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The Jawas ushered their cargo of droids from within the hold of the sandcrawler and began lining them up on the sand. Thumbs hooked into his belt, Owen Lars browsed along the line. A white and blue astromech droid appeared in remarkably good condition for such a place as Tatooine, and the golden protocol droid next to it even more so, reflecting the binary sunset with an almost blinding gleam.
"I suppose you're programmed for etiquette and protocol?" he mused.
"Protocol?" the protocol droid chirped. "Why it's my primary function-"
"Uncle Owen, what about this one?" his nephew, Luke, called.
One last droid descended the sandcrawler ramp, forced on by arcing zaps to its curvaceous buttocks by the electro-shock prods of its Jawa masters. Owen gave a low whistle through his teeth, staring at the exagerated wiggle of its female-sculpted chassis. It was a thing of intimidating beauty. It's bulbous obsidian-black rubber breasts drank in the light.
Whoever had owned it must have had rare tastes indeed. The gynoid loomed at seven feet tall. Despite its obvious powerlessness as the Jawas punished it with merciless zaps to its rear, it somehow exuded an aura of power that chilled his blood in the desert heat, and yet served only to accentuate its allure and obvious sexual function, as if it could make any man grovel at its feet with the slightest gesture of its hand.
It showed signs of having been altered. Scratches and groves covered it where pieces of its armored shell had been pried away, exposing it in all the right places. A crude pussy rendered in jet black synthskin had been installed between its thighs, with an equally doll-like orifice welded into place behind. Its facial grill had been modified with a tight, mouth-like opening perhaps salvaged from a higher-end pleasure droid.
It had been created for one thing only. Pleasure. Owen stirred, imagining all the things such a machine could do for a man. Hell, it could get damn lonely out here on the salt flat. But the hardened moisture farmer in him knew it could serve no practical purpose on the homestead.
A restraining bolt had been welded to the back of its neck. Enslaved to its Jawa owners, the sex droid jiggled to a halt before his nephew. The Jawas busied about it, excitedly displaying its attributes with invasive prods, urging their potential customer to examine the wares. One of the stunted creatures stretched up on its tiptoes to demonstrably lift and bounce the buttocks in its hands repeatedly with cries of "utinni!". Owen shook his head as the young man was drawn in by their goading, and cupped one of the gynoid's supple rubber breasts, fondling it firmly.
"Luke, don't touch that thing, you've no idea where it's been," Owen chided.
Luke didn't hear, enraptured. A deft engineer with nimble fingers, his hands were inspecting the taut durasteel breastplate, drifting the chest-mounted control panel that promised such sexual delights, should the droid be installed with all manner of sexual techniques and scenarios.
"If I might interject," the golden protocol droid spoke primly. "I would be very wary of that droid. The Jawas found it out in the desert only a few days ago. It appeared to be searching for something at the time. They paralysed it with ion blasters but not before a fight. They have modified it considerable since then but originally it was rather formidable."
"Hear that, Luke? That could be an Imperial droid you're playing with."
"Ah, she's not going to hurt anyone. Are you, girl?" Luke crooned up at the looming droid, fondly carressing its chest. There was something so... familiar about it.
"Weren't you going to Tosche Station to pick up power converters with your friends?" Owen muttered, hoping that might be enough to draw the boy away.
It was the wrong thing to say. Luke's face light up, and a glimmer of silver as the credit chip set aside for purchasing the power converters passed from Luke's tunic into the Jawa's grasping hand. The Jawas chittered and danced, and pressed the control unit for the enslaved droid into Luke's hand. He'd purchased the darn thing. Owen grumbled as Luke led his new toy in the direction of the homestead, eager to put it through its first oil bath.