It had all gone wrong. All he'd been doing was walking to school when a portal appeared and a group of hug, fat sweaty green pig men had appeared and captured little Lincoln Loud, a short, white-haired boy of eleven years. Seized in their grasp, his backpack torn off and flung aside, he'd been dragged through the swirling vortex to the planet Tatooine. Not that he learned this right away. The grunting porcine aliens either didn't speak English or simply had nothing to say to the skinny boy they'd abducted. He did later learn that they were called Gamorreans, however, and served as minions for vile, slug-like creatures called Hutts. These Gamorreans worked for one Hutt in particular, a Hutt so powerful that he was called THE Hutt by everyone. Jabba was his name. Jabba the Hutt. Or "Master," as Lincoln would soon know him when addressing him directly, and "Mighty Jabba" when discussing him indirectly with others. He was never simply "Jabba."

Lincoln had been bustled into a bazaar in a dusty desert town whose name he didn't know. He called for help repeatedly, but no one had come to his aid. Either because they didn't care about this boy kidnapped through time and space, or because they were too afraid of crossing the agents of the Hutt. Into a low and dimly-lit adobe building he'd been taken where the Gamorreans handed him to another human and a tall, pale-skinned man with sharp teeth and long, worm-like tentacles sprouting from the sides of his head. This man, Lincoln would later learn, was named Bib Fortuna and he was the personal aide of the creature who would soon own the quivering human child. Fortuna and the human who was with him didn't speak English except in very broken sentences, and commanded the Gamorreans to reveal the boy to them.

They leered as the pigs grabbed hold of Lincoln's clothes and attempted to strip him. He fought, but the grunting Gamorreans were stronger. When he refused to sit still and be undressed normally, the kidnappers opted to simply rip his clothing off of him. His orange shirt came apart like tissue paper, baring his pale, skinny chest, and his bluejeans ripped like tattered burlap. One Gamorrean held him down while another took off his shoes and socks. They left him with his tight white briefs on, dragged him to his feet, then thrust him towards the two men who would take him to his new home for the rest of his short life. With taloned, surprisingly gentle and graceful hands, evidently well-practiced at examining shaking young tender bodies, Bib Fortuna felt over Lincoln's body and pulled his underwear down, exposing him entirely. So much for dignity. Not that he'd have much of that soon; it was best he learn now. His genitals were felt. His small little penis was stroked and tugged, and he bit his lower lip as he got an involuntary erection. Fortuna gave a sound indicating satisfaction as he stroked one claw along the shaft's length and then gave the little balls a squeeze. One finger was traced along the smooth curvature of his buttocks and for a moment Lincoln was terrified Fortuna would insert that sharp-clawed digit into his virgin, puckered anus, but fortunately he didn't.

Fortuna released him and stood back, and conveyed, through hand gestures, that the boy could pull his underwear back up. He did so, shaking in terror and confusion as the pale alien discussed something with the human. Money was exchanged between the two groups and Lincoln was dragged away, never to see the Gamorreans again. Then again, Gamorreans also guarded Mighty Jabba's palace, and they all looked alike to him, so maybe he did. After being fed and given a place to sleep, Lincoln was awakened early the next morning where a crudely-fashioned metal collar fitted with a chain was attached to his slender throat, and thusly leashed he was taken across the vast desert in an open-topped, flying car-like vehicle, the wind whipping his neatly-combed white hair into a frenzied frazzle.

The palace was huge. Squat and low, but vast. The air vehicle flew inside and a huge door closed after it. The interior of his new home was dim and dank. It had taken them all day to cross the desert, so by the time they'd arrived the sun, which Lincoln would never see again for the rest of his life, was already setting, and he gathered it was nighttime or close to it by the time he'd been bundled down to a kind of dungeon-like area. He had trouble seeing anything because the transition from the bright Tatooine desert exterior to the near blackness of the palace interior had been so jarring and abrupt he was functionally blind. Bib Fortuna handed him to a human guard who also didn't speak any English, not even brokenly, and his man dragged Lincoln roughly by the chain down winding, slippery stone steps into a dripping, stinky area where a door was opened. The half-naked boy was flung into a narrow cell, the door slamming and locking after him. There was no bed and no one brought him any food. For a while, his chain clanking noisily, he felt around the walls and banged on the door, but this got no response. Exhausted, he lay down on the cold, wet stone floor and cried himself to sleep.

