Doctor Who: Panic Moon Ch. 31

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Amy Pond is given to a VIP client for use.
9k words
4.74
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Part 45 of the 56 part series

Updated 08/31/2017
Created 01/22/2011
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Kurokami
Kurokami
204 Followers

Author's Note: This is a sequel series to Amy, Captured. To get the full experience, please read through that one first.

Hi everyone, I'm back. And I'll be back again in about a week, so... Stick around.

There's news on my profile, so if you like what you see here, check me out!

I also got some interesting comments on the last chapter, which I loved, so please, if you have anything to say, do speak up. I'm trying to keep y'all happy, after all. Enjoy!

-Kurokami

*****************

Amy counted down from ten.

Every girl working- and she used the loosest possible definition of the term "working," as that implied that somewhere, money was changing hands- at the Olivan knew that they were being observed whenever they were on the premises. For all the half-truths and fantasies Fiori spun about the workings of his club, he had always been curiously straight about that particular detail, and why wouldn't he be? A watched slave was a hounded slave, after all.

There was even an A.I here, just to remind Amy of Sander's little setup all the more. It watched through the lenses of the cameras, and the mechanisms that ran the automated systems of the club. It had watched the couple enter the Olivan as first time visitors, and buy an hour of Amy's time. And, no doubt, it had watched what they had done to her, from first chaining her to a bed in one of the private rooms, to the man shooting his cum on her face as the last few seconds had ticked down on their time with her.

She assumed it was watching her now, since the locks on any restraint provided by the Olivan were timed- there was no need for customers to release their slaves- and would unlock in ten seconds in the absence of a paying visitor to the club. The couple that purchased her could simply use her and walk out the door when they were done, and all Amy had to do, was count.

And so, with a stranger's seed dripping down her lips, she counted. When she reached ten, there was the familiar, demeaning little tone that signalled that the lock was no longer a problem. It was too chirpy, too cheerful to herald the release of a slave from bondage, like it did. Amy gritted her teeth and removed her wrists from the cuffs that had held them.

She rubbed the raw skin there, remembering just how roughly the man had fucked her- at the urging of his young female paramour, of course- to cause the dull ache in her wrists, to say nothing of the muscle-deep pain between her legs. It was a sad thing to have to admit, but at least Sander had prepared her for that, as well as the shameful trickle of her own wetness that it elicited.

It wasn't a surprise anymore, which did help in making it humiliating.

Now freed, there was no excuse to let her latest abuser's cum to linger on her face. Grunting with disgust, Amy wiped herself off with one of the courtesy towels that were, strictly speaking, placed in the back rooms for the guests; Amy found herself unable to care. She leaned back on the bed and took a deep breath, savouring the small moment of solitude, though she was all too aware that it wouldn't last.

A watched slave was a hounded slave...

If she stayed put, they would come for her. She could hear the throb of the Olivan's music just beyond the door, muted by the barrier but still present; this place had its own internal rhythm that she and every other slave there was forced to follow. Amy lingered on the bed for a few seconds more before she forced herself to her feet and then to the door, as ready as she would ever be to put herself back at the tender mercies of the Olivan.

She still experienced a strange moment of alien panic upon taking her first step, naked as the day she was born, into a room occupied by a series of strangers, but it soon faded. There were so many other things to be afraid of here that simple modesty and decorum seemed piffling and distant. The parts of her that still reacted like a twenty-first century girl would were growing smaller every day; even if she did make it back to Earth, would it matter? Or would she be fundamentally different for this experience, a thirtieth century sex slave in an anachronistic past?

Around her, the club tensed and shuddered like a living being, spotlights tracing periodically over the crowd, stopping to highlight some amusement on one of the stages, or possibly a knot of limbs and bodies that Amy had no doubt contained a writhing, used slave at the centre. Skin tones and bodily structures that she had once thought impossible drifted through the lustful morass, and from on high, only just barely visible at the other side of the club, Fiori watched from on high, surveying his perverse little kingdom like some Bacchanalian god.

