Doctor Who: Panic Moon

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

Hi guys, that took a long time, huh? It won't in future, so check back... oh, sometime next week, I guess? You'll like what you see, I promise. In the meantime, please enjoy the new chapter, and do let me know what you think. Please vote or provide feedback, and check out my profile for more of my writing. Have fun!

-Kurokami

*****

Amy moaned, then hissed out a breath through gritted teeth. At the same time, Cherami did the same.

Both girls kept their eyes firmly locked on the carpet, on Amy's part due to an unwillingness to see the people around them. Lem would be watching, as closely as he liked, heedless of propriety or personal space. It was better to ignore him; he was just another faceless member of the permanently swirling audience to her humiliation that way. Whatever he did to her, he was no threat.

Perhaps Claude was watching too, and that thought was too much to bear, if it were true. Their brief moment together had been a tiny spark in the darkness, momentary and ultimately fleeting, but precious. It proved that not everything in this place was bent on grinding her down, blind to everything that made Amy Pond worthy, until only her body was left.

If he was watching, what would he see? Some pair of squirming, naked slave girls on all fours in the middle of the floor, fucking themselves back and forth on the same double-ended rubber cock, their clits clamped together via a chain that ran between them. Perhaps the cruelty of the scenario Lem had concocted would be the first thing to come to mind- whenever the girls moved apart to keep bouncing on the sex toy between them the chain went taut, biting into Amy's clit painfully just as it did to Cherami's- but eventually the way she was being used, and the way her body betrayed her, would become apparent.

And then Claude would see the sex slave, not her. Not Amy.

Her thighs ached and shook from the strain of fucking herself, but she dared not stop; whether she ignored Lem or not he was still there, and Amy knew from intimate experience that he was carrying a flogger with a nasty electrical sting in its tail. He deployed it with alacrity, not hesitating to punish even the slightest reduction in speed. Occasionally she heard Cherami cry out in time with the crackling discharge of the flogger.

The fact that she was apparently moving fast enough not to earn the same treatment only compounded Amy's shame.

Everything throbbed in a curious mix of pleasure and pain, inner muscles twitching and pulsing around the sex toy that filled her, to the ever present background burn of the clamp. Moans blended with the slap of skin on skin, and the jangle of that horrible chain between their legs. Worse still, all of it was a choice; she could have suppressed it all, buried it deep so that only the secret knowledge of how good it all felt could burn at her, but...

This was what the customer wanted, and it was better to provide.

It was a thought that had struck Amy numerous times as she "worked" at the Olivan, usually in those few seconds after she had just slipped an unfamiliar cock into her mouth, or bent over a bed without a word to accept a punishment. When was it that she had truly given up? What was the day, the hour, the moment that her resistance had crumbled and obedience had become the better option? It hadn't been with Sander, no, because even then her compliant body had been wrapped around a hard kernel of hope that had comprised the centre of her being. On Trismestigius, the Doctor was coming and that was a fact. Rory was coming and she had known that in the very makeup of her soul. Her personal universe turned on such faith.

It must have been the Olivan, then, that had twisted her so. This place had certainly been the... harshest lesson she had ever encountered, but to think that it had inverted everything she had valued in herself in such a short span of time...

What would she look like, in a month? In a year?

What if the Doctor failed...?

Pain, then pleasure. The cruel snap of the clamp, and the momentary relief of the sex toy. It was better to focus on that, the simple and easy to digest sensations of the physical, when the alternative was confusion and helplessness. It was exactly what they wanted, Amy knew, but what other choice did she have, when saving her own sanity was the same thing as being defeated?

Of course, this left her to confront the fact that her body betrayed her so easily. Already she could feel orgasm mounting, gaining definition and intensity even from the sharp bite of the clamp. Having Cherami there so close, whimpering and fucking just behind her, the memories of all they had done lurking at the back of Amy's mind the entire time, did nothing to help. Worse still, her pussy was still filled with the residue of Claude's orgasm, whatever sensitizing agents it contained still working on her stressed and receptive nerves. She couldn't hold back her climax if she tried.

