Doctor Who: Panic Moon Ch. 35

And then, on that first lonely night, when she had found herself in the presence of that handsome free-floating young man in the collar, and had tugged him by that same collar back to her room. She had taken her pleasure from him furtively, secretively, almost guiltily in some ways, but the act had left its mark on her. The idea of those two bodies, hers and his, sucking and fucking for her sake alone, had wrapped itself around her brain and settled in.

The next night, she had taken the same man back to her room. The night after that, she... sampled a different man. By the third night, she had worked up enough courage to try a woman, and from there it was a short trip to some of the more humanoid alien species, with their attendant abilities for maximizing sexual pleasure. The ship had gotten to her. That was the week that she had truly become the Alaska's entertainment manager.

All of those nights were present in the images Sander was currently showing her. Her own body lay taut and naked and sweating, in excruciating detail, for all to see.

'Come on, tell me you didn't like that,' Sander said, enlarging and deleting each image in turn, by hand. Clara watched as he took each piece of her own personal pornography in hand, turned it this way and that, before tossing it aside, where it faded. She blushed, as he continued, 'Tell me you don't have a sexual side that gets off on this now. Whatever the reason you got on board the Alaska, you got to love it. All that power, all that consequence free sex, whenever you wanted it... I'm not offering you the same position you had then, but I am offering you the favoured position among my little retinue. You'll have privileges the others don't, aside from, you know, remaining alive. Try to tell me the idea doesn't intrigue...'

'I... I just...' Clara struggled for words, the twin pressures of her current dilemma and the creeping arousal of seeing herself in all those lovely positions jamming her thoughts as they proceeded to her mouth. She felt herself getting wet despite herself, as image after image spilled out of the projector in front of her, 'I suppose I don't really have a choice. It's this or... death.'

The final word came out after a lengthy pause, and when it did come, it did so quietly, almost strangled by the creeping dread that had settled, gargoyle-like, on her mind since the bar. Despite all the things currently going through her mind, Clara hung her head, fingers knotting in her lap as the cold reality of that word smacked into her at full force.

'Oh, come now,' Sander said. 'I don't want you thinking this deal of life for slavery is unfair to you or anything!'

This was, of course, largely the truth; if Clara thought she was being penned into a decision- which she was- she would be less likely to be truthful with the parts of her job Sander needed her for, rendering her into little more than another member of his harem; good for a little fun, surely, but possessed of so very much missed potential. There was so much more she could be doing for him, things he simply could not properly manage himself without paying a great deal of time and money. Expertise was a hard thing to come by.

'Tell you what,' Inventing desperately, Sander continued. 'Just so you don't feel cheated, I'll give you a chance to win what you want, before you even put on that collar. Stand up.'

Curiosity crested the mix of emotions that masked Clara's face. Sliding out of her chair, she stood before Sander, the tall man easily dwarfing her. When he moved closer, she actually flinched, her back hitting the table.

'I'm listening, Sander,' She said, some small spasm of her usual confidence causing her to speak again. 'Or should that be Master, now?'

'Not just yet,' A smile tugged at the edges of Sander's mouth. 'Like I said, you'll put your collar on after this bit. A free woman, struggling for her rights... Better than struggling for your life, right?'

'What are you proposing?'

'I'm proposing that you get up on this table, right here and right now,' Sander growled. 'And we have sex. It's going to happen when you're wearing that collar anyway, you might as well freely choose it and potentially get something out of it. I'll try to show you that I'm a far better prospect than those collared eunuchs you're used to. If I am, if I can get you to cum, then I'll have you just like I have all my other slaves. A little fucktoy on the end of my leash, entertainment manager or no.'

Clara swallowed, feeling her heart pounding wildly in her chest, practically rebounding off of her ribcage. She couldn't deny that some small, nervous part of her was intrigued by the prospect, contrary though it was to her previous bedroom role aboard the Alaska. Those collared men and woman and aliens had been in close quarters with her- in more senses of the word than the obvious- for weeks at a time, of course she had wondered what it was like to be in their position. Their reactions to their predicament had varied almost as much as the forms of the slaves themselves; some had disliked it, others had been ambivalent, their positions as chattel accomplishing some other objective that remained unspoken.