The next day, he was fetched from this cell and dragged to an upper level that was some kind of reception area for newly arrived slaves. Which, Lincoln realized, was what he was, or would become, anyway. A lot happened here very fast. Many different creatures spoke to] him and about him. One lizard-like alien who did speak English explained, very quickly, brooking not a single interruption or question or Lincoln's part, that this was the palace of Jabba the Hutt, but that Lincoln was to address him only as Mighty Jabba, the Exalted One, Master, or just sir.

"You exist only for Mighty Jabba's pleasure," said the lizard man, a creature called a Trandoshan. "You were acquired at great effort and expense. Humans from Earth are Jabba's favorite. Especially boys like you. You'll entertain him and do all that he asks or you will suffer. Or perhaps you'll suffer even if you please him. The Exalted One doesn't feel pity or remorse, and your misery will not stop until you are dead."

Lincoln cried openly and none of them cared. He was made to take off the briefs, and give a skimpy little thong to wear. He hated how it rode up between his butt cheeks. The crude collar with the chain that he'd been given at the slaver's was taken off and replaced with a more ornate gilded one inlaid with gold, with a corded leather leash. He was given a rough explanation of the strange language most of his captors spoke. It was called Huttese. It was so rough and dirty that by the time they were finished, Lincoln was certain he understood only very basic sentences, which he was sure was the point; as a slave, he needed only to understand simple commands from his monstrous master, who he'd yet to see. He supposed he'd pick up more as time went on, and said as much to the Trandoshan, who laughed.

"Perhaps you will, if you live that long."

With that evil portent, he was led by the scaly reptile into a lavish and comfortable den which was the Hutt's harem. Aside from the guards at the very strong door which was kept locked almost all the time, his only company were other human boys his age or similar, all Caucasian and kidnapped from Earth like him. He was given permission most graciously by the Trandoshan to go and mingle with them until it was time to be presented to his owner. Then the Trandoshan left and slammed the door. Lincoln numbly walked to where the other boys waited in a kind of sunken shallow lounging pit in the floor lined with pillows. He gratefully slid into this, and made small talk with his fellow slaves.

Although they were all Caucasian boys from Earth, they didn't all come from the same country as him, or even the same time period. One, a snaggle-toothed, brown-haired boy named Hogarth Hughes, was from America like him, but from the 1950s! Evidently Jabba's personal slavers could travel through time. Another brown-haired, short boy named Timmy Turner, who had large buck teeth, was evidently insane from too much time spent as Jabba's plaything; another American, Timmy insisted that he had real fairy godparents named Cosmo and Wanda and would routinely call on them to come and aid him and his fellow captives, and would break down crying when nothing happened. His explanation when he finally got done sniffling was that the two couldn't hear his pleas across the vastness of time and space, although the other boys were positive he was mad and pitied him. Lincoln was inclined to agree. Then there was Cody. No last name that they knew of; none he'd given, anyway. Evidently he was from Australia. He had blonde hair and an athletic build from a lot of time spent outdoors in the Outback. This much the others had learned from him before he'd become intensely taciturn; after only a few days in the palace he'd stopped speaking and withdrew into himself, and indeed he spoke not a single word the entire time Lincoln knew him, which would be measured in hours. There was a final boy, another Timmy, or just Tim. Tim Murphy. He wasn't present. Evidently, he was with their owner, and had also gone quietly mad the way the boy who shared his first name had, as he insisted, forcefully, that he and his sister had been visiting their wealthy grandfather's island full of dinosaurs when he'd been taken by the slavers.

All the boys were dressed identically to Lincoln; collared and clad in matching little thongs that accentuated their attributes finely for any appreciative onlookers. But their bodies were for only one pair of eyes... and only one pair of hands to touch from now on. After slipping into a light doze, Lincoln was jolted awake he knew not how much later by the door banging open. He sat upright rigidly, watching with sleepy confusion as the other boys cringed and shrank away from the grunting Gamorrean guards who came in, accompanied by the tentacle-headed Bib Fortuna.

