* * * * *
Ebirc Semit awoke with a pounding headache. That was the first thing he noticed. The second thing he noticed is that, when he instinctively tried to rub his forehead, he found he could not move his right arm. And, the identical failure, on the part of his left arm, was the third thing he noticed just prior to full realization.
He was tied down!
To be more precise, he was staked out in a spread-eagle fashion. With all his armor evidently having been stripped off him while he was out cold. The only thing preserving his dignity, at that moment, was his pair of Imperial-issue boxer shorts!
"Wakey-wakey, soldier boy," chanted a gutturally accented voice in Galactic Basic: "Time to answer some questions."
"Ebirc Semit," replied the storm trooper recondo: "Sergeant; Imperial Armed Forces. Serial number; 1057..."
A furry right hook interrupted his defiant litany.
"Spare us the usual crap and just tell us what we want to know right away. Like what the frell are you Imps doing in a backwater system like Endor?"
Semit spit out some blood...in the direction of his interrogator's voice.
"And, if I don't, what're you gonna do; torture me? That would make you rebel scum nothing but hypocrites! Always bragging how you're trying to restore democracy to the whole galaxy. How the Empire is..."
He was interrupted once again. Only this time, by Logunn's snarling Zehethbran visage.
"Point one, solider boy; I ain't part of the Rebel Alliance. I'm a professional bounty hunter. Which means I can legally do anything I want to law-breaking human xenophobes like you!"
"And, point two?" demanded Semit (still just as defiantly).
Logunn's ensuing grin was positively feral.
"Here, Bub! Come here, boy."
Semit consequently lost some of his defiance when saw (and smelled) the dinko come running up at the sound of its master's voice.
"Point two," the Zehethbran now replied: "If you don't start answering my questions, honestly and unhesitatingly, Bub, here, is gonna chew on your sausage."
The resulting mental picture made Semit blanche whiter than his battle armor.
MEANWHILE, BACK AT THE CIRCUS...
...Corporal Daza was on the verge of complete suffocation, by the time Greta Gault had decided he had had enough. As a result, she stopped dancing long enough to remove the pastie, from her left areola, and place the rookie storm trooper on her kitchenette table top.
She smiled at the rapid-fire way he began to breathe in and out, trying to reoxygenate his system.
"Very good, Little Corporal! You were the most gentle dance partner I've ever had. So, as your reward, I'll do a slower dance. Just for you!"
She then changed phonograph records. Following which, she resumed her abdominal gyrations. But, this time, she exchanged speed for sensuality. Her midriff undulating, most hypnotically. At least, from Corporal Daza's perspective.
He just lay there, flat on his back. Watching the undulations, literally without blinking. And, after about five minutes of this spell-bound inaction, Greta Gault's smile turned into a wicked grin.
"Do you like what you see, Little Corporal?"
"Y-Yes,...ma'am."
"Do you want me to continue?"
"Y-Yes,...ma'am."
"Would you do _anything_ to insure I continue?"
"Y-Yes,...ma'am."
"Even answer all my questions, without omission or hesitation?"
"Y-Yes,...ma'am."
"Good! Then, let's start with an easy one. How many other Little People are with you, on this planet?"
tbc
Giantess World