And then there had been those who enjoyed where they were.

They had... stood out, even though there were only ever a few of them at a time. Mostly, they had been higher-value slaves, stock that moved among the higher paying decks of the starliner, above both Clara's head and her pay grade. But occasionally she ventured above, or one of those select slaves had ventured down for some gathering or celebration on the main deck, and Clara had found herself endlessly fascinated with the way they acted and thought. Those who could find their happiness in slavery, for whom nudity and a collar were a preferred form of dress, who could revel in the embarrassed blush, or turn a downcast eye into an art form. Their strange, small kind of contentment was beautiful; they had found their niche, and seemed perfectly well assured lingering there.

Clara had never even considered herself in that same position, but it seemed that the position had come to her. Wielding a knife.

'And if you disappoint me?' Clara asked, a tremor in her voice and a dazed sort of interest in her mind.

'Then you just get the job,' Sander shrugged nonchalantly, as though the possibility weren't even worth considering. 'You'll still have to wear the collar, for safety's sake, but I won't touch you. Unless you want me to, that is, but considering that I'd have to "disappoint" you just to get to that point, I don't think that'd be an issue.'

'So basically you've constructed another scenario on the fly in order to get inside me?' Clara cocked an eyebrow. 'What kind of a choice is that?'

'There was never any choice,' Sander shook his head. 'The Alaska is always going to crash, a Dalek is always going to meet the Doctor there... We're all just dancing to the future's tune, you're smart for taking the best way out possible. But let's not pretend this is some miraculous escape you're making, because it's not. You're playing out of one person's hands and into another's. I want something, and you're going to give it to me, because I'm giving you a more attractive offer, that's still not as attractive as just walking away from the whole shebang, which you will not do.'

Sander took a step forward now, his eyes filled with iron sturdy confidence; she was in his hall, just about to get entangled in his strings, and there was nothing she could do about it. The glimmer of hope at the end of the path he was presenting was... slim, and surrounded by far too many unknowns for Clara's liking, but it was the only spot of hope there was to be had. Nobody had ever claimed that life was perfectly fair.

'So enough dancing around the point, Oswin,' He continued. 'I'm offering you a little gamble because it amuses me, and you'd be a fool not to take it while it's on the table. Instead of saying something else, I suggest that the next thing you do is get on the table yourself, roll down the front of your dress, and show me something to keep me interested before I just collar you myself and drag you right through to my bedroom to do this the easy way, because I do not need to offer you the hard way, for me.'

Their meeting was always going here, Clara knew. This was the culmination of Sander's entire plan, it was written all over his face. His impatience might have been sudden, but it wasn't spontaneous; it was a meticulously planned additional pressure, pushing her to commit to her choice right now, before her fears and rational mind could second guess what was happening.

Without taking her eyes off of him, Clara pushed the hologram projector to one side, and lifted herself onto the rim of the table, falling for his plan hook, line and sinker. Blushing furiously, unable to meet his gaze, she reached up and rolled the neckline of her dress down over the generous curve of her breasts, feeling cool air on her nipples for the first time.

'It's always pleasant, seeing something like this in person after watching it on screens for so long,' Sander said, and Clara realized for the first time that he must have been watching her from afar for at least a little while to get all that prurient footage of her. She felt her shoulders tighten with the simple stress of how weird all this was, a sensation that only intensified as the man reached out to palm her breast, the warmth of his skin such a contrast to the general coolness of the atmosphere here.

Clara forced herself to sit still and allow Sander to explore her body, feeling the hot, vital weight of her breasts in his hands, stroking and tugging at her nipples hard enough to make her breath hitch in her throat, as close to a gasp as she would allow herself to get. When he leaned down to run his tongue around one such pink bud, Clara let out a moan, her head tipping back before she even knew what she was doing.

