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With the younglings put to bed, Luke found his droid in the kitchen, preparing the ingredients for the next day's meals, chopping the meat with her pink lightknife. Sometimes he just enjoyed observing her busying about her chores with the prissy air of a protocol droid, though unlike C3-P0, S1-Z1 never bemoaned her lot in life, simply hummed a pretty tune as she obeyed dutifully.
She had tended to herself as best she could, wiping away most of the paint the younglings had daubed her with and polished her breastplate until Luke could see his own reflection in the durasteel mounds.
"I'll have a word with the trainees in the morning," Luke offered kindly. "They should treat you better than this."
"No! Not at all," the droid gasped in its sweet, feminine tone. "They treat me no worse than I deserve!"
Luke wondered if Anakin would ever get over his guilt. A part of him hoped he never did - he was rather useful as the servile little droid. "Even still, I'm the one that has to jimmy crayons out of your servos after they're done with you."
The gynoid hung its head. "I am sorry to be a burden on you, master. You know I am grateful for this chance to atone for all the pain I've caused."
S1-Z1 felt her cape rustle as it was pushed to the side. "Well you've certainly brought a lot of pleasure over the years," Luke said softly, stroking a hand down the gynoid's curves.
"I am glad, master" she cooed, rubbing her durasteel ass back against the human flesh she felt pressing against it. She knew what was coming - Luke hadn't installed a synthskin hole down there for nothing. "Do I ... do I have to say the line?"
"If you want your oil bath, you do," Luke teased her, as his dick teased her hole.
It was amazing how the immobile droid mask could pout, though somehow it did as it begrudgingly spoke Luke's favourite line - "... please... p-put your torpedo in my exhaust port, master."