"This one," Fortuna commanded, pointing at Lincoln.

The other boys look at him pityingly. Hogarth put a comforting arm around the shivering Timmy who mumbled Cosmo and Wanda's names again and again without result, while Cody simply sniffed and shuffled awkwardly in place. Lincoln started to say goodbye and that he wanted to see them again soon, but his leash, which had been left on when he'd first been brought in, was roughly seized, and he was dragged out of the room. He never saw Hogarth, Timmy or Cody again. But they would hear his final fate and shudder in the darkness later that night.

Through the palace he was dragged, not daring to resist, so cowed was he by how confusing and disorienting and unreal everything in this new world was. His penultimate destination was the main audience chamber where the Hutt received visitors. It was a large room, although it seemed smaller than it really was because of how full it was with people. Visitors, cronies, guards and scum and monsters of all shapes and sizes filled the room. Some of them were passed out drunk or sleeping. Helping to give the big room a smaller, more tightly knit quality was the low ceiling. Barred fixtures allowed murky light from some unknown source to dimly filter in, casting everything in a perpetual twilight; most of the room's occupants were mere shadows or silhouettes to Lincoln. There was a band as well, crammed into one corner; Lincoln had the dim impression of musical instruments. They were silent at the moment.

In the middle of all of this, arising like a mountain of moldy-colored dough on a low stone dais, was the Exalted One himself, and the sight of the tyrannical ruler of this smoky, dim and dank palace on the desert planet Tatooine was so startlingly hideous that Lincoln had to choke back a scream of pure terror, although for some reason he felt himself hardening inside his thong. He blushed hotly, and it showed on his very pale skin. He kind of had a head, with huge, reptilian eyes, asymmetrical, crooked nostrils from which mucus steadily oozed, and a horrifyingly huge maw. Something that could charitably be called a jawline disappeared into several greasy rolls of fat terminating in a wide, slug-like body that tapered into a thick tail. His only limbs were two short, stubby arms with tiny hands with pudgy little fingers that reminded Lincoln of baby arms. That was Jabba looked like. A huge, deformed baby.

Next to him, clad in a thong and wearing a collar and leash similar to the newcomer's, was a thin boy with tousled brown hair. Evidently this was Tim Murphy. The other boys had mentioned no other slaves, therefore this leashed lad was by process of elimination the boy who claimed to have kidnapped from an island of dinosaurs. His body language and general demeanor were similar to Cody the Australian's; he looked thoroughly defeated, sitting slumped, looking at the floor. A snickering little monkey-like creature called Salacious Crumb was perched beside Tim. He seemed to find the human's discomfort intensely amusing. Lincoln swallowed and cleared his throat, hoping to get his fellow slave's attention. He didn't know why. Maybe he just wanted kinship. He didn't get it. Tim did look up, but at the monstrous form rising beside him as the Hutt roused and bellowed forth a cry of excitement at the sight of his newest plaything, and the deep, shuddering voice that boomed out of that huge body made Lincoln shiver in terror as he was made to walk right up to the front of the sprawling dais and stand in a very specific spot in front of a grating in the floor which gaped cavernously behind the nearly-naked boy. The Gamorreans attending to him backed away to either side. He'd later learn why.

Mighty Jabba said something incomprehensible to him. The Trandoshan who spoke English from before, taking Lincoln's leash from the Gamorrean who held it, stepped, around the side of the dais, translated as he handed the leash to the Hutt. "The Exalted One wishes to know your name."

Lincoln swallowed. It took him a moment to find his voice as he withered under that cold reptilian stare. "L-Lincoln Loud, s-sir," he managed to stammer, almost inaudibly.

There were a few titters. Jabba laughed as well. He spoke. From here on out, the English-speaking Trandoshan translated everything Jabba said directly, or Lincoln was able to comprehend basic Huttese words from the crash course he'd been given earlier. "Ahhhh!" said Jabba. "Very polite. 'Sir.' I like that. Either you're a fast learner or you were brought up to be respectful."

He tugged on the leash and Lincoln was jerked forward, his knees touching the edge of the dais. The boy whimpered. Still Tim wouldn't look at him.

