Sylla Vox: Light in the Void

Fog on a mirror is frustrating... once you wipe it away, it just fills back in.

Sighing, I wipe it again. The cloth squeaks against glass, just enough to clear my reflection. Life among the stars is a double-edged sword in my experience, but I live it happily. The ship never really feels quiet. The engines hum low beneath everything, even when nothing else moves.

Noraji watches me from the sink like she owns the place, her tail flicking as trills and purrs fill the air between us—she judges everything I do, but always with love. Even the quieter stretches between destinations—the emptiness in the void of space—feel like an acceptable cost for a life that is entirely mine. Besides, I have Noraji and Kael to keep me company.

With my hair pinned back, the Zabrak lines in my features come through more clearly—enough to remind me I was never built to blend into anything quietly. Leaning forward, I apply my makeup, just my eyes and lips. Enough to sharpen, not disguise. My features already do most of the work. I’ve never been one to completely transform myself into someone else with a thick coat of makeup; I’d rather refine what’s already there.

I wasn’t raised in this profession, nor was I pushed or forced into it by others or by desperation. Three years ago, I worked alongside my parents near a star base. We were close—loud dinners, shared shifts, the kind of silence that didn’t feel like distance. As a kid with parents who were crew members on the flight deck, I followed them into the profession when I came of age, practically wearing a jumpsuit from the age of three.

While I love my parents dearly, and they saw my being different as a gift, not a curse, I felt guilty that I wasn’t fulfilled by the job once I was placed into it. It was the routine, the monotony, the loneliness of working among so many while being strongly discouraged from forming any kind of camaraderie or connection with them. I could tell my parents could see the drain that life put on me.

Flightdeck Rule #1 still echoes in my head sometimes—an efficient crew was a silent and busy one.

Sylla Rule #1: If you have a light inside you, shine it on everyone you come across, be generous and share it.

Outcast is my middle name.

Deep down, a sense that I was meant for more kept clawing at me. Then a transport shuttle arrived. And on it a woman draped in the most beautiful silks departed. She glided as she walked, so graceful, so ethereal.

Every time she moved within the areas I worked, I couldn’t help feeling like a moth drawn to her light. She moved so fluidly, and everyone in her presence met her with respect, even the officers and higher ups. People moved out of her way without being told. I was curious about what she did to earn that.

One day, as I turned a corner, I came up short because there she was, waiting. For me. Her eyes bore into me in that moment, as if she could see more than what everyone else did. Being someone who felt invisible most of the time, that meant a lot to me.

“I see something in you, Sylla, something that reminds me of when my mentor first took me in. You pay close attention to the people around you, making those who seem scared or lonely smile. I see a craving inside of you to share your light and bring a sense of joy. That is an honorable calling, one I would be proud to help you fulfill.” She explained who she was and what she did—a courtesan of passion—and then offered me an apprenticeship.

The next day, excitement filled me as I boarded a shuttle with my duffel bag, a sense of rightness settling in my chest like it had always been waiting there. This was the path I was supposed to take all along.

As the hatch closed behind me, I watched my parents wave from the dock. I pressed my hand to the glass. I would miss them, but someday I’d come back with a life I’d built into something worth showing them—something they could be proud of, because it made me happy.

When I completed my training two years ago with Madam, she gifted me this very ship and a client list she had personally helped me curate.

The memory still lingers in the bones of the shuttle itself. Sometimes, when I stand in the mirror and steady my hands, it feels like she’s still watching my technique.

My hand shakes slightly as I bring charcoal to my eyes, tracing one of my best features. My nervousness about what was ahead, along with the desire to make Madam proud and recollections of where I came from, hit me all at once. This is my biggest client yet, and I can feel the weight of it in the precision of every movement. Making Madam proud—and my client happy—still pushes me toward perfection.

Tracing my eyes just right is the hardest part of makeup, in my humble opinion.

“People fall in love with confidence long before beauty, remember that, Sylla.” Her words drift around me in memory, reminding me that perfection isn’t what makes an artist stand out.