And it was useless to try...

'Please may I cum, Sir?' Her voice was a shuddering, breathless whimper. Shame spiralled up through her, guilt at her weakness biting at her soul. He would say yes- of course he would, he liked watching her cum against her will- but she had to wait, had to let that awful man decide for her. And waiting grew harder by the second.

'You sure, Red?' She could feel Lem's perpetual grin beating at her back. 'I did tell you, first one to get off has problems in their future...'

'I'm sure, Sir,' Amy's head hung even lower. She could have waited, tried her hardest to keep her climax restrained, but with no way of knowing how close Cherami was, that wasn't a gamble she was willing to take. It was a losing game she was playing anyway; her time with Claude was working against her. Whatever happened next, Lem had clearly opted to stack the deck in favour of Cherami. It made sense; after all, it was her turn with him, now.

'Very well. It be on your head though, Red,' Lem shrugged. 'Cum, slut.'

To her shame, Amy exploded almost instantly, shuddering and jerking through an orgasm far more powerful than any from her time on Earth. That was a thought that she had grappled with for some time, the knowledge that her happy, loving time on her home planet hadn't even come close to the kind of sensations that the Olivan, the future, alien worlds so routinely wrenched from her body. It couldn't all be down to the strange, refined methods for extracting pleasure that these places had developed, some of that aching, awful ecstasy had to be coming from her, and everyone she met made it seem so effortless...

When Amy thought about it, she was the only constant, the only stable factor in all of her travails through the future...

She screamed, panted as her hips jerked automatically, only causing more pain both to herself and to Cherami, as the clit clamp snapped and jangled, chain glinting in the light. Dimly, at the edge of her orgasm-shrouded awareness, she heard Cherami grunt in pain, but with her body filled with sensation Amy couldn't bring herself to care. Such was the fickleness of the bonds of slavery.

Coming down was harder than she had anticipated; as the pleasure coursing through her faded, Amy was left only with the stinging ache between her legs as the steel teeth continued to maul her delicate flesh. As "satisfied" as Amy herself was, Cherami still moved, remembering her orders and, Amy didn't doubt, being guided by the perverse wants of her own body in the process.

Giving a desultory effort in return, Amy felt the blonde girl tighten and, after gaining permission, shivering through her own orgasm. She moaned freely, adrift in feelings far safer than what she might otherwise have. It's hard to drown in shallow water, so why venture out into anything more complex?

Amy endured. When it was over, Lem allowed the girls to relax, reaching down between their legs in the most humiliating of ways to unclip the chain that connected them. Exhausted, muscles protesting and burning, Amy collapsed to one side, one hand quickly moving between her legs to rub and assuage the pain, as blood rushed back into areas she would rather have had left alone.

'Ah, that was fun to watch,' Bedsprings squeaked as Lem sat down, resting the crop on his knees. The tip still crackled with the promise of certain pain at the slightest objection, 'Blondie, you got off first, so you get to take point on this next thing. Fuck the redhead.'

A strange sort of resigned chill went down Amy's spine, the helpless feeling only intensified with the immediacy of Cherami's response. The girl got up without a second's hesitation, her body surely protesting under the stresses it had been put through, but if it was then it didn't stop her from flipping Amy over onto her back and slipping quickly between her legs. Almost defensively, Amy rose up onto her elbows to give herself some extra height, and stopped.

There was Cherami, naked, collared, looming over her like some statuesque figure of Amazonian beauty. Their eyes locked and, for the first time today, the wary submission fell from her gaze, and the real Cherami peered out from within, the one Amy had run into just... Oh, just a few days ago. The memory was troublesome, presenting with it the idea that a matter of days could beat Amy down, and a single night could build her back up, and recontextualize everything that had come before.

How many times could one life be turned around?

As Cherami leaned in and gently pressed her lips to hers, Amy allowed her mind to drift back. Her body simply went with the flow, as she recalled what might charitably be called a happier time...

