather gloves. She casually ran a whetstone along the edge of her vibro-knife, the rhythmic shhhk-shhhk sound filling the silence of the hold.
She paused, looking up from the blade to admire her handiwork.
In the center of the bay, bathed in the amber glow of the status lights, lay the Containment Unit. It was a masterpiece of suppression technology—a horizontal slab of brushed durasteel and reinforced transparisteel. And inside it, displayed like a rare artifact in a museum case, was Ahsoka Tano.
The Jedi was a study in contrast. Her bright orange skin and white markings stood out starkly against the sterile grey of the machine. The unit clamped her tight—shoulders, hips, and thighs locked behind heavy plating. Her head was cradled and held fast in a U-shaped padded headrest, forcing her gaze permanently toward the ceiling, exposing the long, elegant curve of her throat.
Fennec smirked. The best part, however, was at the other end.
Protruding from the base of the machine, locked in padded stocks, were Ahsoka’s feet. They were completely bare, the boots and socks having been stripped away while she was unconscious. The orange skin of her soles was smooth and vulnerable, displayed perfectly at waist height.
The Containment Unit rested on a raised platform. To her left, Fennec noticed Ahsoka’s toes twitching—a reflex she couldn't suppress even in sleep.
A muffled groan broke the silence.
Fennec watched as Ahsoka’s eyes fluttered open. She saw the immediate tensing of the muscles in the Jedi's neck, the way her chest heaved against the transparent breastplate as panic set in. Ahsoka thrashed briefly, a futile, instinctive struggle against five inches of locked alloy.
"Finally awake, Commander?"
Fennec sheathed her knife and stood up, smoothing the black leather of her gloves. She enjoyed the confusion in the Jedi’s eyes—the way they darted frantically around the ceiling, unable to look down, unable to see her captor.
"Shand..." The voice was raspy, dry. "Where..."
"Hyperspace," Fennec cut her off, strolling leisurely toward the foot of the unit. "We’re a long way from help."
She stopped at the end of the bed, looking down at the prizes before her. Ahsoka’s legs were locked straight, her ankles clamped tight in heavy durasteel cuffs that kept her feet elevated and slightly apart. The toes were curled tight, scrunching against the empty air.
"You have very... expressive feet," Fennec mused aloud. "Even your toes are tense."
She reached out with a leather-clad hand. She didn't grab; she simply ran her gloved palm lightly up the length of Ahsoka’s left sole, from the heel to the ball of the foot.
"Khhh-hhhhk!"
It wasn't a scream. It was the sound of her diaphragm slamming shut against her will—a sharp, wet intake of air that whistled violently past her clenched teeth. The silence of the cargo hold was shattered by the clank-rattle-clank of the ankle chains as Ahsoka’s foot jerked violently in the cuff.
"Ghh...!" Ahsoka swallowed a noise that sounded like a sob, her throat clicking as she tried to force the air back down.
"Jumpier than I thought," Fennec chuckled darkly.
She straightened up and began to peel off her gloves, snapping the leather from her fingertips. She dropped the black pair onto the crate, flexing her bare hands, her manicured nails glinting in the amber light.
"Let's see just how jumpy."
Fennec reached out, her index finger poised like a vibro-blade. But she didn't strike. She hovered.
The tip of her manicured nail drifted millimeters from the sensitive, wrinkled skin of Ahsoka’s left sole. It ghosted over the ridges of the arch, close enough to feel the body heat but not quite touching.
Ahsoka slammed her eyes shut. Focus, she commanded herself. She visualized the Force as a wall of solid durasteel entombing her mind—a barrier that had stopped blaster bolts and Sith lightning. There is no pain. There is no... sensation. She routed her breathing, forcing air in through her nose and out through her mouth.
"Meditating?" Fennec teased softly. "Cute. Let's see if your philosophy holds up against biology."
Fennec lowered her finger. The air displaced by the nail felt like static frost against Ahsoka's arch. The phantom sensation was worse than the contact—her nerves misfiring, creating 'ghost references' of touches that hadn't happened yet, causing her toes to spasm in a pre-emptive, useless defense.
Skrrritch.
It was barely a touch. It was a phantom. Fennec dragged the very tip of her nail from the center of the heel, tracing a slow, agonizingly light line up the lateral band of the plantar fascia.
Ahsoka’s mental wall didn't shatter; it simply dissolved into white noise. The sensation wasn't pain—which the Force could block—it was a chaotic, high-frequency signal that jammed her concentration. The "durasteel" in her mind turned to smoke, replaced by a jagged, electric spike of pure nervous system feedback.
"Nnnn-gh!" Ahsoka grunted through clenched teeth, sweat beading instantly on her upper lip. Her toes flared instantly, fan-like, stretching wide in a silent scream of reflex before curling down hard, trying to armor the sole with tense muscle.
"Tense," Fennec murmured, her eyes locked on the curling toes. "You're trying to block it out. That's a mistake, Ahsoka. The Force flows through living things... and right now, your nerves are very, very alive."
Fennec didn't lift her finger. She stopped right in the soft, fleshy depression just below the ball of the foot. She pressed in, just enough to dent the skin, and began to vibrate her hand.
Wiggle. Wiggle. Dig.
The sensation was electric. For Ahsoka, the "durasteel wall" in her mind didn't shatter; it dissolved. The vibration sent spikes of pure, white-hot ticklishness shooting up her tibia, bypassing her mental shields and hot-wiring her nervous system. It wasn't pain. It was a sensory overload that felt like itching powder injected directly into the bone marrow.
"Mmmph! Nnn-hhh-uck!"
Ahsoka’s head thrashed once to the left, her braid slapping the metal headrest. Her eyes flew open, the calm Jedi facade cracking. She wasn't looking at the ceiling anymore; she was staring wildly at her own foot, watching the enemy finger burrow into her weak spot.
"There's the twitch," Fennec whispered.
She dragged the nail continuously now, abandoning the slow line for a chaotic, scribbling motion right in the center of the arch.Scratch-scratch-circle-scratch.
"Ahhh-hnt! S-stop!" Ahsoka gasped, the air leaving her lungs in short, punchy bursts. She yanked her leg back, the heavy chain clanking loudly, but the restraint held her fast. The movement only pressed her sole harder against Fennec’s nail.
"You can feel it building, can't you?" Fennec purred, walking her fingers up to the delicate, silken webbing between the big toe and the second toe. "The pressure. The panic. The urge to just... let go."
She flicked her nail lightly across the webbing. Once. Twice.
Fwip. Fwip.
"NO! Hhh-ah-ha!"
The sound was ugly—a wet, sharp intake of air that snagged in her throat. It wasn't a laugh; it was a biological error code. Ahsoka clamped her jaw shut, her neck muscles roping tight as she tried to strangle the reaction, but the tickle hot-wired her diaphragm.
"Don't... d-don't do that..." Ahsoka pleaded, her voice trembling, losing its command timbre. "I am… I am a Jedi Knight… I…Hhh-iih-ngg!"
"You're a biological organism with seventy-two thousand nerve endings in each foot," Fennec corrected clinically. "And I'm going to introduce myself to every single one of them."
Fennec held Ahsoka’s foot with her left hand in a cupped grip, her palm braced over the top and her fingers curled firmly around the ball to keep it still and to stop the thrashing. With her right, she spread her fingers wide and raked her nails down the length of the sole—from the sensitive pads of the toes all the way to the heel—in four parallel tracks.
SCRAAAAATCH.
The dam broke.
"AAAAIIIIIEEEEE!"
Ahsoka’s scream was high, sharp, and undignified. Her foot spasmed violently in the ankle cuff, twisting as much as the metal would allow.
Fennec grinned, watching the toes instinctively splay and then curl in a desperate attempt to protect the sole. The legendary warrior, the Clone Wars veteran... undone by a single fingernail.
"Ticklish," Fennec whispered, her eyes gleaming. "Very, very ticklish."