"Your respect for me may keep you alive longer than some of your predecessors," Mighty Jabba boomed. "But somehow I doubt it. Nevertheless, we'll see. After all, in this world, anything is possible, wouldn't you agree?" Another burst of thick, phlegmy laughter.

Gulping, Lincoln nodded, his survival instincts kicking in. Better agree! "Yes, Master," he said, a little louder than before, "b-before now, I'd n-never have believed anything like this could've happened to me!" Who knew? Maybe Tim and Timmy were right after all. It finally dawned on Lincoln that the other boys' denial of the existence of dinosaurs and fairies was probably their effort to deny what was happening to them right now.

"And what a lucky boy you are! Now tell me, can you dance?"

Lincoln nodded. "I can... a little."

"Then prepare for the feast!" At this, Tim's head finally snapped up, his eyes wide in horror. "We're gonna party so hard the foundations of the palace will quake!" Jabba continued, ignoring his other slave's dawning horror, even as Tim was shaking his head side to side in mute negation.

The band kicked into gear. Music filled the chamber. The leash was removed from his collar and Lincoln was directed to a pole that ran from floor to ceiling that said a little ways across the room. At the sight of this, he knew, coupled with Jabba's lecherous looks and the kind of outfits he and the other boys had been given to wear, exactly what kind of dance his master wanted. He hoped he could please him. He wanted to see tomorrow. He wanted to see the sun again. He sighed and leaned against the pole.

Tim was nudged in the small of his back with the thick tail. "Get your lazy bones up and dance for me!" Jabba commanded. "It's feasting time!"
 
Tonight was apparently cause for some celebration, although Lincoln had no clue what. Tim, obedient but slow, moving like a zombie, making Lincoln privately remark that he hoped the brown-haired boy didn't push his luck and anger Jabba, rose and began a very vibrant, erotic dance in the middle of the room. Yes, thought Lincoln, he knew what sort of dance Mighty Jabba expected, and began one. Keeping his gaze focused on Tim and not the Hutt, he felt the music getting to him and he too began dancing, slowly at first, awkwardly, letting the beat sink into his very bones, trying to recall the sultry and graceful movements of the women in the adult movies he'd squinted at through the static of pirated porn channels on TV. Almost nobody noticed. All eyes were on Tim. Slowly, Lincoln swayed his body back and forth. Overcome with a sudden desire to please Mighty Jabba and live another day, the boy closed his eyes and pictured himself in Tim's place, dancing, twirling, snapping the leash that kept him enslaved to his master, the center of his attention, and it was making his hard little cock leak eagerly as he groped himself through the thin fabric of his thong.
 
As the music picked up in tempo, so did Lincoln's dancing, as he grabbed the pole beside him and started gyrating against it, groaning softly. Now a few people beside him were taking interest, but their attention was called away when suddenly things on the dance floor took a turn for the worse, at least for poor Tim. Hearing a groan, Lincoln opened his eyes, but kept dancing, watching as Tim was struggling against Jabba, who tugged playfully at his leash.
 
"No, no!" Tim screamed.
 
"Come to meeeee," Jabba gurgled.
 
"No, Mighty One!" Tim shrieked as he was pulled over a part of the floor that appeared somehow different from the rest. The spot Lincoln had been made to stand on earlier, between the dais and the grate. The one everyone else seemed to want to avoid. "Not the pit! Not the feast!" screamed Tim piercingly, sweat dripping down his nearly naked form as he dug his heels in and strained against his leash.

Lincoln gasped and danced faster, enticed by this new development and suddenly not caring much about Tim anymore. He wanted to see where this went. Morbid curiosity filled him. It turned out Tim's fate had been sealed the moment Lincoln had been brought in, as with a contemptuous cry of "Cumslut!" Mighty Jabba activated a button on an ornate armrest beside him. A trapdoor opened under Tim's feet, and the boy dropped screaming through it and out of sight, his leash trailing after him as the Hutt released it. The door close and with a grinding sound, the great dais upon which Jabba was lying lurched forward, over the trapdoor, covering it, further adding finality to what had just befallen the slave, as everyone crowd around the big grate in the floor.