Taking a deep breath, I roll my shoulders back. If she knew of the client I was about to meet, a client who has never offered a courtesan contract before, I wonder what sage advice she’d offer me. Stop trying so hard, Sylla. Let your work speak for itself. I tell myself.

“Kael, let’s go over greetings in Huttese and the basics in areas of conversation I might use most for what I’m there for.” Trying again, my hand steadier than a moment ago, I lean into the mirror and finish my makeup. I chose a waterproof, stay-on formula that should get me through the first forty-eight hours without a run or smudge.

“Hello, my name is… Achuta, mah pee kasa…”

“Achuta, mah pee kasa, Sylla.”

“Can I… Kavaa.”

“Kavaa.”

“What do you want?… Hi chuba da naga?”

“Hi chuba da naga?”

The outer rim is a big place, and I appreciate the long journeys between clients. They give me time to study, to prepare, to learn who I’ll be meeting. Some of my clients can be frightening, but as my mentor always taught me…

“Leading with passion and light is an armor as strong as beskar.”

Using my body to bring fantasies, dreams, connection, and pleasure to life—something so filled with light in the nothingness that even the deep, dark void of space becomes a gift. It is beauty and life in the wake of loneliness, or bleakness. This isn’t just a job to me, it’s art. As a xenosexual, I’m fortunate to be drawn to so many varieties of beings, allowing me to explore passions in ways most cannot. I am proud to be Madam’s protégé, and I will do everything I need to prove she chose well when she made me who I am.

As I finish preparing, Noraji meows at me to ensure I don’t forget to set out a special treat for her while I’m away, and Kael kittle-sits for me. The low hum of the ship’s engines wraps around me like a familiar embrace. This ship has been my home for the past two years—luxurious yet cozy, filled with personal touches and little treasures from the worlds I’ve visited for clients. Some say work shouldn’t define you. Perhaps they’re right. But through this life, I’ve learned exactly who I am.

Excitement and nerves tangle together as I finish my final check in the mirror, ready to make an entrance that will leave a lasting impression.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Kael’s warm, silky baritone comes through the speakers. “Attention, my lady, we are reaching your destination in five minutes.” Kael is the AI built into my ship. I programmed him with personality algorithms that include playful, flirtatious banter and adaptive responses, in an effort to keep me company as I travel among the stars.

Earlier, I set Kael on autopilot while I bathed and prepared, but now I disable it and rush into the cockpit, hitting the flashing red alert button as I initiate the landing sequence. Noraji follows, jumping into the empty co-pilot seat and chirping at me—I take it as her quiet approval and a wish for luck.

“Thank you, Nor,” I pat her head, earning a happy trill. She settles in for a nap, her feeders already programmed to care for her while I’m away.

“Kael, go on secured standby once landing is complete, and alert me only if there’s trouble. I will be silent for most of the job,” I instruct. “My cuff is synced for emergencies—don’t connect otherwise, understood?”

Ships like mine are rare—fully integrated personalities need security protocols, just in case of looters.

“Clear, my lady. Good luck and fuck well,” Kael replies from my console. I can’t help the corners of my lips from curving up at his brashness. Always grateful for his flair with words.

The new client I’m headed to meet is formidable and fearsome, which instantly excites me while also terrifying me just a little. Landing a client like this could open doors to new prospects and protection. The pressure to do a good job is high.

The invite came through last week. A position that lasts seven days, living among the Hutts on Tatooine as a personal sex toy for the big man himself. Jabba-the-fucking-Hutt. The big, scary crime boss himself. He’s known to thoroughly enjoy his slave girls, who can barely keep up with his legendary appetite. So perhaps he has finally decided to offer the contract in hopes of finding someone who can keep up.

I’d drifted for three days while studying what I could to learn about Jabba before accepting his offer.

From what I could find, he was well known for his temper, and his reputation for cruelty wasn’t at all exaggerated. Neither was his tendency to see people as possessions, instead of people. And his hunger… legendary.

Madam’s first lesson had been simple: know your client.

The second had been harder to learn: not every client wanted to be known.

