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
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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