Fennec watched mesmerized as the faint orange tint of Ahsoka’s sole deepened—a flush of blood responding to the adrenaline. The single scratch she’d dragged down the arch had evaporated, but the memory of it clearly lingered.
The Jedi’s breathing was sharp and ragged above the hum of the ship. Ahsoka wasn't screaming yet, but the little hitched gasps were pathetic. They were music.
"Let's see the rest of the map," Fennec murmured.
She stepped away from the thrashing feet and moved to the main control console on the side of the unit. Her fingers hovered over a large, illuminated switch labelled MAIN APERTURE. She pressed it firmly.
HISSS-THUNK.
The heavy metal plating covering Ahsoka’s body retracted with a smooth, hydraulic slide. The warm, stale air of the Containment Unit was instantly replaced by the biting recycled chill of the cargo hold.
Ahsoka gasped, her stomach muscles snapping tight in a futile attempt to recoil from the exposure. The cold air washed over her naked midriff, ribs, and breasts, making her skin ripple with instant gooseflesh. But it wasn't just the cold; it was the heat rising from within.
A flush of hot, prickly embarrassment bloomed across her chest, warring with the chill. Her nipples hardened painfully against the cool air, betraying her physiological state.
Fennec tapped two smaller buttons adjacent to the main switch.
Zzzzt-Clack.
Two circular panels located directly over Ahsoka’s armpits irised open, revealing the pale, sensitive hollows beneath her arms. The sensation was even sharper—the sudden draft hitting the damp, terrified hollows of her underarms felt like ice water splashed on an open nerve interact. She felt flayed, every square inch of sensitive skin screaming for cover that wasn't there.
"Much better," Fennec noted, admiring the view. "No secrets left."
Fennec didn't rush. She leaned over the Containment Unit and looked at Ahsoka's stomach.
She placed her bare hand flat against the Togruta’s navel. The muscles beneath her palm were rock hard, tense with anticipation. Ahsoka tried to suck her belly in, away from the touch, but there was nowhere to go.
"Relax, Commander," Fennec purred. She began to circle her thumb around the navel, digging in slightly. "You're fighting it. That just makes it worse."
"D-don't—Hhh-uh!—touch me!" Ahsoka gasped, her head thrashing against the pillory restraint. "I am... nnn-ghh!... warning you!"
"Warning me?" Fennec chuckled. Her fingers spider-walked suddenly, darting up from the navel to the lower ribs. Dig, wiggle, dig.
"Aaaahhhk-hah-hah!"
The laugh burst out of Ahsoka before she could stop it—a sharp, startled bark of mirth mixed with panic. Her stomach muscles clenched violently under Fennec’s fingers.
"There it is," Fennec whispered, delighted. "The famous Jedi discipline."
She moved her other hand to the circular port over Ahsoka’s left armpit. The space was tight, the skin pale and undoubtedly sensitive. Fennec didn't tease here; she went straight for the deep nerve clusters. She drove two fingers into the pit, scribbling her nails aggressively in the sensitive core.
"NO! AHH-HKK-HAA! WA-WAIT!"
The reaction was immediate and explosive. Ahsoka bucked against the restraints, her hips lifting off the bed as her upper body squirmed. The laughter was breathless, high-pitched, and completely involuntary.
"PLEASE! HIH-HIH-HEEE! ST-STOP-HIT!"
Fennec kept her hand buried in the armpit, feeling the frantic heat radiating from the skin. She watched Ahsoka’s face through the glass—eyes scrunching shut, teeth bared in a rictus of desperate hilarity.
"Sensitive here?" Fennec asked innocently, digging harder with her nails. "Or just ticklish everywhere?"
"FU-HU-UH-UCK Y-YOU! GHK-HAA-HAA! AAAARGH! IH-IH-I CAN'T! HHH-IIEE!"
Fennec withdrew her hands, satisfied with the preliminary data. Ahsoka slumped back against the padding, chest heaving, sweat beginning to bead on her forehead.
"Should I stop?" Fennec asked, her voice dripping with mock concern.
"Y-yes..." Ahsoka panted, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. "Please... just... let me go."
Fennec tutted softly. "I can't do that. But I can focus on something else."
She walked back to the foot of the bed.
A jolt of fresh terror went through Ahsoka as she felt Fennec’s presence return to her exposed feet. She tried to pull them back again, the chains rattling against the metal housing.
"No... no, not there..." Ahsoka pleaded, her voice cracking. "Anything but there..."
Fennec smiled. "Anything?"
She picked up a small, stiff brush from a nearby tray—a tool meant for cleaning carbon scoring off engine manifolds. The bristles were stiff, black nylon, cut at a sharp angle to scour metal, not flesh.
"Let's test the durability," Fennec said.
She gripped the toes of Ahsoka’s left foot with her left hand, forcing the sole open and taut. With her right, she didn't just stroke; she brought the brush down hard across the sensitive, wrinkled skin of the sole.
Scritch-RASP-Scritch.
"AAAAIIIIIEEEEE!"
The scream was piercing, a biological rejection of the input. The stiff bristles didn't just tickle; they abraded. It felt like thousands of tiny, electric claws raking against the nerves, generating a storm of stinging static that shot up Ahsoka’s leg and short-circuited her spine.
"AH-HAA! GHK-KAH! NOOO! HHH-IIIIH-Gnngh!"
Ahsoka’s head thrashed back, the sensation overwhelming her mental barriers. It was the "scratch-itch" paradox weaponized—too sharp to be a caress, too light to be a cut. The nylon tips dragged across the grain of her footprints, catching on every ridge of skin.
"Begging won't help, Jedi," Fennec said calmly over the shrieks. She established a rhythm. Scrub the heel. Dig into the arch. Rake the ball. "Screaming won't help. You're just... stimulating the merchandise."
She switched tactics, pressing the bristles deep into the center of the arch and twisting the handle. The stiff nylon spread out, digging into the softest meat of the foot like a burrowing insect.
"OH FORCE! PFFT-CHH-HA-HAA! S-STOP! I CAN'T! HHH-UHH-HIC! MERCY!"
It was a jagged, tearing sound. She was hyperventilating, the laughter scraping her throat raw as she gagged on her own panic. The sensation was electric, a dry, buzzing heat that made her muscles spasm and her toes splay wide in a useless attempt to escape the friction.
The laughter was ugly and wet. It was a desperate, choking bark of air that she tried to swallow back down, but her stomach muscles coiled tight, spasms rolling through her abdomen as her body betrayed her. Tears streamed freely down her face, her composure utterly annihilated by the relentless friction.
Ahsoka was thrashing so hard the metal casing of the Containment Unit rattled in its frame.
Fennec paused, lifting the brush. The sole of the foot was bright red and glistening with sweat. Ahsoka gasped for air, choking on her own laughter, her chest heaving violently.
"See?" Fennec said, admiring the flush. "Much better color on you."
Fennec abruptly stopped scrubbing. She lifted the stiff brush from Ahsoka’s reddened sole and set it down on the metal tray with a deliberate clack.
Silence rushed back into the cargo hold, broken only by the ragged, desperate panting of the Jedi. Ahsoka’s chest heaved against the transparent restraints, her face slick with sweat, eyes wide and dilated.
Ahsoka squeezed her eyes shut, tears leaking from the corners. "Thank... thank you..."
Fennec ignored the gratitude entirely. She stood at the main console, her fingers dancing across the holographic interface with the practiced ease of a technician calibrating lethal weaponry.
"Don't thank me yet, Commander," Fennec purred, her eyes fixed on the readout. "I just need to make a call. But we can't have you getting bored while I work, now can we?"
She tapped a secondary command line, labeled TACTILE STIMULATION MATRIX.
CHUNK-WHIRRR.
At the foot of the Containment Unit, new mechanisms deployed from the base of the ankle cuffs with a horrifying mechanical certainty. Thin, padded loops of durasteel snapped out, encircling each of Ahsoka’s ten toes individually. Before she could gasp, the loops retracted sharply, pulling her toes backward and wide apart, splaying them painfully and locking the balls of her feet into a hyperextended arch.