Jabba wasn’t looking for someone to unravel him, heal him, or make him feel understood. He wanted pleasure, entertainment, novelty, and obedience. Trying to turn our arrangement into something more intimate would be a mistake—for him and for me.

So I would give him exactly what he had invited me here to give.

Pleasure without promises. Attention without attachment. Light without asking him to step into it.

Once the landing gear locks, Kael lowers the ramp for me. I descend onto the platform where he’s docked. Standing ready are two armored guards. With every inch covered, I can’t tell their species or gender, so I address them politely for now. Manners and elegance are key to winning clients, even when interacting with household staff. I take pride in my charm.

“It’s a pleasure to be invited to His Excellency’s home. I’m Sylla Vox, Courtesan of the Outer Rim.” I dip in greeting, and one of the armored guards bows in return and waves their hand towards the entryway to the massive luxury compound where Jabba lives.

“This way, my lady,” the robotic voice comes through the mask of my greeter. I follow them down several corridors of tunnels, the palace being a system of caves carved into the grounds on the fringes of the Northern Dune Sea. As we walk, we come across an opening into another tunnel, specifically one where I can hear screams and calls for mercy, sending shivers down my spine. I keep my head lifted and follow behind the guards to the throne room, where Jabba is already waiting for me. As I step up to his large and intimidating form, lounging on a platform in the center, I dip again and introduce myself.

“Your Excellency, achuta, mah pee kasa Sylla. I am here to serve as your personal courtesan for the next seven days. I hope to bring you much pleasure.” His answering growl tells me everything I need to know: pleased, curious, and testing me.

I watch his eyes scan my body slowly with interest. He huffs a laugh and offers his hand to me. I come forward with an elegant air, placing my tiny hand into his massive, thick one. We mostly speak in Huttese, but the English translations Kael seamlessly delivers through my inner-ear comm allow me to ensure I don’t miss a beat in our connection.

“Tell me, little one, has a Hutt ever feasted on this sweet and luscious body before?” Jabba asks me in his native tongue.

“I have not. You will be my first, my liege, but I am completely confident I have the right skills and talent to handle your needs and desires.” I stand proud but submissive, my hands clasped gently in front of me.

“I look forward to testing out how true that is. My dungeon has room for another, should I be disappointed.” He gives me a sinister smile. I bow my head, confident that I will prove worthy of keeping my ‘guest’ status here.

He continues to hold my hand while his other hand reaches up and feels along my body, plumping my soft, large breasts, and pinching my already engorged nipples. My breath quickens as my body immediately gives a positive and eager response.

“I will especially enjoy these morsels, mmm,” he hums. “Dance for me.”

I do as he says, twisting, undulating, and touching myself before him. I shimmy, shake, and move in ways that allow him to see every delicate detail of what he has to look forward to. As I dance, I watch the heat build in his eyes. Soon, he calls for us to move into his bath chambers, where there’s a large pool surrounded by lounging platforms in and out of the water. A perfect setup for an audience and a show.

Like many slug-like species, Jabba needs regular visits to his bathhouse to stay hydrated on desert planets such as Tatooine. The pool isn’t water—it’s a thick, water-based slime. Warm, fresh, and surprisingly pleasant, its floral scent is almost erotic. As I approach with him, I untie the sash at my waist and allow the sheer silk robe to slide off my shoulders and render me completely bare. Then I step in, feeling the pool’s contents cling to my skin in a glossy coat, every movement sending subtle waves of sensation through me. I wonder if this is how Jabba lives—surrounded by constant, sensual touch.

With my hand still in his, he leads us towards the big platform in the center of the pool. As I climb up and straddle him, my nerves hum with desire, the slime caressing my most intimate areas like a teasing tongue. A low moan escapes me as I settle over his massive tail, my pussy pressing against him.

Sliding up along him, my body answers before thought. My folds tighten, heat rising fast. My hands settle into his chest as if they already belong there and I begin to move as I arch my back and pivot my hips. With each movement, I grind my clit against him, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through me.