Threading her way through the Olivan presented a not insubstantial challenge; the collar around her neck marked Amy as club property, and it was easily visible on her bare form, an invitation to all and sundry. Tonight the place was packed, and as Amy sidled past group after group she found herself waylaid by wandering hands, or at the very least, appendages used for grabbing.

Oh yes. Amy supposed she might be considered quite lucky, from certain angles, that the majority of her... "clients," had been human. Dangerous humans, unpleasant ones, definitely, but humans nonetheless. Except the Olivan wasn't an exclusively human establishment, and humanity had turned out to be quite a popular fetish.

Something slick and cupped, like a suction pad, slid up the inside of her thighs, stopping her in her tracks. It was attached to a long, thin limb that pushed her legs apart, affording it greater access to the well used treasure between them. The limb, in turn, led up to a roughly featureless creature, smooth and jet black, like a polished stone, resplendent with some strange mineral. A point of light moved about its "face," a tiny, barely visible amber hue in the dark void atop a roughly spherical head, unattached and free floating.

Amy got the sense that she was being inspected, watched from that point. As she stared back, a portion of that light detached itself from the glow, growing in brightness as it fell down the creature's neck and across a chest like the side of a barrel before being sucked out onto the arm, where it went from forearm to wrist to... whatever it was that currently sat on Amy's clit.

She actually felt the light on her sensitive nub, as though it had been exposed to particularly bright sunlight, warm and... almost welcoming, in a way. Without thinking, her hips moved, pressing down against the strange, alien contact, a moan at her lips. When it went off, it was like an electric charge shooting straight from her clit to every nerve in her body, that bright and breezy light filling her entire being for a split second before dissipating.

Amy came.

Her back arched, thighs shaking as the muscles in her belly stood out in tense lines on her pale skin. There had been no warning, no build up to this kind of intensity, and it left her unprepared. Her legs almost failed her as she went from zero to orgasm in the space of a single second, body burning with the weird ecstasy she had so often found since venturing out into the darker sexual corners of space. A switch had been flipped in her body, and now she was riding wave after wave of climax with no end in sight.

Light just kept pumping down the alien's arm in waves, filling her with fluctuating brightness as the crowd began to prick up their ears and pay attention. Soon, there was cheering to back Amy's mounting screams, pleasure stamping down every thought and feeling, leaving her only with the mounting unpleasant oversensitivity of her pussy, as it clenched upon nothing. She ached, as the next climax mounted her hips, filling her up with blinding sensation, and she was adrift in the crowd. Eyes watched, and ears heard, as a million light years from home, Amy Pond came in the grip of an alien being.

Finally it let her go, released her so easily it was like it had never even touched her, and Amy fell back, her legs failing her in that moment. She couldn't tell how long she had been held there, whether it had been mere seconds or possibly minutes, but she also didn't care; lost time was just something you dealt with, working at the Olivan, where sensation could so easily strip away reality itself. This club was a pit of sex, a never-ending shameful orgasm that most people got to leave. The slaves, however, were just a tool of it; it was impossible to avoid these feelings while immersed in them.

Slaves like her...

The thought still struck her oddly, every time it drifted to the surface of her mind. But it was true, wasn't it? Sander hadn't come back for her in weeks, had watched her leave the auction block, and as for the Doctor and her husband, well... How long had it been there? The reality was inescapable; for the time being- and possibly forever, a treacherous inner voice took pains to point out- she was stuck here. She was a slave.

When Amy had fallen back, one of the other customers had caught her. Mercifully human, his rough hands still took liberties with her pale flesh; the arm that had wrapped around her to stop her falling now bore a grasping, fondling hand that cupped one small, pert breast. Whole hours often passed like this, when nobody had paid for her time and Amy was left adrift on the main floor; she found herself bounced from person to person, traded like some particularly entertaining toy. In a manner of speaking, she supposed she was. But that was dangerous thinking, bound to imprint itself on her already delicate psyche...

'Don't know why I grabbed you, really,' The man who caught her whispered, his voice cutting through the chaotic wall of sound around them like a knife. 'You'll be on your knees soon enough.'

