escaping Imperial detention

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In one of the Imperial bases, some captured rebels were undergoing interrogation. The empire was not known for its humane treatment of prisoners. One of the captured rebels, Eunice, was stunningly beautiful. One of the rookie storm troopers made a mistake of falling for her charms. Eunice did not want a soiled uniform, so she effectively seduced the storm trooper into removing his armor and body glove. The black lycra boxers were ineffective in hiding the stiffness of the trooper. Eunice then proceeded to put her hand inside the boxers, and suddenly wrapped her other arm in the trooper's neck, placing him in a stranglehold. After a few minutes of struggling, the trooper stopped resisting and came into his boxers. The trooper was dead in what may have been his best orgasm. Eunice, now in her underwear, was about to don the stolen body glove when she heard footsteps. A female storm trooper, Yana, was patrolling when she smells that familiar smell, and she gets suspicious. Yana opens the door, and to her shock, she sees her colleague on the ground, eyes wide open with tears, chiseled chest and wet black boxers. She remembers the warm embrace from last week when they did it in the store room during break. Before she can recover from the shock, Eunice kicks Yana's knees and uses her bra as a garrote. Yana's struggles cease, and fortunately for Eunice, the storm trooper uniform uniform was not soiled. Eunice strips Yana's armor and body glove, revealing a white tube bralette and a thong. She steals the white tube bralette, which was her size, and puts Yana on top of her colleague. She leaves and proceeds to escape.

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The Moon and Sixpence
CHAPTER 12

……

"I've got to paint," he repeated.

"Supposing you're never anything more than third-rate, do you think it will have been worth while to give up everything? After all, in any other walk in life it doesn't matter if you're not very good; you can get along quite comfortably if you're just adequate; but it's different with an artist."

"You blasted fool," he said.

"I don't see why, unless it's folly to say the obvious."

"I tell you I've got to paint. I can't help myself. When a man falls into the water it doesn't matter how he swims, well or badly: he's got to get out or else he'll drown."

There was real passion in his voice, and in spite of myself I was impressed. I seemed to feel in him some vehement power that was struggling within him; it gave me the sensation of something very strong, overmastering, that held him, as it were, against his will. I could not understand. He seemed really to be possessed of a devil, and I felt that it might suddenly turn and rend him. Yet he looked ordinary enough. My eyes, resting on him curiously, caused him no embarrassment. I wondered what a stranger would have taken him to be, sitting there in his old Norfolk jacket and his unbrushed bowler; his trousers were baggy, his hands were not clean; and his face, with the red stubble of the unshaved chin, the little eyes, and the large, aggressive nose, was uncouth and coarse. His mouth was large, his lips were heavy and sensual. No; I could not have placed him.

……

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The Moon and Sixpence
CHAPTER 2

recommended men for their soul's good to do each day two things they disliked: it was a wise man, and it is a precept that I have followed scrupulously; for every day I have got up and I have gone to bed. But there is in my nature a strain of asceticism, and I have subjected my flesh each week to a more severe mortification. I have never failed to read the Literary Supplement of The Times. It is a salutary discipline to consider the vast number of books that are written, the fair hopes with which their authors see them published, and the fate which awaits them. What chance is there that any book will make its way among that multitude? And the successful books are but the successes of a season. Heaven knows what pains the author has been at, what bitter experiences he has endured and what heartache suffered, to give some chance reader a few hours' relaxation or to while away the tedium of a journey. And if I may judge from the reviews, many of these books are well and carefully written; much thought has gone to their composition; to some even has been given the anxious labour of a lifetime. The moral I draw is that the writer should seek his reward in the pleasure of his work and in release from the burden of his thought; and, indifferent to aught else, care nothing for praise or censure, failure or success.

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thank you! hope you enjoyed this short scene