"No! Wait!" Ahsoka cried, realizing the trap too late. "W-what is—"
Fennec pressed the red button marked ACTIVATE.
The machine didn't just turn on; it invaded.
VVVV-SQUELCH-THRUM...
A deep, subsonic bass note vibrated through the floor plates. Then came the high-pitched engagement of the servos—weeeeeee-KLIK.
At her feet, four articulated metal arms extended with a slick, hydraulic*hiss.*They were tipped not with hard plastic, but with soft, textured pink silicone nodules—material designed to mimic the heat and drag of a tongue, but with the relentless consistency of a machine.
They latched instantly onto the center of her exposed arches.
"H-HHK—AAAAH! Wheeze Ghh-uh! NO! ST-STOP-IH-IT! HE-Hhh-AAAAGH!"
The sensation was fundamentally different from the brush. The silicone didn't glide; it gripped . The high-friction material dragged heavily against the sweating skin of her soles, pulling the flesh taut before snapping back, kneading the tender meat of her arches with a deep, rolling pressure.
Grrr-squelch. Grrr-squelch.
Two arms burrowed into the center of her feet, vibrating violently as they traced complex, maddening patterns—figure-eights that ground into the plantar fascia, spirals that drilled into the heel. The friction created a wet, suffocating heat that felt like it was melting her resolve.
The other two arms slithered lasciviously between her splayed toes. They didn't just touch; they wedged themselves deep into the delicate webbing. The silicone heads expanded slightly, stretching the gaps between her toes before vibrating at a frequency that turned her blood into carbonated static.
"PLEASE! Hhk-hff! NO MORE! IT'S BURROWING! GHK-HA-HA-HAAA!"
Ahsoka’s scream shredded her throat, immediately undercut by a wet, breathless hacking—a desperate, unable-to-breathe cackle that felt like her ribs were cracking from the inside out. The machine was relentless, massaging the agony deep into her bones, denying her even a second of numbness.
Every nerve ending in her feet—all seventy-two thousand of them—fired at once. The sensation was a physical intrusion, a heavy, dragging stimulation that made her muscles lock up and her toes curl and uncurl in a frantic, rhythmic spasm of total sensory defeat.
The sound of the room became a cacophony: the slap-slap-slap of her braid thrashing against the headrest, the grind of the motors digging in, and the desperate, choking noise escaping her lips:
"NO! NO! A-AH-AH-GHK! OH FUCK! HHH-IIIIH-HEEE! STOP! P-PLEASE!"
Ahsoka’s scream was instantaneous and shattering, stripping her throat raw. The assault was total.
"PLEASE! Wheeze HHH-UHH! NO MORE! I BEG YOU! GHK-HA-HA-HA-HAAA!"
Each touch was a fresh shockwave, creating a cacophony of sensation that drowned out every thought, every instinct, every scrap of training she had ever possessed.
Simultaneously, the base of the Containment Unit opened on either side her torso. Two large, circular bristle-brushes extended on telescopic arms and moved directly over her exposed armpits. They spun up with a terrifying whirrrr and slammed into the hollows, the stiff bristles scouring her sensitive underarms in chaotic, counter-rotating cycles.
"NO! NO! A-AH-AH-GHK! NO MORE! OH FUCK! GHK-HA-HA-HA-HAAA!"
Lower down, a dozen smaller, piston-like rods tipped with cold silicone emerged from the side panels. Some jabbed sharply into her ribs, vibrating against the bone, while others traced maddening, ghostly circles over her breasts and nipples.
Zzzzzzt.
A single, slender mechanical arm extended and hovered over her navel. It was tipped with a small, rapidly rotating soft-bristle head that dropped straight into the indentation and began to spin like a drill.
The cargo hold was a cacophony of mechanical whirring and raw, unfiltered panic.
"NO! NO! AHA-HA-HA-HA! OH FUCKING HELL! IT'S EVERYWHERE! HEE-HEE-HEE-HEE! STOP! ST-STOP-HIT!"
Ahsoka’s head thrashed violently against the padding, her montrals vibrating with every shriek. Her laughter was broken, hysterical, devoid of humor.
Fennec turned her back on the thrashing Jedi and activated the holotable. A blue, flickering image of a Weequay broker appeared, looking annoyed by the background noise.
"Shand," the hologram rasped. "I can barely hear you. What is that racket?"
"I'm back in the game!" Fennec shouted. She had to pitch her voice to cut through the din behind her.
The cargo hold sounded like an industrial slaughterhouse. The brushes in Ahsoka's armpits were generating a high-speed shhh-shhh-shhh friction noise, overlaid by the heavy mechanical thud-thud of the Togruta’s heels kicking uselessly against the plating. And piercing through it all was the wet, jagged rhythm of Ahsoka’s lungs failing:
"PLEASE! HHH-UHH! NO MORE! STAAAAHP! AHA-HA-HA-HA!"
Fennec gestured casually behind her to the convulsing Togruta. "I have a high-value acquisition. Look."
Ahsoka let out a particularly high-pitched, sobbing wail as the navel brush changed direction, spinning counter-clockwise in her navel.
"PLEE-HEE-HEEASE! Wheeze… GHK-KAH! HHH-AAAAH! I CAN'T-HIC! I C-CAN'T BREATHE! HA-HA-HAAAA!"
"Hold on," Fennec yelled at the hologram. "She's a little... enthusiastic."
She reached out and slammed a heavy red button on the console.
THUNK-HISSSSSS.
The Containment Unit sealed instantly. Heavy soundproofing panels slid over the armpits, the torso access ports, and the faceplate. Simultaneously, a panel slid down over the footrest, concealing the frantic, splayed toes.
The silence that followed was jarring. Absolute, hermetic quiet rushed back into the ship, leaving the hologram blinking in surprise.
Shand looked back at the trader and smiled "aaah, that's better. Now where were we?"
"Is that... Tano?" the broker asked, her voice suddenly clear in the stillness.
"The one and only," Fennec confirmed, leaning back against the console, her voice returning to its cool, predatory smooth. "Condition is excellent. Highly responsive. But she's not for direct sale."
"Not for sale? Then why call?"
"Because this is an event," Fennec smirked. "I don't want a fixed price. I want a bidding war. Everyone will get a chance to bid on her, the Hutts, the Zygerrians, Crimson Dawn... I'm letting you know first for old times' sake."
The trader considered this for a moment and then her eyes narrowed "ok... so when's the auction planned for?"
Shand waved her hand casually, "no fixed date, probably a month from now. Don't worry though, when I know, you'll know."
"A month?" The Weequay frowned. "That's a long hold for a Jedi. They tend to... escape."
Fennec glanced back at the silent, vibrating metal box. Through the small, thick observation slit, she could see Ahsoka's mouth opening wide in a silent scream, her body bucking as the internal machines continued their relentless work.
"She's not going anywhere," Fennec said softly. "I have plans for her. I reckon it'll take the month to... condition the merchandise. By the time the gavel drops, she'll be broken, obedient, and begging to be sold."
"Fair enough. I await the auction date."
The hologram faded.
Fennec stood alone in the quiet hold. The only evidence of the torture occurring three meters away was the slight, rhythmic shuddering of the Containment Unit bolted to the deck.
She rolled her neck, feeling a stiffness there, and walked over to the ship’s small galley unit. She opened a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Spotchka. She poured a generous measure into a heavy crystal glass, the amber liquid swirling with light.
She took a slow sip, letting the fiery alcohol burn the back of her throat.
"Refreshing," she whispered.
Glass in hand, she strolled leisurely back to the foot of the Containment Unit. She stood there for a moment, listening to the silence, admiring the sleek lines of her machine.
Then, she reached down and pressed a specific toggle on the side of the foot unit: ACCESS LOOP: FEET ONLY.
