Merry Christmas as always you glorious fucks that for some reason still tune into this cesspit of a story. Even though the updates spottier than a skanks fudd.
So... about that chapter.
Here's part one of a smut that was written after Andor was watched.
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The lights of the Senate tower glimmered like distant stars — cold, immaculate, and merciless — but inside Mon Mothma's private chamber, the air felt strangely warm. As though some ember of truth smoldered unseen, waiting to be stirred.
Dedra Meero sat in the center of the room, wrists resting on the polished durasteel table, posture straight as a drawn blade despite the situation. Her white ISB uniform had been stripped of rank plaques and code cylinders, leaving her looking stark, almost vulnerable — though she would never allow the word to touch her skin.
Mon studied her from across the table. The woman who had once prowled the halls of the ISB like a silver-eyed predator now felt more like a storm caught and bottled: dangerous, electric, but contained. For the moment.
"Unusual," Dedra murmured, as Mon approached with slow, deliberate steps. "A Senator conducting an interrogation personally."
"This is not an interrogation," Mon said gently, though the room was clearly built for nothing else — soft lights, insulated walls, a stillness that swallowed every movement whole.
"Then what would you call it?" Dedra asked, chin lifting, defiant even now.
"A conversation," Mon replied, pausing behind her chair. "One long overdue."
Dedra gave a faint, humorless breath. "You don't summon an ISB officer to a private chamber for conversation."
"I didn't summon you," Mon corrected softly. "You were transported here after your… parting of ways with Imperial command."
Something flickered behind Dedra's eyes — the briefest fracture in her composure. She masked it quickly, like a hand smoothing lacquer back over a crack.
"So this is political salvage?" Dedra asked. "An attempt to determine whether I'm a resource, or a danger?"
Mon stepped into Dedra's line of sight, her expression composed but too luminous to be called cold. "I'm here to determine something far more important than that."
Dedra's eyes narrowed. "Which is?"
"Who you truly are when the Empire is no longer watching," Mon said.
The words hung between them, fragrant with implication.
Dedra stiffened as Mon lowered herself into the seat opposite her, folding her hands with a serenity that felt more powerful than any threat. The Senator's presence filled the room with a quiet gravity, bending the air itself.
"You're wasting your time," Dedra said, though there was a faint tremor in the distance between her syllables. "The Empire may have cast me aside, but it shaped me. There's nothing left for you to uncover."
Mon tilted her head, studying her with the calm intensity of a scholar examining a rare and volatile artifact.
"That is where I disagree."
Dedra's breath caught — subtle, but present. Mon always noticed.
She rose again, circling the table with slow, echo-soft steps, each one drawing Dedra's attention like a taut thread.
"You were precise," Mon said. "Fiercely loyal. Brilliant. And yet… beneath that perfection, there was always something more. Something the Empire could not polish away."
She paused behind Dedra's chair. So close the faint warmth of her presence traced along Dedra's spine like a hand that had not quite touched her.
"Conviction," Mon murmured. "But not obedience."
Dedra swallowed. "Conviction in the Empire."
"Are you certain?" Mon asked, voice low.
Dedra didn't answer.
Mon moved again, stepping into Dedra's line of sight once more — radiant, composed, unyielding. "I am not here to break you, Dedra Meero. I am here to understand you."
Dedra's gaze held hers — sharp, resisting, but threaded with something that looked suspiciously like yearning. For clarity. For recognition. For something unnamed.
"And if I refuse to be understood?" Dedra asked.
Mon leaned forward, her voice soft as silk and twice as binding.
"Then this becomes an interrogation."
A long silence bloomed — bright, tense, thrumming with possibility.
Dedra exhaled, the tiniest surrender to inevitability.
"Ask your questions."
Mon smiled, small and luminous, like a candle coaxed into a steady flame.
"I already have," she whispered.
The air in the chamber had changed.
Not warmer — denser. As though every unsaid thing had gathered in the corners, trembling for release.
Dedra held Mon's gaze with the rigid discipline of someone accustomed to resisting far harsher conditions than a quiet room and a beautiful woman. But Mon's presence exerted a pressure no interrogation technique ever could: gentle, persistent, searching.
Mon's voice was the first thing to move in the stillness.
"You're very composed for someone in custody."
Dedra's jaw tightened. "Composure is a requirement of my former profession."
"And yet," Mon said, leaning back in her chair with deliberate, languid control, "I sense your pulse from here."