I study his face with close attention. Curiosity, delight, a hunger for more. Not a trace of anger. That’s good. I tuck the detail away and shift my approach to match.

“Kavaa?” I gesture towards his hands, asking for permission, and he gives it. Placing his hands in mine, I guide them to my breasts and encourage him to play as I rub my body along his. I become seduction personified, every curve and contour teasing and tantalizing Jabba. Fingers trace over slick skin, igniting sparks as I perform for him, for his eyes and touch alone.

“Mmmm… How sensitive is your body, my liege? Can you feel my pussy as I slide up and down your thick body, rubbing this elixir into your pores by my greedy little clit?” My words a sensual purr into his ear.

“I feel everything, little one. Every fold, every drop of pussy juice you leak… everything. But I’d feel it even better if you slid that hot, needy cunt against my tongue and rode my face. Let me acquaint myself with the flavor of your excitement for me,” He commands in his growly, raspy language.

I comply, happily, wrapping both of my legs over his shoulders and giving him full access to my core. His hands come up and support my ass cheeks, lending a bit more elevation so I’m at an angle that works for his tongue to fuck me without limitation. It’s strong, fiercely so, and wild. I’ve felt so many different tongues in my rendezvous, but this tongue is quickly becoming one of my favorites.

“Oh yes, my lord. Fuck me with your tongue,” I moan.

Electricity flows in my veins with each pass of his licks. He moans as his tongue slides deep inside me. The vibrations from his deep vocals add so much texture to the pleasure I feel as his long, thick tongue slides in and out of me. Its incredible flexibility and strength send shivers of ecstasy coursing through my body.

Jabba’s primal grunts and growls only add to my frenzy, his slurping sounds mingling with my own cries of pleasure as he devours my juices when I finally surrender to orgasm, squirting all over his face in a glorious release.

His gaze feasts on the wild abandon of my movements as I throw my head back, thrusting against his lips and letting out a primal howl with the first orgasm. His tongue plunges deeper into my core, sending shivers down my spine as I buck my hips against him. My eyes are locked onto his, biting my bottom lip and smiling when I see him adjust his hold on me to free one hand. He then reaches with that free hand and hits a button sitting nearby that I hadn’t noticed before. The door to the slime pool opens, and with it, a crowd begins to spill in. Time almost stands still as I’m lost in this ocean of delight, my body soaring on the tides of passion, jiggling and bouncing in unison.

I shift myself so that I can lick and suck his tongue clean after the quakes of desire he erupted in me, and watch the room fill—every species imaginable, shedding clothes and gathering around the pool Jabba and I play in. Males, females, and others who defy categorization mingle and flirt, tease and play. Their allure is palpable as they giggle and moan.

I watch with increasing arousal when they begin to fuck one another. Some of them fucking themselves while watching me straddle Jabba’s face, finding my rhythm and chasing the orgasm I know he will give me.

“Show them what you are. I want to watch you break them open with pleasure.”

I walk over and join two of his Twi’lek slave girls. I’m focused on performing well and pleasing deeply, not just for Jabba but for those I pair with. No words are shared. I simply caress one of their lekkus, and the other’s cheek as an intro. They respond by caressing me in return and adding in slow, exploratory kisses that soon turn hungry. Our bodies fit together like perfect puzzle pieces, our breasts sliding against one another as we rub our bodies together and kiss, suckle, and tease one another. The slimy water from the bath adds to our arousal when we slide our slicked-up clits together in a frenzy of pleasure.

Neither Twi’lek lasts long; their cries are loud and raw. Pride fills me when they move away, sated yet still yearning for more.

A Gamorrean steps up as I’m looking for the next play partner Jabba wants to see me please, they grab me and flip me over. I like a partner that takes control, this is a place where manhandling is eagerly welcomed. At first, he pets my ass, and I wonder if he wants to penetrate it, when suddenly his palm lands. My body jerks, my skin smartens, and my plea for more escapes me all at once. He spanks me over and over, the pain building my need for pleasure.