HISS-CLACK.
The panel concealing the feet retracted.
Sound exploded into the room again—not from the machine, but from Ahsoka’s throat, channeling down the length of the tube and venting out through the foot opening.
"...EEEEEEE-YHH-HEE-HE! GHK-KAH-HA! MAKE IT STOP! P-PLEASE! OH GODS! HIH-HIH-HIEEEE!"
Ahsoka’s feet were still trapped in the nightmare. The silicone arms were still tracing figure-eights on her soles; the nodes were still vibrating between her toes.
Fennec took another sip of her drink, watching the chaotic dance of the orange toes.
Fennec leaned over and pressed a few buttons by the stocks, then she sat back and swirled her drink.
The mechanical arms, commanded by the computer, instantly retracted into the housing with a soft click. The frantic stimulation on Ahsoka's soles vanished.
Inside the machine, the relief was palpable but incomplete. Ahsoka’s laughter dropped from a hysterical shriek to a breathless, jagged giggling.
"Hhh-hah... hah... SHAND... ha-ha... turn... turn the rest ooo-ho-ho-hoooo—off!" Ahsoka breathed, her chest still heaving as the armpit brushes continued to spin and the navel drill whirred on. "Please... have mercy! gah! staaahp!"
"Enjoying yourself, Commander?" Fennec murmured.
She sat down on the crate directly in front of the exposed feet. She held her drink in her left hand, resting it on her knee.
Ahsoka’s feet were still splayed wide by the durasteel loops, the arches pulled taut and shiny, the skin flushed a deep, inviting red.
With her right hand, Fennec reached out. Her long, manicured index fingernail hovered over the center of Ahsoka’s right arch.
"We have a whole month to get to know each other," Fennec said conversationally. "And I have SO much to teach you."
She pressed the sharp point of her nail directly into the center of the plantar fascia—the tightest, most sensitive band of muscle in the foot. She didn't scratch; she drilled, twisting her finger like a screw.
"NOOO-YEEE-HEEE!"
The explosion of laughter returned instantly, sharper and more desperate than before. Ahsoka’s foot jerked violently in the clamps, trying to curl around the intrusion, but the toe loops held it open.
"AHH-HAA-HAA! NOT Y-YOU! NOT TH-THAT! HHH-UH-HUH!"
Fennec watched the reaction with clinical interest, taking a slow sip of her Spotchka. She withdrew the nail from the center arch and moved it up. She found the fleshy ridge of skin just below the big toe—the spot where the arch meets the ball of the foot.
"You know," Shand said with a little smirk. "The one spot I absolutely HATE someone touching on my feet is riiiiight here." She dragged her nail lightly across the grain of the wrinkles, back and forth, feather-light.
Scritch-scritch-scritch.
"FUUUUUUCK! AHH-HAA-EHEEE! WA-WAIT! Hic! THAT T-TICKLES! THAT TICKLES S-SO MU-HUCH! HIH-HIHI-HIIIIEE!"
The laughter pitched up into a register of pure, undiluted hysteria. Tears streamed freely, blinding her, as the dual assault overwhelmed her completely. She was no longer a Commander; she was a trembling, sobbing mess of overstimulated nerves, gasping for oxygen that refused to reach her lungs.
Ahsoka was writhing now, the laughter breathless and tear-soaked as the dual assault—the heavy mechanical churning on her upper body and the sharp, precise torture on her feet—overwhelmed her completely.
Fennec pulled her hand back, admiring the chaotic twitching of the toes. Then she reached for the console again and reactivated the mechanical arms at Ahsoka's feet.
"Sensitivity is high, but I'm sure we can do better," Fennec noted, swirling the last of the amber liquid in her glass as she watched the Jedi break. "Anyway, I'll leave you to it. Check on you in a bit, hun."
She pressed another button to seal the Containment Unit, drained her glass, and walked back to her quarters on the ship.
The rain on Nar Shaddaa didn't just fall; it hammered. It was a relentless, oily deluge that turned the vertical city into a slick, neon-drenched nightmare.
Ahsoka Tano moved through the storm like a white-hot knife. She leaped from the railing of a suspended cargo barge, flipping backwards through the air, her dual white lightsabers ignited. Snap-hiss. The blades vaporized the raindrops instantly, creating a shroud of hissing steam around her as she landed on the durasteel gantry below.
Fifty meters ahead, Fennec Shand was already moving. The Master Assassin didn't run with the frantic energy of a fugitive; she moved with the calculated precision of a machine. She vaulted a rusted ventilation duct, her modified MK-IV sniper rifle locked in her grip, scanning for the kill box.
"You have nowhere to go, Shand!" Ahsoka’s voice cut through the roar of the industrial sector. She pushed off the ground with a burst of Force speed, blurring forward.
Fennec spun around, skidding to a halt near a heavy blast door. She didn't look worried. She looked bored.
"I'm not going anywhere, Jedi," Fennec’s voice crackled through her helmet modulator. "I'm just finding the right angle."
Fennec raised her rifle. Ahsoka, anticipating the standard blaster fire, brought her shoto blade up in a defensive guard. She had done this a thousand times. Deflect, redirect, close the distance.
But Fennec didn't fire immediately. Her gloved thumb flicked a toggle on the rifle’s stock, disengaging the Tibanna gas cycler. A heavy mechanical clunk-click echoed—the sound of a solid-state chamber locking into place.
Ahsoka frowned. The Force whispered a warning—Danger. heavy. physical.—but her muscle memory was faster than her intuition.
Fennec fired.
There was no whine of plasma. There was a sharp crack of gunpowder. A yellow muzzle flash lit up the gloom.
Ahsoka swung her main blade to intercept. It was a perfect parry for an energy bolt. It was catastrophic for a slug of lead alloy traveling at supersonic speeds.
KW-CHAK!
The sound was wrong. It wasn’t the hum of energy meeting energy; it was the sickening crunch of solid matter hitting a containment field. The lead slug didn't disintegrate cleanly; it liquefied instantly against the white-hot plasma blade.
FZZZT-SSSHHHH.
"Gah!" Ahsoka gasped, stumbling back as a spray of superheated liquid metal erupted like a miniature volcano. It wasn't a clean cut; it was a splatter. The molten alloy splashed across her right shoulder and chest, searing instantly through the fabric of her tunic.
It stuck. That was the horror of it. Unlike a blaster bolt that cauterized and vanished, the lead clung to her skin like napalm. It wasn't just heat; it was heavy. The molten slag didn't drip—it sank, a dense, boiling weight dragging down her skin, burning past the dermis and cooking the muscle beneath. It smelled of ozone and singed meat. The pain wasn't a sharp slice—it was a heavy, throbbing anchor of toxic heat that made her arm spasm uncontrollably, breaking her concentration for a critical, fatal second.
Fennec didn't wait. She dropped the rifle to her hip and fired three more shots—this time, standard plasma bolts to impart kinetic force.
Ahsoka gritted her teeth, fighting through the burning pain. She batted the bolts aside—thrum, thrum, thrum—and channeled her pain into anger. She reached out with her hand.
WOOSH.
A telekinetic blast slammed into Fennec, knocking her back against the blast door.
"Enough!" Ahsoka roared. She leaped, clearing the thirty meters in a single, gravity-defying bound. She led with a Force-enhanced kick, her boot aiming directly for Fennec’s midsection to wind her.
It should have shattered ribs. It should have folded the assassin in half.
CLANK-WHIRR.
The impact was solid, but it felt like kicking a blast door. Fennec’s torso didn't give because there was no flesh left to bruise. Her entire midsection was a reinforced hydraulic lattice, the servos whining as they automatically compensated for the massive blow, locking her hips in place.
Ahsoka’s eyes widened. She had connected with the Force, but the machine inside Fennec had simply calibrated to the stress.
Fennec grinned. "Mainframe core replacement, honey. Courtesy of Boba Fett."
