Part One:

Part Two:

Part Three:

P

"'Eleven'?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Her Highness liked to call him Cordé when he wasn't her. Isn't that who you're replacing? I heard he went up with the Senator's shuttle. I'm Six. But meesa- ah, my name is Fasso Nass." She cuddled closer. "Or we can call each other Padme if prefer? Or why don't I play the Queen and you can be my obedient handmaiden. You have to do everything that I say," she whispered, caressing Obi Wan's breasts.

"Absolutely not!" This was not the conduct he'd come to expect from the Decoy Service. Appalled, he tried to push her away, but the surgery had butchered every scrap of muscles, leaving him as weak as a tooka-kitten, helpless even before the strength of his mirror image. "You call yourself a handmaiden? I thought you people were supposed to be discrete. Subtle?!"

"I'm only a Palace Padme," she shrugged.

"And what exactly is that?!"

"Wow, they didn't brief you well at all, did they? A Palace Padme is what you become if you misbehave. Not every man is heh cut out to be her. It's more demanding than it seems. The appearance is the easy part - you have to actually be her, live her life when you're not waiting on her hand and foot. Do you know who they assign to be her decoys? Soldiers. Killers. Rogues. People who know how to handle themselves when the blasters start flying. Men, mostly. Like you and I." Padme's pretty face split into a lecherous grin from ear to ear. "Now what do you think happens when you stitch all those scoundrels into her tight little skinsuits, hm? Dress them up in her frilly, skimpy underclothes? Force them to travel together, bunk together, shower together. How else do you think we break up the monotony of the eeendless senate sessions?"

Obi-Wan's hands trembled as they pushed against her. It took all his strength just to keep her lips away from his, though that left the rest of his body defenseless as if he didn't feel exposed enough already in her flesh-bearing attire. A whimper of pleasure escaped his lips as her nimble fingers caressed his toned midriff and squeezed his ass. His other cheeks flushed with fury. "You mean to tell me you take liberties with the Senator's body?!"

"We're ordered to keep our hands away from our synthskin pussies. But the naughty ones - or rather caught at least - get reassigned permanently back here to Naboo. The Palace Padmes."

"They let you stay like this?"

"They keep us like this," she snapped with a flare of irritation. "It keeps the assassins guessing. They can never have too many of us, I suppose. Once you join the Decoy Service, there's no leaving it. Condemned to a life of gowns and balls and cutting the ribbon on another damn spaceport. Holy kriff, it's boring. But we find ways to entertain ourselves."

The strength left his trembling arms. She pulled him to her, her eager, wet tongue thrusting into his mouth. His head thrummed with a heady chemical soup, his body stirring of its own accord. The Jedi Order had drilled him from a young age on how to suppress and control male urges, diverting those energies into chaste, productive activities as effectively as they directed the Force. The waves of female arousal caught him unawares. To his dismay, Obi-Wan found himself kissing back passionately.

A memory, the voice of his old, late mentor, Qui Gon, seemed to ring in his mind as the hormonal haze washed over him.

"Remember your training! For the love of the Force, is he even listening to me?"