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

It was hard to properly describe those first few days at the Olivan, after Amy had been turned loose in the slave's quarters. Alien cultures were not new to her, but in her previous travels she had always had an anchor, TARDIS doors she could retreat behind and... be home again. Even with Sander she had

something

close to recognizable to centre her world around.

Entering the slave's quarters for the first time was like getting dumped headfirst into ice water.

Practically speaking, there had to be a place like it, an area for the slaves to maintain themselves; to eat, and exercise, and socialise to avoid the "creepy" label that went along with extended isolation so often. As a concession to the realities of sentient life it was a simple necessity, but the design of the slave's quarters spoke to Fiori's begrudging reticence to actually build it.

It was built from the same dark metal as the rest of the club, the light pouring out of slots on the floor and ceiling not so much illuminating the area as putting a depressing tinge to it. Access was granted from a single small door at the back of the club floor, locked to all but employees of the Olivan and barely wide enough for people to walk through in single file.

Immediately, they would be greeted by the guards.

Security was handled mostly by living beings, at the Olivan; automated security systems had their uses, but in the chaos of the dance floor they had trouble distinguishing between the forbidden and the merely... strenuously performed. Besides, people of a certain type tended to want to work guarding the sex industry of Selestene. The perks were simply too good to pass up.

Multiple species dotted the main floor, standing in place clad in the standard black and red uniform of the club staff, modified depending on the size and shape of its wearer. Their eyes were, to a man- and most, though not all, were men- dispassionate, if not outright cold. Perhaps they had long detached themselves from the plight of the men and women they oversaw, the property of the Olivan.

Ah yes, the slaves...

Amy recognized almost immediately that what she had been seeing on the main floor represented only a fraction of the club's "assets," and a fairly homogenized, human-centric fraction at that. The back room showed off the entire menagerie, the population constantly being refreshed as figures wandered off or entered through multiple branching corridors that lined the wall of a sort of half-dome at the far end of the room.

The only unifying factor were the collars around their necks...

Other than that, everything else was on the table; Amy spotted tails, horns, wings and features she couldn't even begin to identify. One woman's skin sported spaced out plates of stunningly detailed geometric patterns laid out in some kind of crystal, her pale and delicate flesh visible below a strange internal glimmer in the gems, making her seem constantly illuminated by starlight. A man strode along the floor, his pair of human legs augmented by a column of stark black tentacles that fell from under his shirt, hugging his hips and legs like a veil. Yet a third...

She could go on describing the sights of the Olivan forever, and only occasionally see the appeal. There were some achingly beautiful beings out there, gorgeous creatures like works of living art that she longed to see up closer, but as sexual partners they were a mystery. Perhaps they could do things that no human could accomplish; specialized abilities for specialized fetishes. Or perhaps her past-bound mind had grown in a limited environment, developed her kinks around what was there, a limitation that didn't apply to a spacefaring civilization.

Whatever the answer, standing at the precipice of entering this room was like nothing Amy had ever done before. She had no lifeline to her safe, familiar world, no experience with what she was coming into, and no power over the situation at all. The hard edged world into which she now walked offered no escape.

And yet, she took her first step...

Taking a deep breath, Amy walked out into the centre of the hall, holding her head as high as she dared, trying to project all the confidence she could never feel here, to act as though she belonged even as her very being rebelled against the idea. Don't make waves, don't give anyone any reason to look over...

Eyes turned as she passed, with varying levels of interest. Some glossed over her after a moment, allowing her to be just one more in a sea of unfamiliar, collared bodies in this place. Others looked her over, seemingly searching for something, though whether they found it or not Amy couldn't tell in her rush to pass them by.

Some of the guards took particular interest, and as one on the far side of the room flagged down another the moment he saw her, Amy's heart skipped a beat. She lowered her head and moved faster, only to run into...

'Fresh meat...' The voice sounded like radio static had been arranged into language, the buzzing of angry artificial insects, and it was attached to a face that matched. It was a male figure, in a vague, broad bodied sense, with a blurred, shifting outline that Amy found hard to look at. Though humanoid, the alien was a vivid, luminous blue, spiderlike veins moving in jolting, sudden patterns below his skin. When he breathed, Amy could hear the low buzz of electricity.