Before Ahsoka could retract her leg, Fennec grabbed the Jedi’s ankle with terrifying strength. She twisted, using Ahsoka’s own momentum against her, and slammed the Togruta face-first into the wall.
Ahsoka grunted, tasting blood, but she was a veteran of the Siege of Mandalore. She spun out of the grip, igniting her sabers again and slashing low. Fennec backflipped away, nimble as a cat, but she left her rifle behind on the wet floor.
Ahsoka saw the opening. She’s disarmed.
"It's over!" Ahsoka stood tall, chest heaving, the burns on her shoulder radiating heat. She reached out with the Force, gripping the discarded sniper rifle in an invisible vice. She pulled it into the air between them.
With a flick of her wrist, Ahsoka slashed her lightsaber horizontally. The rifle was sliced neatly in two. The halves clattered to the deck, smoking.
"No more tricks," Ahsoka panted, pointing her blade at Fennec.
Fennec stood ten meters away, hands raised. But she wasn't surrendering. She was pressing a button on her wrist gauntlet.
"You Jedi," Fennec shook her head, her voice calm. "You always think the weapon is the gun."
Ahsoka frowned. She looked down at the sliced rifle on the floor. Inside the severed stock, a small, blinking blue light began to pulse rapidly.
It wasn't a power cell. It was a modified Seismic Charge, rigged to a dead-man switch.
"Run," Fennec whispered.
The air was sucked out of the world—a sharp, vacuum-sealed THWIP—followed by absolute zero silence. Then… BWAAAA-OOOOM.
The Seismic Charge didn't explode with fire; it exploded with pure sound. A shockwave of blue energy rippled outward, cracking the duracrete floor and shattering every window in a three-block radius.
For a human, it would be a severe concussion. For a Togruta, whose hollow, striped montrals were evolved to sense the subtle vibrational shifts of the universe, it was a biological apocalypse.
"AAAAHHH!"
The sound didn't just hit her ears; it pressurized the hollow chambers of her skull. Ahsoka dropped her lightsabers as if they were red-hot coals, clapping her hands desperately over her head, but the agony was internal. It felt less like a sound and more like pressure. Like being dragged to the bottom of the Kaminoan ocean instantly. Her hollow montrals didn't just vibrate; they compressed, the internal membranes stretching to the point of rupture, turning her own biology into an echo chamber of agony. The world didn't just spin; it dissolved into fluid chaos.
Her equilibrium shattered. The floor seemed to tilt ninety degrees, sending her crashing to her knees. Bile rose instantly in her throat—a primal reaction to the vestibular system failure.
Fennec Shand, shielded by her helmet’s dampeners, walked calmly through the aftershock. She stepped over the smoking remains of her rifle.
Ahsoka tried to crawl away, blinded and deafened, her connection to the Force severed by the overwhelming sensory trauma. "Can't... stop... nnnn..."
Fennec stopped in front of the crawling Jedi. She sighed, looking down at the legendary warrior now reduced to a trembling mess.
"Messy," Fennec noted. "But effective."
She reached down and unholstered her sidearm—a heavy stun pistol. She adjusted the dial to maximum output.
Ahsoka sensed the movement, or perhaps just the shadow falling over her. She tried to ignite a saber, summoning it to her hand, but her fingers were numb, shaking uncontrollably. The hilt wobbled on the ground, mocking her.
Fennec kicked the hilt over the edge of the platform.
"Nap time, Commander."
THRUM.
The blue stun ring slammed into Ahsoka’s chest point-blank. The Togruta arched her back, eyes rolling back into her head, mouth opening in a silent cry as her nervous system shut down completely. She collapsed onto the wet metal, limp and broken.
Fennec stood over her prize for a moment, listening to the wail of sirens in the distance. She keyed her comms.
"Bring the ship around," she said, her voice smooth. "And prep the Containment Unit."
She looked down at Ahsoka’s insensible form, her eyes lingering on the boots that would soon be removed.
"I have a new slave to train."
---
CHAPTER 2:
Fennec Shand sat on a reinforced cargo crate, the hum of the hyperdrive vibrating pleasantly through the soles of her boots. She removed her helmet and changed into her form-fitting black undersuit and leather gloves. She casually ran a whetstone along the edge of her vibro-knife, the rhythmic shhhk-shhhk sound filling the silence of the hold.
She paused, looking up from the blade to admire her handiwork.
In the center of the bay, bathed in the amber glow of the status lights, lay the Containment Unit. It was a masterpiece of suppression technology—a horizontal slab of brushed durasteel and reinforced transparisteel. And inside it, displayed like a rare artifact in a museum case, was Ahsoka Tano.
The Jedi was a study in contrast. Her bright orange skin and white markings stood out starkly against the sterile grey of the machine. The unit clamped her tight—shoulders, hips, and thighs locked behind heavy plating. Her head was cradled and held fast in a U-shaped padded headrest, forcing her gaze permanently toward the ceiling, exposing the long, elegant curve of her throat.
Fennec smirked. The best part, however, was at the other end.
Protruding from the base of the machine, locked in padded stocks, were Ahsoka’s feet. They were completely bare, the boots and socks having been stripped away while she was unconscious. The orange skin of her soles was smooth and vulnerable, displayed perfectly at waist height.
The Containment Unit rested on a raised platform. To her left, Fennec noticed Ahsoka’s toes twitching—a reflex she couldn't suppress even in sleep.
A muffled groan broke the silence.
Fennec watched as Ahsoka’s eyes fluttered open. She saw the immediate tensing of the muscles in the Jedi's neck, the way her chest heaved against the transparent breastplate as panic set in. Ahsoka thrashed briefly, a futile, instinctive struggle against five inches of locked alloy.
"Finally awake, Commander?"
Fennec sheathed her knife and stood up, smoothing the black leather of her gloves. She enjoyed the confusion in the Jedi’s eyes—the way they darted frantically around the ceiling, unable to look down, unable to see her captor.
"Shand..." The voice was raspy, dry. "Where..."
"Hyperspace," Fennec cut her off, strolling leisurely toward the foot of the unit. "We’re a long way from help."
She stopped at the end of the bed, looking down at the prizes before her. Ahsoka’s legs were locked straight, her ankles clamped tight in heavy durasteel cuffs that kept her feet elevated and slightly apart. The toes were curled tight, scrunching against the empty air.
"You have very... expressive feet," Fennec mused aloud. "Even your toes are tense."
She reached out with a leather-clad hand. She didn't grab; she simply ran her gloved palm lightly up the length of Ahsoka’s left sole, from the heel to the ball of the foot.
"Khhh-hhhhk!"
It wasn't a scream. It was the sound of her diaphragm slamming shut against her will—a sharp, wet intake of air that whistled violently past her clenched teeth. The silence of the cargo hold was shattered by the clank-rattle-clank of the ankle chains as Ahsoka’s foot jerked violently in the cuff.
"Ghh...!" Ahsoka swallowed a noise that sounded like a sob, her throat clicking as she tried to force the air back down.
"Jumpier than I thought," Fennec chuckled darkly.
She straightened up and began to peel off her gloves, snapping the leather from her fingertips. She dropped the black pair onto the crate, flexing her bare hands, her manicured nails glinting in the amber light.
"Let's see just how jumpy."
Fennec reached out, her index finger poised like a vibro-blade. But she didn't strike. She hovered.
The tip of her manicured nail drifted millimeters from the sensitive, wrinkled skin of Ahsoka’s left sole. It ghosted over the ridges of the arch, close enough to feel the body heat but not quite touching.
Ahsoka slammed her eyes shut. Focus, she commanded herself. She visualized the Force as a wall of solid durasteel entombing her mind—a barrier that had stopped blaster bolts and Sith lightning. There is no pain. There is no... sensation. She routed her breathing, forcing air in through her nose and out through her mouth.
"Meditating?" Fennec teased softly. "Cute. Let's see if your philosophy holds up against biology."