Lincoln kept dancing, knowing he wouldn't be able, or permitted, to push past everyone to see. But the earth-shaking roars and Tim's terrified screams told the story. Tim had been sent to the fate intended for all of Mighty Jabba's playthings once he grew tired of them, an oubliette of horror from which there was no return. Process of elimination, indeed.

As Tim's final screams died away, Tim realized Jabba was looking at him. While everyone was still enjoying the other slave's death down below, the bloated master was looking at the human boy through the crowd. Their eyes locked. Eager to please him where Tim had evidently failed, Lincoln spontaneously seductively licked the pole he was grinding himself against, and watched, in a mixture of revulsion and fascination, as Jabba licked his lips and burbled excitedly, once more reminding him of a baby. A big, fat, powerful baby.
 
"Silence!" Jabba bellowed, and all the cheering stopped. So did Lincoln's dancing. "Lincoln!" he said. "Now that my beloved pet has feasted, I am hungry as well! Come to me, my boy, and feed your master!"
 
Lincoln swallowed, assuming he was being metaphorical, and, stepping away from the pole, moved through the crowd, which parted for him, and walked up to the dais. "Yes, Mighty One?" he asked softly. "What is it you want of this slave?"
 
"All of you," Jabba said, and his fat, rancid tongue slid out to slap wetly against Lincoln's cute face, leaving thick, dripping gobs of saliva. "Mmmm, yes, all of you will do nicely."
 
The thick tongue slithered down his body and Lincoln screamed, realizing suddenly the evil Hutt baby-monster hadn't been speaking metaphorically. Lincoln screamed piercingly as his cute face twisted and contorted in a horrified grimace, as the surprisingly long and thick and even more surprisingly powerful tongue slid around his waist and lifted him up. His legs kicked. Jabba threw his head back and Lincoln twisted as the tongue lifted him in the air. He reached down and grabbed at the tongue trying to make it release him, but his thin fingers just slid wetly across the saliva-slicked muscular surface. He felt himself being lowered and braced his bare feet against Mighty Jabba's upper and lower jaws in an effort to forestall the inevitable, but Jabba responded to this by flicking the tongue up, releasing his body to hover in midair for a few seconds before he fell back down and was seized by the tongue again which drew him bodily into the great maw, which stretched wide to accomodate his petite form.
 
He straddled the tongue, which wriggled, grinding itself against his little boy's package inside the thong and his asshole. His supple body arched and writhed as the human boy was pleasured by his master and devourer. Soon only sexual pleasure filled his mind, to the point where he actually ripped off his thong, exposing himself to all who cared to look, and indeed everyone did care! He grasped his little cock and masturbated furiously. Mighty Jabba was careful, though.  The moment he felt his meal was about to hit his peak, he drew him further into that horrifying maw, and Lincoln, realizing in his sex-adled mind he was going to be swallowed without being allowed to orgasm, shrieked at this final cruelty "Nooooooo!" while reaching one arm desperately but weakly towards freedom, before the thick, pustule-covered lips clamped shut, encasing him forever in tight, hot, smelly darkness.
 
His arm poked out of the mouth but Mighty Jabba just burped and slowly sucked the weakly flailing limb inside slowly. He gulped and Lincoln felt himself moving slowly and irrevocably backwards and down through a tight, fleshy tube to be deposited in a great, stinking sac. His master's gut. A roiling belch shook the form around him. The Exalted One's body went to work on him and slowly began digesting him. He sobbed, writhed and moaned, fought and kicked, heard muffled laughter as everyone enjoyed what must've been some very sexy wriggles and bulges in the great Hutt's belly.
 
Slowly, his struggles died down and she accepted his fate... but there was one thing Mighty Jabba couldn't take from from him. He grabbed his cock again and jerked himself furiously as he sank slowly beneath the rising surface of the digestive juices, and, right as he lost consciousness, his naked, slime-covered form was rocked by only the third orgasm in his entire young, short live, and of the three he had to say he thought it was the best. And so Lincoln faded away and sank languidly beneath the juices of the stomach and it set to work on him, slowly transforming his sexy form into nutrients for the Hutt, who belched, and, feeling satisfied, puffed on his hookah for a bit, and then slowly drifted away into a contented doze.

The End.