Dedra's fingers curled — a small, involuntary betrayal.
Mon smiled, not triumphantly, but with the soft recognition of someone who had found the seam in a seamless wall.
"You're not afraid," Mon murmured. "You're… alert."
Dedra's breath was steady, but shallow. "This is an interrogation. Of course I'm alert."
"It's more than alertness." Mon rose again, moving around the table with that unhurried grace that made her political opponents underestimate her — just once. Only once. "It's almost as though you expect danger from me."
When she stopped behind Dedra again, her voice brushed the back of Dedra's neck like a warm exhale.
"Or something else."
Dedra's spine went rigid. "If this is an attempt to unsettle me, it won't work."
Mon leaned down, not touching, simply allowing her presence to pour over Dedra like light through a stained-glass window. "You misunderstand. I'm not trying to unsettle you."
Her tone dipped, soft and husky.
"I'm trying to understand what already unsettles you."
Dedra closed her eyes for a single heartbeat — a moment of unguardedness so fleeting it could have been imagined. But Mon saw it.
She moved to face Dedra again, lowering herself to eye level, so close the faintest shift would let their knees brush.
"Tell me something," Mon said quietly. "When did you first realize the Empire was using you more than you were using it?"
A harsh question, sharp as any blade — but Mon delivered it like a caress. And something in Dedra responded.
Her voice softened, almost despite herself. "Perhaps… when loyalty became loneliness."
Mon inhaled, slow and sharp, as though Dedra's confession struck deeper than expected.
"Loneliness," she echoed. "A powerful force."
She reached out — not touching Dedra, but placing her hand on the table close enough that their fingertips lay in the same halo of warmth. "Powerful enough to draw people toward the wrong causes. Or the wrong people."
Dedra's eyes flicked to that hand, pupils darkening. "And what," she asked carefully, "Do you think loneliness draws me toward now?"
Mon did not answer at once. She simply held Dedra's gaze, letting the question coil in the space between them, taut and shimmering with tension.
When she finally spoke, her voice was low.
"You tell me."
Dedra swallowed. Not fear — something far more dangerous.
"You know exactly what you're doing," she whispered.
Mon's eyes softened, but not with innocence. "Do I?"
"You're using this room. This silence. Yourself."
"And is it working?" Mon asked, leaning in until Dedra could feel the warmth of her breath.
Dedra drew in a shaky inhale. "Yes."
It was the first unshielded word she had spoken.
Mon's smile was slow, blooming like dawn. "Good."
She stood, smoothing the fabric of her gown with elegant fingers.
"Then the interrogation," she said, turning slightly away just long enough to make Dedra ache for her attention to return, "is proceeding exactly as it should."
Dedra exhaled a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.
"And what happens next?" she asked quietly.
Mon glanced back at her — luminous, composed, but with a flame alive in the depths of her gaze.
"That," she said, "depends on what you decide to confess."
Mon grew quiet.
Dominance did not require volume — it required timing. And she let the silence stretch, let it wrap around Dedra like invisible bindings.
When she finally spoke, her voice was softer than a whisper yet carried the force of a command.
"Stand."
Dedra blinked — surprised, but not resistant. She rose slowly, her posture immaculate despite the tension threading through her throat and shoulders. Mon stepped closer, one measured pace at a time, until Dedra's breath hitched from the proximity alone.
Mon looked her up and down — not crudely, not hungrily, but with the assessing calm of someone evaluating a weapon she now owned.
"Even without your rank plaques," Mon murmured, circling her, "you hold yourself like a woman who expects to be obeyed."
Dedra's jaw tightened. "I'm used to giving orders."
"Yes," Mon said, gliding behind her, "and yet here you are. Waiting for mine."
Dedra's hands flexed at her sides, a crack in the armor.
Mon didn't touch her — but she leaned close enough that Dedra could feel the ghost of her presence against the back of her neck, warm and maddening. Dedra's breath stuttered, almost inaudibly.
"You're trembling," Mon whispered.
Dedra swallowed. "I am not."
Mon smiled — slow, knowing, devastating. "If you insist."
She moved around to face Dedra again, tilting her chin upward with just her gaze, no fingers. The command was silent, but Dedra obeyed all the same, lifting her eyes.
Mon stepped closer, so close their bodies shared a single ribbon of heat in the narrow space between them.
"You asked what happens next," Mon said quietly.
Mon leaned in — not touching, but close enough that Dedra's breath caught as if her body believed it would happen.