Fennec lowered her finger. The air displaced by the nail felt like static frost against Ahsoka's arch. The phantom sensation was worse than the contact—her nerves misfiring, creating 'ghost references' of touches that hadn't happened yet, causing her toes to spasm in a pre-emptive, useless defense.
Skrrritch.
It was barely a touch. It was a phantom. Fennec dragged the very tip of her nail from the center of the heel, tracing a slow, agonizingly light line up the lateral band of the plantar fascia.
Ahsoka’s mental wall didn't shatter; it simply dissolved into white noise. The sensation wasn't pain—which the Force could block—it was a chaotic, high-frequency signal that jammed her concentration. The "durasteel" in her mind turned to smoke, replaced by a jagged, electric spike of pure nervous system feedback.
"Nnnn-gh!" Ahsoka grunted through clenched teeth, sweat beading instantly on her upper lip. Her toes flared instantly, fan-like, stretching wide in a silent scream of reflex before curling down hard, trying to armor the sole with tense muscle.
"Tense," Fennec murmured, her eyes locked on the curling toes. "You're trying to block it out. That's a mistake, Ahsoka. The Force flows through living things... and right now, your nerves are very, very alive."
Fennec didn't lift her finger. She stopped right in the soft, fleshy depression just below the ball of the foot. She pressed in, just enough to dent the skin, and began to vibrate her hand.
Wiggle. Wiggle. Dig.
The sensation was electric. For Ahsoka, the "durasteel wall" in her mind didn't shatter; it dissolved. The vibration sent spikes of pure, white-hot ticklishness shooting up her tibia, bypassing her mental shields and hot-wiring her nervous system. It wasn't pain. It was a sensory overload that felt like itching powder injected directly into the bone marrow.
"Mmmph! Nnn-hhh-uck!"
Ahsoka’s head thrashed once to the left, her braid slapping the metal headrest. Her eyes flew open, the calm Jedi facade cracking. She wasn't looking at the ceiling anymore; she was staring wildly at her own foot, watching the enemy finger burrow into her weak spot.
"There's the twitch," Fennec whispered.
She dragged the nail continuously now, abandoning the slow line for a chaotic, scribbling motion right in the center of the arch.Scratch-scratch-circle-scratch.
"Ahhh-hnt! S-stop!" Ahsoka gasped, the air leaving her lungs in short, punchy bursts. She yanked her leg back, the heavy chain clanking loudly, but the restraint held her fast. The movement only pressed her sole harder against Fennec’s nail.
"You can feel it building, can't you?" Fennec purred, walking her fingers up to the delicate, silken webbing between the big toe and the second toe. "The pressure. The panic. The urge to just... let go."
She flicked her nail lightly across the webbing. Once. Twice.
Fwip. Fwip.
"NO! Hhh-ah-ha!"
The sound was ugly—a wet, sharp intake of air that snagged in her throat. It wasn't a laugh; it was a biological error code. Ahsoka clamped her jaw shut, her neck muscles roping tight as she tried to strangle the reaction, but the tickle hot-wired her diaphragm.
"Don't... d-don't do that..." Ahsoka pleaded, her voice trembling, losing its command timbre. "I am… I am a Jedi Knight… I…Hhh-iih-ngg!"
"You're a biological organism with seventy-two thousand nerve endings in each foot," Fennec corrected clinically. "And I'm going to introduce myself to every single one of them."
Fennec held Ahsoka’s foot with her left hand in a cupped grip, her palm braced over the top and her fingers curled firmly around the ball to keep it still and to stop the thrashing. With her right, she spread her fingers wide and raked her nails down the length of the sole—from the sensitive pads of the toes all the way to the heel—in four parallel tracks.
SCRAAAAATCH.
The dam broke.
"AAAAIIIIIEEEEE!"
Ahsoka’s scream was high, sharp, and undignified. Her foot spasmed violently in the ankle cuff, twisting as much as the metal would allow.
Fennec grinned, watching the toes instinctively splay and then curl in a desperate attempt to protect the sole. The legendary warrior, the Clone Wars veteran... undone by a single fingernail.
"Ticklish," Fennec whispered, her eyes gleaming. "Very, very ticklish."
Fennec watched mesmerized as the faint orange tint of Ahsoka’s sole deepened—a flush of blood responding to the adrenaline. The single scratch she’d dragged down the arch had evaporated, but the memory of it clearly lingered.
The Jedi’s breathing was sharp and ragged above the hum of the ship. Ahsoka wasn't screaming yet, but the little hitched gasps were pathetic. They were music.
"Let's see the rest of the map," Fennec murmured.
She stepped away from the thrashing feet and moved to the main control console on the side of the unit. Her fingers hovered over a large, illuminated switch labelled MAIN APERTURE. She pressed it firmly.
HISSS-THUNK.
The heavy metal plating covering Ahsoka’s body retracted with a smooth, hydraulic slide. The warm, stale air of the Containment Unit was instantly replaced by the biting recycled chill of the cargo hold.
Ahsoka gasped, her stomach muscles snapping tight in a futile attempt to recoil from the exposure. The cold air washed over her naked midriff, ribs, and breasts, making her skin ripple with instant gooseflesh. But it wasn't just the cold; it was the heat rising from within.
A flush of hot, prickly embarrassment bloomed across her chest, warring with the chill. Her nipples hardened painfully against the cool air, betraying her physiological state.
Fennec tapped two smaller buttons adjacent to the main switch.
Zzzzt-Clack.
Two circular panels located directly over Ahsoka’s armpits irised open, revealing the pale, sensitive hollows beneath her arms. The sensation was even sharper—the sudden draft hitting the damp, terrified hollows of her underarms felt like ice water splashed on an open nerve interact. She felt flayed, every square inch of sensitive skin screaming for cover that wasn't there.
"Much better," Fennec noted, admiring the view. "No secrets left."
Fennec didn't rush. She leaned over the Containment Unit and looked at Ahsoka's stomach.
She placed her bare hand flat against the Togruta’s navel. The muscles beneath her palm were rock hard, tense with anticipation. Ahsoka tried to suck her belly in, away from the touch, but there was nowhere to go.
"Relax, Commander," Fennec purred. She began to circle her thumb around the navel, digging in slightly. "You're fighting it. That just makes it worse."
"D-don't—Hhh-uh!—touch me!" Ahsoka gasped, her head thrashing against the pillory restraint. "I am... nnn-ghh!... warning you!"
"Warning me?" Fennec chuckled. Her fingers spider-walked suddenly, darting up from the navel to the lower ribs. Dig, wiggle, dig.
"Aaaahhhk-hah-hah!"
The laugh burst out of Ahsoka before she could stop it—a sharp, startled bark of mirth mixed with panic. Her stomach muscles clenched violently under Fennec’s fingers.
"There it is," Fennec whispered, delighted. "The famous Jedi discipline."
She moved her other hand to the circular port over Ahsoka’s left armpit. The space was tight, the skin pale and undoubtedly sensitive. Fennec didn't tease here; she went straight for the deep nerve clusters. She drove two fingers into the pit, scribbling her nails aggressively in the sensitive core.
"NO! AHH-HKK-HAA! WA-WAIT!"
The reaction was immediate and explosive. Ahsoka bucked against the restraints, her hips lifting off the bed as her upper body squirmed. The laughter was breathless, high-pitched, and completely involuntary.
"PLEASE! HIH-HIH-HEEE! ST-STOP-HIT!"
Fennec kept her hand buried in the armpit, feeling the frantic heat radiating from the skin. She watched Ahsoka’s face through the glass—eyes scrunching shut, teeth bared in a rictus of desperate hilarity.
"Sensitive here?" Fennec asked innocently, digging harder with her nails. "Or just ticklish everywhere?"
"FU-HU-UH-UCK Y-YOU! GHK-HAA-HAA! AAAARGH! IH-IH-I CAN'T! HHH-IIEE!"