“Mmm, yes! More,” I beg, and he grants. Jabba’s laughter fills the cavern, and I know he is enjoying the show so far.

I’m positioned on the ledge of the platform, my legs in the water and my ass exposed above it, red and hot. The Gamorrean ties my wrists together and anchors them in front of me, ensuring that I’m helpless to resist. Jabba’s sadistic tendencies are on full display, but I’m more than happy to indulge his desires, as I have a fondness for pain. The pain felt strangely familiar. Madam had always said pain and pleasure shared a wall, and sometimes all an artist needed to do was open the door.

The Gamorreans’ reactions are priceless when, despite their intense spanking, I climax hard on their palms. It’s clear that they’re shocked and intimidated by my response, but even more obvious is how much they enjoy it when cum leaks from their unused dick as they lick their lips, their eyes feasting on my body spasming around nothing. Consumed by a ravenous thirst, they lap up the juices that their impact play drew from my slit, leaving me gasping for more.

For the most part, my duties at the palace were continuous. But even I need rest. When establishing negotiations for this contract, I made sure to request a private room. I could easily go back to my ship; I’d be more comfortable, but it wouldn’t inspire the trust I needed from my client to do my job well. When I finally make it back to my temporary quarters, the door seals behind me and I let my shoulders drop.

“Kael?”

“Still here, my lady.”

“Noraji?”

“Sleeping comfortably. She has consumed approximately seventy percent of the treat you instructed me to leave.”

I smile despite myself.

“Only seventy?”

“She is pacing herself.”

That doesn’t sound at all like my little Nor. Something I think Nor confirms when next I hear a hiss.

“S-she fell asleep while eating, so I saved the rest for when she wakes up, which is now.”

I giggle and sink onto the edge of the bed, taking a full inventory of myself. Sore, overstimulated, but otherwise well. Exactly what I expected.

“Any concerns?” I ask.

“None that require intervention.”

“Good.”

I pull up my client notes and glance over them again. Jabba was precisely what my research had foretold—imposing, exacting, possessive, and drawn far more to physical sensation than to emotional closeness.

That was fine.

Not every client wanted to be known, and I respected that.

A few simply craved entertainment. Others longed to be adored. Some yearned to lose themselves for a spell.

It wasn’t my place to choose what they needed.

It was to understand what they wanted, keep them safe enough to enjoy it, and know where the boundaries were.

Jabba’s boundaries were different from mine, but they were there.

I just had to pay attention.

“Anything else, my lady?”

“No. Keep monitoring my vitals and Noraji’s status. If either of us needs medical attention, wake me.”

“Of course.”

I close the pad and fall back against the pillows.

I grin at the ceiling.

“Well, this is certainly going to be educational.”

The next two days settled into a rhythm of pain, pleasure, and sexual indulgence. By the third, Jabba chose to gift me to his uncle Ziro.

Ziro is… educational, to say the least. He enjoyed using a crop as he taught me how he likes to be pleased best, but secretly, I think I enjoyed it more. He stepped into one of my favorite roles: he became a professor, teaching me so I could be better. The erogenous zones, the vulnerable places on a Hutt, are closely guarded secrets, and Ziro took it upon himself to teach me every one of them.

Madam had instilled in me the lesson that a skilled courtesan never ceased to learn. Every body was different, every client a new language. Ziro wasn’t simply teaching me how to pleasure him; he was giving me a map to a body no one else had ever taken the trouble to reveal.

I found it so exciting and captivating, but more than that, I felt deep respect for Ziro, his patience, his power, his depth. Jabba wanted to possess the experience. Ziro wanted to understand it. I saw an intelligence in him that felt addictive, and I so badly wanted to please him more because of it. It was like being in a lesson with Madam, only this one made me roar in pleasure.

By morning, I understood Hutt anatomy and how to pleasure it, far better than I ever expected to. Through Ziro, I learned that Hutts are equipped with multiple sex organs, some capable of transformation, allowing them to adapt to various situations as hermaphrodites. My eagerness to play with my new knowledge overwhelmed me.