If he had the cash, it would just be another thing Amy would have to accept, to take like the passive vessel she was meant to be, in this place. The sheer passivity of it all fed a deep well of anger in her; gone were the days of being able to fight, to run, to do something in the face of what was happening. Without the Doctor, it turned out, she was nothing special.

The Girl Who Waited was not a title that held any weight, here.

Shame accrued in a leaden ball inside her, she felt her knees bend, but the light stopped her. Accompanied by a little tone audible only to Amy herself, a tiny projector set into the throat of her collar shone, an expanding holographic ring of red spreading outward and lingering in the air just long enough for Amy to make out the word "RESERVED" stamped through the centre of the band of light.

It was a feature of the collar designed to be shocking, to drive away any otherwise interested clients, and it did its job admirably here; Amy quickly found herself in the middle of an empty space, where even the man who had been so handsy before had backed away. The Olivan didn't have many rules, but those it did have were ruthlessly enforced; when a slave was reserved, you let her go on her way.

'Sorry,' Amy lilted, adding as much sarcasm as she dared, revelling in that small measure of power. 'Better luck next time.'

Slipping past him, Amy headed to the stairs that led to the elevated V.I.P area. It would be Fiori, of course, who had reserved her; nobody else paid her quite the level of interest that he did. Despite letting her out onto the main floor like this, despite the rather... public debasements he had put her through thus far, in truth he treated her with more regard than the other girls; more of a personal project than a money maker.

What was it about the wider universe, that it inculcated sadism so intensely?

The stairs were somehow holographic, a rainbow halation playing under her feet as she climbed them, fluctuating with the distribution of her weight. It was pleasing to the eye, but Amy knew it was there for more than aesthetics; in reality the lightshow was scanning whoever ascended the steps, seeking out those who didn't have permission to do so. Those that weren't welcome would find the ground under their feet becoming flat and sloping, a pleasant little slide conveying them down into the less pleasant arms of the burly Ogron security guards that Fiori employed.

Some of the other girls treated those who ran afoul of the Olivan's myriad security measures as a kind of entertainment, and even Amy herself had taken to giggling whenever this particular trap sprung on some inebriated alien patron or another. It was hard to muster sympathy for anyone who would willingly walk into a place like this, after all. Too many of her fellow slaves had spent time with the medicom for that.

Looking back over the main floor from the V.I.P area afforded one a view of the singular, writhing organism below that was liable to cause motion sickness, and so Amy studiously avoided doing so as she finally reached her destination. This was not hard; so much strangeness had been packed into the floor in front of her that the mind reeled anyway. The aliens up here were mostly humanoid, but the things that made them stand out as non-human were so... dazzling, that their very beings radiated wealth.

The spotlights below occasionally cut through the body mass of an enormous diamond-person, all coruscating gemstone limbs and small, hard edged angles. The light spilled through its chest as it moved, tumbling and refracting through the chaotic facets of a torso that seemed too thin to support the weight of its head and shoulders. Five bright points of light were set into its face in the middle of smoother, near transparent orbs that had to be its eyes, and that lightning gaze remained transfixed on the thing in its lap.

Almost doll-like compared to the sheer size of the creature holding her, the human slave girl seemed numb, faraway from what was happening to her, as a single diamond finger of incalculable worth stroked across her breasts, the tip lighting up with a vague orange glow, as though heated. It was best not to speculate as to what, precisely, was going on there.

Passing scenes of lust and debauchery that were difficult to parse, Amy made a beeline for Fiori, surrounded as he was by his retinue of personal girls. Not for the first time she wondered whether the women in Fiori's harem had an easier time of things, or whether they suffered the brunt of his cruel attentions as Amy herself had in the past. It was hard to tell just from looking at them; their features were always set in studious passivity, those perfect faces betraying no emotion, merely blank screens ripe for their Master to project whatever he wanted upon them. A treacherous voice in Amy's head pointed out the effectiveness of this, hinting that suppressing her own emotions might lessen the suffering inflicted upon her.

She could flatten herself out, become the simple little sex toy they wanted her to be and enjoy a much smoother ride through the inner workings of the Olivan, but then... wasn't that letting them win? Wasn't that losing herself?