Fennec withdrew her hands, satisfied with the preliminary data. Ahsoka slumped back against the padding, chest heaving, sweat beginning to bead on her forehead.
"Should I stop?" Fennec asked, her voice dripping with mock concern.
"Y-yes..." Ahsoka panted, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. "Please... just... let me go."
Fennec tutted softly. "I can't do that. But I can focus on something else."
She walked back to the foot of the bed.
A jolt of fresh terror went through Ahsoka as she felt Fennec’s presence return to her exposed feet. She tried to pull them back again, the chains rattling against the metal housing.
"No... no, not there..." Ahsoka pleaded, her voice cracking. "Anything but there..."
Fennec smiled. "Anything?"
She picked up a small, stiff brush from a nearby tray—a tool meant for cleaning carbon scoring off engine manifolds. The bristles were stiff, black nylon, cut at a sharp angle to scour metal, not flesh.
"Let's test the durability," Fennec said.
She gripped the toes of Ahsoka’s left foot with her left hand, forcing the sole open and taut. With her right, she didn't just stroke; she brought the brush down hard across the sensitive, wrinkled skin of the sole.
Scritch-RASP-Scritch.
"AAAAIIIIIEEEEE!"
The scream was piercing, a biological rejection of the input. The stiff bristles didn't just tickle; they abraded. It felt like thousands of tiny, electric claws raking against the nerves, generating a storm of stinging static that shot up Ahsoka’s leg and short-circuited her spine.
"AH-HAA! GHK-KAH! NOOO! HHH-IIIIH-Gnngh!"
Ahsoka’s head thrashed back, the sensation overwhelming her mental barriers. It was the "scratch-itch" paradox weaponized—too sharp to be a caress, too light to be a cut. The nylon tips dragged across the grain of her footprints, catching on every ridge of skin.
"Begging won't help, Jedi," Fennec said calmly over the shrieks. She established a rhythm. Scrub the heel. Dig into the arch. Rake the ball. "Screaming won't help. You're just... stimulating the merchandise."
She switched tactics, pressing the bristles deep into the center of the arch and twisting the handle. The stiff nylon spread out, digging into the softest meat of the foot like a burrowing insect.
"OH FORCE! PFFT-CHH-HA-HAA! S-STOP! I CAN'T! HHH-UHH-HIC! MERCY!"
It was a jagged, tearing sound. She was hyperventilating, the laughter scraping her throat raw as she gagged on her own panic. The sensation was electric, a dry, buzzing heat that made her muscles spasm and her toes splay wide in a useless attempt to escape the friction.
The laughter was ugly and wet. It was a desperate, choking bark of air that she tried to swallow back down, but her stomach muscles coiled tight, spasms rolling through her abdomen as her body betrayed her. Tears streamed freely down her face, her composure utterly annihilated by the relentless friction.
Ahsoka was thrashing so hard the metal casing of the Containment Unit rattled in its frame.
Fennec paused, lifting the brush. The sole of the foot was bright red and glistening with sweat. Ahsoka gasped for air, choking on her own laughter, her chest heaving violently.
"See?" Fennec said, admiring the flush. "Much better color on you."
Fennec abruptly stopped scrubbing. She lifted the stiff brush from Ahsoka’s reddened sole and set it down on the metal tray with a deliberate clack.
Silence rushed back into the cargo hold, broken only by the ragged, desperate panting of the Jedi. Ahsoka’s chest heaved against the transparent restraints, her face slick with sweat, eyes wide and dilated.
Ahsoka squeezed her eyes shut, tears leaking from the corners. "Thank... thank you..."
Fennec ignored the gratitude entirely. She stood at the main console, her fingers dancing across the holographic interface with the practiced ease of a technician calibrating lethal weaponry.
"Don't thank me yet, Commander," Fennec purred, her eyes fixed on the readout. "I just need to make a call. But we can't have you getting bored while I work, now can we?"
She tapped a secondary command line, labeled TACTILE STIMULATION MATRIX.
CHUNK-WHIRRR.
At the foot of the Containment Unit, new mechanisms deployed from the base of the ankle cuffs with a horrifying mechanical certainty. Thin, padded loops of durasteel snapped out, encircling each of Ahsoka’s ten toes individually. Before she could gasp, the loops retracted sharply, pulling her toes backward and wide apart, splaying them painfully and locking the balls of her feet into a hyperextended arch.
"No! Wait!" Ahsoka cried, realizing the trap too late. "W-what is—"
Fennec pressed the red button marked ACTIVATE.
The machine didn't just turn on; it invaded.
VVVV-SQUELCH-THRUM...
A deep, subsonic bass note vibrated through the floor plates. Then came the high-pitched engagement of the servos—weeeeeee-KLIK.
At her feet, four articulated metal arms extended with a slick, hydraulic*hiss.*They were tipped not with hard plastic, but with soft, textured pink silicone nodules—material designed to mimic the heat and drag of a tongue, but with the relentless consistency of a machine.
They latched instantly onto the center of her exposed arches.
"H-HHK—AAAAH! Wheeze Ghh-uh! NO! ST-STOP-IH-IT! HE-Hhh-AAAAGH!"
The sensation was fundamentally different from the brush. The silicone didn't glide; it gripped . The high-friction material dragged heavily against the sweating skin of her soles, pulling the flesh taut before snapping back, kneading the tender meat of her arches with a deep, rolling pressure.
Grrr-squelch. Grrr-squelch.
Two arms burrowed into the center of her feet, vibrating violently as they traced complex, maddening patterns—figure-eights that ground into the plantar fascia, spirals that drilled into the heel. The friction created a wet, suffocating heat that felt like it was melting her resolve.
The other two arms slithered lasciviously between her splayed toes. They didn't just touch; they wedged themselves deep into the delicate webbing. The silicone heads expanded slightly, stretching the gaps between her toes before vibrating at a frequency that turned her blood into carbonated static.
"PLEASE! Hhk-hff! NO MORE! IT'S BURROWING! GHK-HA-HA-HAAA!"
Ahsoka’s scream shredded her throat, immediately undercut by a wet, breathless hacking—a desperate, unable-to-breathe cackle that felt like her ribs were cracking from the inside out. The machine was relentless, massaging the agony deep into her bones, denying her even a second of numbness.
Every nerve ending in her feet—all seventy-two thousand of them—fired at once. The sensation was a physical intrusion, a heavy, dragging stimulation that made her muscles lock up and her toes curl and uncurl in a frantic, rhythmic spasm of total sensory defeat.
The sound of the room became a cacophony: the slap-slap-slap of her braid thrashing against the headrest, the grind of the motors digging in, and the desperate, choking noise escaping her lips:
"NO! NO! A-AH-AH-GHK! OH FUCK! HHH-IIIIH-HEEE! STOP! P-PLEASE!"
Ahsoka’s scream was instantaneous and shattering, stripping her throat raw. The assault was total.
"PLEASE! Wheeze HHH-UHH! NO MORE! I BEG YOU! GHK-HA-HA-HA-HAAA!"
Each touch was a fresh shockwave, creating a cacophony of sensation that drowned out every thought, every instinct, every scrap of training she had ever possessed.
Simultaneously, the base of the Containment Unit opened on either side her torso. Two large, circular bristle-brushes extended on telescopic arms and moved directly over her exposed armpits. They spun up with a terrifying whirrrr and slammed into the hollows, the stiff bristles scouring her sensitive underarms in chaotic, counter-rotating cycles.
"NO! NO! A-AH-AH-GHK! NO MORE! OH FUCK! GHK-HA-HA-HA-HAAA!"
Lower down, a dozen smaller, piston-like rods tipped with cold silicone emerged from the side panels. Some jabbed sharply into her ribs, vibrating against the bone, while others traced maddening, ghostly circles over her breasts and nipples.
Zzzzzzt.
A single, slender mechanical arm extended and hovered over her navel. It was tipped with a small, rapidly rotating soft-bristle head that dropped straight into the indentation and began to spin like a drill.