It was like foreplay to learn that their tongues and tails can function as external phallic extensions, something he spent half the night showing me. At first, he had me bound by wrists and ankles while he relentlessly fucked me by tongue, then by tail, then tongue again, and so on, testing how much stimulation my pussy and my ass could take.

I internally thanked Madam for making sure to train me so well in handling pain and extreme carnal stimulation, because without that, I might not have lasted as well.

Later, Ziro introduced me to an opening on his belly that can serve as a receptive orifice, one I could peg—and did, a lot. Boy, can Ziro roar!

Finally, he showed me that that opening can also protrude, to form a third appendage, the closest thing to a cock a Hutt has. I spent several early morning hours worshiping his cock until finally, he blew his load so forcefully it was like fireworks were shooting off. Their pleasure always felt like proof that I’d done my work well.

After we spent the entire night demonstrating the versatility of a Hutt’s body, with Ziro filling my holes with his various members and inundating me with his warm, tingling cum, I became resolved to spend my final day earning the same volcanic reaction from Jabba himself.

When I was brought back to the pool, I was met with Jabba once again. I used my whole body to massage every part of him, rubbing my tits along his length and kissing every nook and cranny Ziro taught me to focus on. Then I knelt before him and worshipped each of his members, as his cries of rapture grew louder and more prolonged, eventually waking the rest of the compound, Ziro included. This disturbance prompted Ziro to join us, and when he did, he found me with my ass in the air, cheeks spread as my knees spread wide. He watched me suck on Jabba’s protruding cock before slithering up behind me and taking a long lick from clit to pucker, then his tongue slid in as his hands parted my cheeks for him to fuck my hole, giving Jabba a show while I fucked him with my mouth.

A long guttural groan filled me, the vibrations of that groan lending additional stimulation as I continued giving Jabba head.

Moments later, Jabba roared loudly as he poured into me, and I followed suit, screaming for pleasure and saturating Ziro’s face with my own fluids. I swallow what I can of Jabba, getting doused by what I can’t and loving it. The slurping sounds I hear as Ziro feasts on my juices only drive my orgasm higher, screaming my release out, both Hutts pleased and well spent.

The remaining days blurred together in much the same rhythm, each one teaching me something new about the Hutts and their appetites.

With our time together drawing to a close and the departure of my ship looming, I asked Jabba to claim my body one last time, to fill me with his essence, to leave an indelible mark on my being all by himself. And he obliged, his tail and belly-cock penetrating my depths, one in my ass, the other in my pussy, as he filled me with his hot cum. He then commanded me to suck his tongue, to clean him off as he continued to pour his passion into me, a final, lingering possession before our time is up.

It’s like a mark I’ll feel for days afterward, like applause I can savor as I transition to my next job. Walking towards the landing pad, I reach out to Kael to let my ship know that the job is done and I retained my ‘Guest’ status after all.

“Kael, I’m about to board, ready the ship for take off, please.”

“Affirmative, my lady. Also, a new job request just came in. Should I send it to your pad?”

“Yes, thank you.” As I seal the hatch, a chime sounds, and I reach for my comm-pad, waking it up and clicking on the request Kael pushed through to me. Noraji pads in through the door and brushes up against my legs, welcoming me home. I squat down, feeling the delicious stiffness and soreness my time with the Hutts earned me, and greet her. Purrs and slow blinks answer me in return.

“Come on, Noraji, let’s go clean up and settle in for the next journey,” I say to her as she follows behind me.

“What course should I lay in?” Kael chirps in.

“To the Corellian Sector, the Hutts have sent me a recommendation to reward one of their best smugglers. He’s headed towards Kessel next week, so I’m to meet him for a two-night rendezvous before his departure.”

“Yes, my lady. Should I put together the usual information you prefer to use for preparation with this client?”

“Yes, the name of this client is…” I stare at the name for a moment.

Solo, Han.

Smuggler.

Reputation: complicated.

My lips curve in a slow smile.

A challenge.

“Kael, pull up everything you can find on him and let’s travel at priority speed.”

“Yes, my lady.”