'Wonder what you can do, Terran girl?' Another waspish buzz of sound, and the creature's head tilted with a suddenness that made Amy jump. He was wearing a collar just as she was, but there was an easy confidence in his movements that belied his lack of care regarding that fact. Their shared lower role would not save her from whatever he had planned.

Was this the way business was conducted behind the scenes at the Olivan?

The alien loomed over her, stepping further into her personal space and forcing Amy to take a step back just to keep away. As he got closer a strange sort of tingling wound its way across Amy's skin, getting more intense the closer he became. Amy retreated, noting the interest the confrontation was garnering from nearby groups of slaves, none of whom seemed to want to do anything about it. They merely watched, impassive; entertainment must be hard to come by, here. Even the otherwise ubiquitous screens were missing.

'They don't mind if we check, you know?' He buzzed. 'Just so long as we don't do any permanent damage that can't be fetishized. Otherwise...'

'Otherwise the guards get first rights, Proto,' A deeper, blessedly human voice cut in, a hand came down to grab Amy and pull her back, out of the alien's reach. 'Which is what's happening now.'

The change was immediate, and Amy had to admit she was disheartened to see it, to watch the spirit suddenly drop out through the alien's feet. His head dropped deferentially, eyes losing their leer, that collar around his neck seemingly heavier by the second. Proto backed off, putting a safe distance between himself and the guard.

'Fine. She yours for now, warden,' He muttered. 'But she has to go back on the floor sometime. There's money to be made, after all.

'There is

always

money to be made,' The guard who had grabbed Amy was young, presumably human, though the lines of strange, jagged lettering tattooed down the line of his jaw and neck hinted at a non-Earth origin. Nevertheless, he was potentially the most familiar thing in here, and Amy wasn't about to displease him and risk being thrown to the rest of the room again.

Without another word the guard led Amy away, dragging her without care for her own comfort off of the main floor and up the stairs toward a loose grouping of similarly uniformed men. They overlooked the rest of the hall, ostensibly keeping watch though with the command collars always present it seemed unlikely they would ever be needed.

Of course, a show of force could do enough to subjugate just by being visible...

As they approached, Amy could see the expressions on the other guards' faces, leaving her with no illusions of being safe. There was an expectant, predatory kind of smile on each face, only growing more defined as she grew closer.

'Look what I found,' The guard that had taken her said. 'The boss' new toy. Cute little piece of past-ass.'

'Farrell, you sure we should be... fiddling, then?' A woman at the far end of the group asked. 'I mean, not that I don't want to, but if she's Fiori's favourite, then...'

'You haven't been on show floor duty in a few days, have you? He's not keeping her to himself anymore,' Farrell gave a nasty grin, and Amy's mind flooded with all the humiliations and trials she had endured over her time here. 'Little Red's been put through the ringer, got made up as a good little club slave in the end. And now, she's here.'

To punctuate his last sentence, Farrell spun Amy into his arms, forcing both her hands up above her head, crossing her wrists so he could take them both in a single grip. A shiver raced down Amy's spine; she hated being held like this. The focused, watching eyes of the

entire

group were bad enough, but the crawling unease she felt was exacerbated by her helpless inability to cover herself. Amy was forced to stand there, the guard's looming presence behind her, and allow herself to be ogled by the perverse assembly before her.

'Now, we know how this goes, fellows,' Farrell said finally, once everyone had been allowed their eyeful. He dragged Amy backward toward the railing that ringed the platform they stood on, leaning himself on it so that Amy was almost in his lap, 'Etiquette is important and all. I found her, so I get her first.'

His knee jutted out slowly, forcing Amy's hips forward inch by inch, exposing her vulnerable pussy to the watching crowd. A foot tapped her legs apart, kept them open as Amy put more of her weight into Farrell's lap just to keep balanced, until eventually their audience had the perfect view as the man's free hand slipped down between her legs, fingers resting over her clit.