Sander looked up at her from below, glaring in wordless, amused acknowledgement of what had just happened. Suddenly, deliberately, his teeth closed around her nipple, giving a sharp and shocking tug, and Clara gasped, her back arching to follow the pressure of his mouth, muscles taut and rippling beneath her skin.

'I think this might be a bit of a foregone conclusion, then,' Sander said, giving Clara one last lick that sent a shudder through her, before standing. 'But enough with this. Let's get down to business.'

Clara knew what this meant, of course, and she shot Sander a challenging look before she moved, as though the idea of being beaten in this little game wasn't even a possibility. Her thighs separated, legs spreading wide as she leaned back on her hands, putting her weight fully onto the table as she opened herself as invitingly as she dared. When Sander chuckled and shook his head, she tilted hers.

'No, not like that,' He said, taking a step closer. 'Bend over it.'

This elicited a muted tremor from Clara's body, as the comprehensive knowledge Sander had of her sexual preferences became clearer by the moment. Of course he knew that was her favourite position, just as he probably had a whole arsenal of other facts about her bedroom habits, gleaned, indeed, hard won, from the sort of extensive perusal of a naked woman that leads the voyeur in question to make a clip show of her, to display when they finally met. Still, she obeyed, climbing down from the table and, with a flourish, bending over it.

The bare skin of her breasts rubbed against the cool, and surprisingly soft, wood, her heart pounding in her chest, so hard she almost felt it tapping against the surface with each beat. She felt her legs trembling, hoped it wasn't so visible as to betray the strange mix of trepidation and arousal she felt, as the illicit nature of what was happening coursed through her veins like a secret fantasy, long held.

Sander was smiling that confident smile as he approached her, Clara could tell, she could almost feel his power beaming down against her back. She flinched, as his hand caressed the outside of her thigh, over the fabric of her skirt, travelling up the obvious route to her hips. Her back arched, pushing herself back into him, encouraging him to continue as, despite the overwhelming strangeness of her day thus far, Clara found herself getting swept along with what was happening.

A stray thought lodged in her mind for a moment, as she wondered how she was going to explain how she had spent her time today to the company when she got back. If she got back, she reminded herself, the strange unmoored feeling of having her future take a sharp right turn into complete and utter mystery only adding to the powerlessness of her impending slavery.

Then Sander bunched her skirt up over her hips, and every other thought disintegrated immediately. When he didn't pull down her panties, but rather tore them off her body, it was all she could do to retain any mental coherency at all.

'Oh, this is exactly the kind of fun thing I needed,' Sander said, and Clara heard the distinct, metallic sound of a zipper. 'You have no idea, I've been running around for weeks at a time, organizing all my plans here... would you believe, it's possible to get bored of strip clubs? It is, if you spend hours a day in there, discussing business. In the shadow of that, you're just perfect. A little bit of fun, all on my lonesome, no collars, no surety of success... just you, me, and the open air.'

Clara gasped again, the sound trailing off into a lengthy, pleasurable sound, as the heat of Sander's cock, erect and pulsing in time with the beat of his heart, rubbed up against her newly bared pussy. Her thighs squeezed together around it, as she felt the tip push in between her lips, sliding just an inch into her. No doubt he felt her wetness on him now, the stickiness of an arousal that had been brewing for some time, given a new intensity by adrenaline.

She had been confronted with her own impending death today, and her base response was to get horny. What an indictment of her character...

Oh god, what did it matter? Everything had changed today, over the course of just a few hours, at most. She needed to keep up with what her new normal would be, not cling to the old. There was nothing but regrets in looking to the past. What did the future hold?

Who knew? But at the moment, it felt kinda fun...

Whatever was happening back there, Sander didn't seem to want to commit to plunging inside her, content to rub the length of his rod over her sex, the heat and hardness of it a constant source of stimulation that never went anywhere toward satisfaction. The tip of his erection hit her clit at the apex of every aimless motion, and that sensitive little bud pulsed pleasure throughout her entire being every time. Everything in her arched toward him, that solid wall of power that he had become in her mind, the moment he had left her sight.

He could do whatever he wanted to her, now...