Fiori was not alone with his slaves either; a tall, rugged, thankfully human man sat nearby, his eyes passing over Amy with the usual expression of appraisal she got from Olivan customers. He was older than her, his age hovering somewhere around forty, if she had to guess; of course, her guesswork was linked to normal human standards, and not the genetically enhanced strangeness of the future of her kind. Who knew how old this man really was?

There seemed to be a loose grouping of affiliated humans in Fiori's little corner, three other humans in suits, decked out in a kind of clear visor that, Amy knew, was feeding them real time data about... who knew? Nothing good, Amy could tell to begin with. The glass glinted in the light, their eyes blocked in a strangely dehumanizing manner. Still, she could tell even without looking that they were watching her, just as hungrily as the first man.

She had been here long enough to recognize him as their paymaster.

'Ah, there she is,' Fiori said, as Amy stepped through the sound dampening border around his area that turned the music to a dull thrum, rather than the consuming thud that it was outside. 'You see, Lem? One of my finest prizes.'

Without waiting for a response, Fiori reached forward and took Amy by the wrist, dragging her over to him and planting her almost on his lap. Spreading her legs roughly with one hand, he spoke in a low voice, just for her, 'Lem is an important guest of mine, Amelia. You will give him your full attention for tonight, and make sure he leaves here with a positive impression. Otherwise...'

Trailing off, he produced a small metal bead attached to the end of a length of thin silver chain. Amy's heart sank, and she gritted her teeth as he slipped it down between her legs, rubbing at her clit for a moment in a way that sent a shameful wash of pleasure over her, before sliding the clamp around it. She moaned just a little as he tightened it, voice threaded with anguish and pain, as the metal bit into her sensitive flesh, jarring discomfort mixing into the sensation.

'Offer him your leash, Amelia,' There was a kind of impatient insistence in his voice, as if he had no time for having to give her instructions. Like she should know all this by now. Obediently, fearful of punishment, Amy took the silver chain from Fiori and held it gingerly as she walked, so as to avoid unpleasant tugging and pulling. She approached Lem like he was primed to explode, not knowing what he might do. In a world where appearances were so often only skin deep, and concealed unknowable secrets, playing it safe was the only viable option.

'What makes this one so unique, Kamui?' Lem spoke for the first time, his pronunciation so ponderous and strange that English can't have been his first language. Considering the multitude of alien tongues she had heard just in her short period at the Olivan, that wasn't surprising, but it was another hint at just how far from home Amy truly was.

'Her rare vintage, Lem. Possibly unique on this planet,' Fiori said. 'At least, I'm not aware of any other time shifted slaves having come through the markets in some time.'

'Time shifted?' The visitor's head tilted to one side, as he took the clit-leash Amy proffered to him with as much false reverence as she could bear to show. 'Risky. I didn't know there were any vortex hunters around anymore, too dangerous if you get caught. Isn't it illegal in Selestene?'

'It is,' Fiori shrugged. 'But I didn't deal with the hunters to find this one. She fell into my lap quite by accident, at one of the Guild's auctions. According to the administrators, they didn't even realize what they had on their hands until she had been examined. She got picked up by one of their street sweeper teams, totally by accident.'

'Well, finders keepers, I suppose,' Lem said. He tugged idly at Amy's leash, causing her to squirm at the burning discomfort between her legs, without stepping any closer to relieve the hurt. She knew better than that, 'But that's one hell of a lucky find, there. So, what's her vintage?'

'Twenty-first century,' Fiori said. 'Early. Her name's Amelia Pond, not that it matters terribly here. Her previous Master preferred more spark and resistance than I do, so I've been... training her out of that. I know you like them on the cusp of breaking, my friend. Tell me, would any other club offer you such a prize?'

'I doubt they could even procure it, Fiori,' Lem grinned, and began reeling Amy in, inch by inch, by the chain between her legs. 'But isn't this only half the package you arranged for me and the gentlemen today?'

Fiori nodded, snapped his fingers. A shape detached itself from the shadows in one corner and stepped forward, milky skin shining as the spotlights passed over her naked form, occasionally catching the golden collar around her neck in a brilliant flash of rich light.

Kurokami
Kurokami
204 Followers