The cargo hold was a cacophony of mechanical whirring and raw, unfiltered panic.
"NO! NO! AHA-HA-HA-HA! OH FUCKING HELL! IT'S EVERYWHERE! HEE-HEE-HEE-HEE! STOP! ST-STOP-HIT!"
Ahsoka’s head thrashed violently against the padding, her montrals vibrating with every shriek. Her laughter was broken, hysterical, devoid of humor.
Fennec turned her back on the thrashing Jedi and activated the holotable. A blue, flickering image of a Weequay broker appeared, looking annoyed by the background noise.
"Shand," the hologram rasped. "I can barely hear you. What is that racket?"
"I'm back in the game!" Fennec shouted. She had to pitch her voice to cut through the din behind her.
The cargo hold sounded like an industrial slaughterhouse. The brushes in Ahsoka's armpits were generating a high-speed shhh-shhh-shhh friction noise, overlaid by the heavy mechanical thud-thud of the Togruta’s heels kicking uselessly against the plating. And piercing through it all was the wet, jagged rhythm of Ahsoka’s lungs failing:
"PLEASE! HHH-UHH! NO MORE! STAAAAHP! AHA-HA-HA-HA!"
Fennec gestured casually behind her to the convulsing Togruta. "I have a high-value acquisition. Look."
Ahsoka let out a particularly high-pitched, sobbing wail as the navel brush changed direction, spinning counter-clockwise in her navel.
"PLEE-HEE-HEEASE! Wheeze… GHK-KAH! HHH-AAAAH! I CAN'T-HIC! I C-CAN'T BREATHE! HA-HA-HAAAA!"
"Hold on," Fennec yelled at the hologram. "She's a little... enthusiastic."
She reached out and slammed a heavy red button on the console.
THUNK-HISSSSSS.
The Containment Unit sealed instantly. Heavy soundproofing panels slid over the armpits, the torso access ports, and the faceplate. Simultaneously, a panel slid down over the footrest, concealing the frantic, splayed toes.
The silence that followed was jarring. Absolute, hermetic quiet rushed back into the ship, leaving the hologram blinking in surprise.
Shand looked back at the trader and smiled "aaah, that's better. Now where were we?"
"Is that... Tano?" the broker asked, her voice suddenly clear in the stillness.
"The one and only," Fennec confirmed, leaning back against the console, her voice returning to its cool, predatory smooth. "Condition is excellent. Highly responsive. But she's not for direct sale."
"Not for sale? Then why call?"
"Because this is an event," Fennec smirked. "I don't want a fixed price. I want a bidding war. Everyone will get a chance to bid on her, the Hutts, the Zygerrians, Crimson Dawn... I'm letting you know first for old times' sake."
The trader considered this for a moment and then her eyes narrowed "ok... so when's the auction planned for?"
Shand waved her hand casually, "no fixed date, probably a month from now. Don't worry though, when I know, you'll know."
"A month?" The Weequay frowned. "That's a long hold for a Jedi. They tend to... escape."
Fennec glanced back at the silent, vibrating metal box. Through the small, thick observation slit, she could see Ahsoka's mouth opening wide in a silent scream, her body bucking as the internal machines continued their relentless work.
"She's not going anywhere," Fennec said softly. "I have plans for her. I reckon it'll take the month to... condition the merchandise. By the time the gavel drops, she'll be broken, obedient, and begging to be sold."
"Fair enough. I await the auction date."
The hologram faded.
Fennec stood alone in the quiet hold. The only evidence of the torture occurring three meters away was the slight, rhythmic shuddering of the Containment Unit bolted to the deck.
She rolled her neck, feeling a stiffness there, and walked over to the ship’s small galley unit. She opened a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Spotchka. She poured a generous measure into a heavy crystal glass, the amber liquid swirling with light.
She took a slow sip, letting the fiery alcohol burn the back of her throat.
"Refreshing," she whispered.
Glass in hand, she strolled leisurely back to the foot of the Containment Unit. She stood there for a moment, listening to the silence, admiring the sleek lines of her machine.
Then, she reached down and pressed a specific toggle on the side of the foot unit: ACCESS LOOP: FEET ONLY.
HISS-CLACK.
The panel concealing the feet retracted.
Sound exploded into the room again—not from the machine, but from Ahsoka’s throat, channeling down the length of the tube and venting out through the foot opening.
"...EEEEEEE-YHH-HEE-HE! GHK-KAH-HA! MAKE IT STOP! P-PLEASE! OH GODS! HIH-HIH-HIEEEE!"
Ahsoka’s feet were still trapped in the nightmare. The silicone arms were still tracing figure-eights on her soles; the nodes were still vibrating between her toes.
Fennec took another sip of her drink, watching the chaotic dance of the orange toes.
Fennec leaned over and pressed a few buttons by the stocks, then she sat back and swirled her drink.
The mechanical arms, commanded by the computer, instantly retracted into the housing with a soft click. The frantic stimulation on Ahsoka's soles vanished.
Inside the machine, the relief was palpable but incomplete. Ahsoka’s laughter dropped from a hysterical shriek to a breathless, jagged giggling.
"Hhh-hah... hah... SHAND... ha-ha... turn... turn the rest ooo-ho-ho-hoooo—off!" Ahsoka breathed, her chest still heaving as the armpit brushes continued to spin and the navel drill whirred on. "Please... have mercy! gah! staaahp!"
"Enjoying yourself, Commander?" Fennec murmured.
She sat down on the crate directly in front of the exposed feet. She held her drink in her left hand, resting it on her knee.
Ahsoka’s feet were still splayed wide by the durasteel loops, the arches pulled taut and shiny, the skin flushed a deep, inviting red.
With her right hand, Fennec reached out. Her long, manicured index fingernail hovered over the center of Ahsoka’s right arch.
"We have a whole month to get to know each other," Fennec said conversationally. "And I have SO much to teach you."
She pressed the sharp point of her nail directly into the center of the plantar fascia—the tightest, most sensitive band of muscle in the foot. She didn't scratch; she drilled, twisting her finger like a screw.
"NOOO-YEEE-HEEE!"
The explosion of laughter returned instantly, sharper and more desperate than before. Ahsoka’s foot jerked violently in the clamps, trying to curl around the intrusion, but the toe loops held it open.
"AHH-HAA-HAA! NOT Y-YOU! NOT TH-THAT! HHH-UH-HUH!"
Fennec watched the reaction with clinical interest, taking a slow sip of her Spotchka. She withdrew the nail from the center arch and moved it up. She found the fleshy ridge of skin just below the big toe—the spot where the arch meets the ball of the foot.
"You know," Shand said with a little smirk. "The one spot I absolutely HATE someone touching on my feet is riiiiight here." She dragged her nail lightly across the grain of the wrinkles, back and forth, feather-light.
Scritch-scritch-scritch.
"FUUUUUUCK! AHH-HAA-EHEEE! WA-WAIT! Hic! THAT T-TICKLES! THAT TICKLES S-SO MU-HUCH! HIH-HIHI-HIIIIEE!"
The laughter pitched up into a register of pure, undiluted hysteria. Tears streamed freely, blinding her, as the dual assault overwhelmed her completely. She was no longer a Commander; she was a trembling, sobbing mess of overstimulated nerves, gasping for oxygen that refused to reach her lungs.
Ahsoka was writhing now, the laughter breathless and tear-soaked as the dual assault—the heavy mechanical churning on her upper body and the sharp, precise torture on her feet—overwhelmed her completely.
Fennec pulled her hand back, admiring the chaotic twitching of the toes. Then she reached for the console again and reactivated the mechanical arms at Ahsoka's feet.
"Sensitivity is high, but I'm sure we can do better," Fennec noted, swirling the last of the amber liquid in her glass as she watched the Jedi break. "Anyway, I'll leave you to it. Check on you in a bit, hun."
She pressed another button to seal the Containment Unit, drained her glass, and walked back to her quarters on the ship.
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