'One moment, Clara,' His voice was low and almost affectionate, in a way, and the use of her birth name rather than her nickname only added to that effect. He stepped away, but not far, and Clara could still hear him moving, just beyond the field of her vision; she felt no need to turn her head and look, to break the spell that had taken hold of her by acknowledging whatever mundane preparation was taking place just a little to her left. When he came back, she felt almost... fulfilled, in a way she couldn't properly verbalize.

'Now then...' Sander nudged her legs further apart, forcing her to rely entirely on the table to stay upright. Again, she felt the sharp edged confidence of his grin beating down on her, the source of his confidence becoming clearer as he repositioned himself, the tip of his cock moving up from between her legs. One hand came to rest on her backside, spreading her cheeks and, with a slight amount of downward pressure, causing her to bend her knees, lowering herself to...

'Oh, shit...' Clara mumbled to herself, screwing her eyes shut as Sander's erection rose to press against the reflexive tightness of her ass. There was a slickness to his erection that hadn't been there before, and Clara saw fit to assume that what he had been doing was liberally applying lube. His oiled hardness was appreciated, as he added pressure moment by moment, until he eventually popped in completely. Clara moaned, low in her throat.

If she thought about it rationally, this wasn't a totally surprising development; Sander had clearly spent at least a little time... researching her, and any amount of time observing her sexual habits- especially once she had gotten employed aboard the Alaska and had truly let her hair down- would have revealed her secret preference for this particular hole. It certainly would have come up more than a few times in the rotation, when Clara had been alone with a slave she had deemed suitably tight-lipped not to spill the beans; it was generally expected that slaves would not discuss one clients predilection with another, but it was also common knowledge that such conversations between slaves were commonplace, almost as professional courtesy as much as it was idle gossip. They knew, but little cared to spread it beyond the ears of the other chattel; it was a trade fact, as the swing of a hammer was to a mechanic, and little else.

Sander was perhaps the first free man to know this aspect of her; Clara had never mustered the courage to tell any of her boyfriends and girlfriends, never been sure enough to request it from them. They wouldn't have minded, she was sure of that, since she never dated anyone so closed off that they would not experiment, but the act itself was so deeply personal to her, so... intimate in the pain it brought, the shimmering chord of discomfort under the melody of pleasure, that she kept her predilection for it close to her chest.

If it could hurt her, she needed to be sure before she asked for it.

The slaves had never counted, though; Clara knew they would stop if she told them to, disobedience unfathomable under the mechanistic pressures of submission ingrained into them by their time in service. They would stop if she told them, they would run into a wall if she told them. The crew of the Alaska, along with its passengers and backers, were trained to look upon the slave contingent as tools, stock, rather than people. They were sexual aids; she was making use of a sex toy, not getting properly fucked in the ass.

But with Sander, there was the cock of a definitely free man working its way into her, inch by oiled inch, enflaming her senses more with every second that passed by.

'Oh, that's... ngghhh... not playing fair...' Clara's cheeks were practically glowing crimson, as the majority of the blood in her body seemed to rush to aid her in blushing. She could feel her juices dripping down her thighs, arousal working overtime as Sander's balls finally met her backside.

'Nobody said I had to fuck your cunt, Oswin,' Sander's voice dripped with satisfaction, in more ways than one. The sound of it was a low thrum, barely holding back from a growl, the sound of a man on the cusp of letting go entirely and allowing his instincts to dictate his every move.

It was a powerful thing, the want in his voice. It sent a shiver down Clara's spine. He traced the palm of his hand up her back, following the trail her motion had taken, eventually ending up at the back of her neck, fingers clamped roughly around it, holding her down. Pinning her down, as his cock began to move in her, following the rolling of his hips.

'Yes, that is... t-true...' Clara said, struggling to keep her words flowing steadily and smoothly, in the wake of what was happening to her. As she began her next sentence Sander thrust back into her, and the sheer sensation of his thudding back inside her took her breath away and robbed her of all cogency. She picked it up again only after a lengthy period of struggle and fucking, 'You got me there.'