"What you want," Mon said.
Dedra's eyes flickered with something sharp, almost panicked — the instinct of someone who had never allowed herself such softness, who had lived too long inside the rigid comfort of command.
"I want—" Dedra started, but the words failed her, dissolved before she could shape them.
Mon's smile deepened, softened, turned wicked in the gentlest possible way.
"You see?" she said. "You can endure pain, pressure, isolation… but this—"
her voice dropped, husky and dangerous,
"—being seen… is what unravels you."
Dedra exhaled shakily, her composure fracturing like frost under sunlight.
Mon's eyes glittered. "Good. Now we're getting somewhere."
She leaned in again, her lips stopping a hair's breadth from Dedra's ear — close enough that Dedra's entire body went taut, waiting, wanting, defying itself.
"Tell me," Mon whispered, "what you've never allowed yourself to want."
Dedra's breath trembled. "Senator—"
"No," Mon corrected softly. "You will call me Mon."
The command struck with the precision of a blade. Dedra inhaled sharply, as if the word lodged in her throat, too intimate, too revealing.
"Say it," Mon murmured.
Dedra's lips parted, her voice barely a breath.
"Mon…"
The moment the name left her mouth, Mon closed her eyes — just briefly — as though savoring the shift in power that rippled between them.
When she opened them again, her gaze was molten.
"Good," she whispered. "Now the interrogation can truly begin."
Mon rummaged through a small bag of belongings as she savoured the submissive state Dedra was in.
"I brought a gift for you…" out from her bag came a collar made black metal, which Drdra immediately recognised.
"Recognise this?" Mon asked in a sing-song chipper tone.
Dedra nodded. Her knowledge of the item pleased Mon greatly.
"As you should. I'm sure someone who had a brief stay in imperial prison knows what they put on their inmates." Mon Mothma leaned in. A confident smirk on her face as her blue eyes gleamed."Would you like a reminder on what it does or are its effects still firmly entrenched in your memory?"
Horror made Dedra's Body turn cold. Her free will stripped away from her? Phantom pains assaulted her as her mind replayed the electrocutions she endured.
Yet why… why did she let Mon put it on, and why did the heavy metal feel so wrapped around her throat.
"Now, doesn't that feel better?" Mon said, pressing closer and letting the final layer of her robes fall. Somehow, it had slipped Dedra's notice but Mon's layers of clothes were pooled on the floor.
Had she truly become so inattentive? Or was it the situation that was sending her alert mind into a spiral.
Words got stuck when she tried to speak, in the silence she looked upon something heavenly.
Hungrily her gaze ate up Mon's lingerie — black, patterned and divinely beautiful against her pale skin. Mon's body seemed to lack the typical signs of aging, but whether that was because of her current lust endowed state, Dedra was not sure.
She was sure of one thing though.
"On your knees." Mon ordered.
She would listen, just like she always had.
"Good girl." Mon tugged on Dedra's collar, pulling her just close enough to smell the floar scent of her panties. "Seems like the empire managed to break you just~ right."
Despite the lovely smell tickling her nostril, her pride flared and it almost allowed her to speak, but the attempt was quickly squashed.
"No, no" Mon grabbed the back of her head and pulled. Forcing Dedra's mouth against her wet underwear, "No speaking pet."
Within moments the pants were pulled to the side exposing Mon's deliciously shaped snatch and well groomed fuzz. Dedra barely drew a breath before her tongue was sent to explore the oh so tasty garden of Mothma.
She couldn't tell how much time passed in this trance, the sweet words of Mon and gentle caress of her hand filled her tongue with vigor of ten women as she delved into the wet cave of desire.
Mon's moan was the sweetest symphony, her taste the sweetest, and her words — oh her words — they made her spine tingle with gratification. Eventually her assiduous work came to a climax quite literally.
Mon's flower began to contract and her voice crooned in the most erotic fashion. Her hands gripped Dedra tightly, balling up her hair into tight fists as her body quivered in pleasure.
"My, my pup. You have such potential in you." Dedra paused her lapping to look up. "Yet I have another gift to give."
Directing Dedra's attention to a hidden drawer in the desk, Mon revealed a thick dark strapon. Transfixed, Dedra gawped lewdly at Mon equipping her armament, her quim thoroughly soaked at the thought of such an impressive piece of ordnance being used on her.
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Part 2 coming to a chapter near you.
Merry Christmas Cunts.