Doctor Who: Amy, Captured Ch. 04

Suddenly, the ship emitted the landing tone, and the slight, pervasive shudder that had been with them for the last few minutes halted. Sander grinned, and placed his own black mask over his eyes. It really was like Mardi Gras Plus down there.

The bay doors opened with a metallic whirr, and Sander skipped over to them, barely able to keep his excitement in check. He leaped out into the noise of the city, his skin instantly bathed in a galaxy of neon lights. Amy turned towards the sudden light and noise, her borderline blindness making her nervous. Her whole posture radiated the discomfort and fear that she could no longer vocalize or convey through expression.

'Welcome to Chroma!' Sander exclaimed, throwing his hands wide. He couldn't help but feel the enthusiasm of the moment; right off of the ship, Chroma was filled with thumping music, pulsing lights, and the constant chaos of the crowd. An endless procession of... interesting looking people filled the spaceport; at this time of year Chroma was full of people coming and going. It was a perfect cover, Mara had done well.

Sander stepped back inside to take hold of Amy's leash; the mask made Amy functionally blind, and this was good for ensuring that she wasn't identified, but it did make transporting her something of a pain in the ass. The leash had been an elegant solution that also furthered the disguise. It wasn't Sander's usual fetish, but he had to admit... it was kind of hot.

Sander guided Amy out into the street, his tugging on the leash making Amy flush with humiliation. As she walked, particularly strong lights would occasionally penetrate the veil of her blindfold, momentarily illuminating a series of silhouettes beyond. She took tiny, cautious steps, conscious of the crowd milling around her, and this made Sander tug harder on her leash.

Of all the disgraces that Sander and his crew had put her through over the last few days, this was the worst. She felt exposed, on display. The skimpy outfit she was forced to wear was bad enough, but the restraints and her blindness and speechlessness brought her to a new low. Even as disconnected from the world as she was, Amy could feel the eyes of the crowd roaming her body. In her mind's eye, she was the center of attention. Her muscles throbbing, her jaw stretched uncomfortably, she felt like crying out, to let someone, anyone, know that she had been kidnapped. To her eternal frustration, she was unable to do anything except follow Sander like some kind of pet.

'There are a few things you should know, slave,' Sander said magnanimously, playing the Master with aplomb. 'Here, slavery is legal. Even if you do get the opportunity to tell someone about us, nobody will care. Also, this is a kind of dangerous place. Dressed as you are, you do not want to get separated from me.' Sander looked around, eyes filled with a vague sense of unease at his surroundings, 'If you could see the things I'm seeing, you'd realize that I'm all kinds of nice, compared to some of the people out in public here.'

Sander scratched the back of his head. There were plenty of master-and-slave pairs in this crowd, and depending on where one looked one's eyes would be assaulted with all manner of depravities. Everywhere he looked, Sander could see the kinds of scars and bruises that made him wince sympathetically. He looked back at Amy's pristine, perfect skin. He couldn't see any reason to damage this image of perfection. Given from the kinds of looks she was receiving from others, he wasn't alone in this mindset.

'Hey, sweetheart!' A heavyset man drawled, clearly drunk off his ass. He draped himself roughly over Amy's shoulder, his hands tracing up the bare skin of her ass. 'Maybe we could have a little fun!'

Amy squeaked in fear and tried to shrink away. Sander could recognize that, although the man was talking to Amy, his request was addressed directly to himself, as the master. Sander's eyes grew cold and protective; this interloper had a slave with him, clearly the worse for wear for his attentions. She shook constantly, her skin a patchwork of bruises and harsh red welts. Sander shoved the man roughly away.

'Look but don't touch, asshole!' Sander snarled. 'This one's mine, you got me? Go play with your own.'

'Alright, alright...' The man shook his head, dissolving back into the crowd.

'You see what I mean? Don't wander off, kid.' Sander sighed. That had been a little uncomfortable. As visually interesting as the streets were, it was probably best to get inside before any real trouble happened. Besides, the Doctor was coming, and he had a time machine. He might already be here.

Mara had left him a map, and he had done his best to memorize it. He led Amy through streets that left him shaking his head in disbelief; the kinds of things that people were doing in shop windows here was truly amazing. Occasionally he would stop, his eyes wide with wonder and his mind growing progressively more open, until Amy groaned through her gag. She was growing more and more uncomfortable on the streets; people felt compelled to shout out lewd comments to her, despite the fact that she was hardly dressed any worse than the majority of slaves out in public. Compared to most, her clothes were graceful, positively artful. It must have been the way she carried her fear and shame in her posture; the crowd could pick up on that and were determined to have their fun at her expense. Sander felt sort of bad for her, but then again, that was how Chroma worked. The last time he had been there, these people had picked him out as a newcomer and made him suffer for it too. Apparently, all one needed was a high-quality slave for that image to be dispelled in people's minds.

The pair rounded a corner, and Sander threw his free hand up in front of his eyes protectively as a dazzling white spotlight swept over him. At the end of the street, the front façade of the club blazed with multi-colored radiance, a huge glowing sign featuring prominently: Shangri-La.

Sander grinned with anticipation. Of the clubs in this city, Shangri-La was legendary. Anything and everything that the clientele could possibly desire was catered for at Shangri-La, and quite probably many things that most well adjusted people could never imagine besides. It was incredibly exclusive, but Sander was rich, and bribery came as second nature to him. He and Mara had been able to acquire a large private room and unlimited use of the facilities at short notice, with only minimal drain of his private accounts. Amy really had no idea what she was walking into.

'Ah, here we are,' Sander said, nodding appreciatively at Shangri-La's spectacular display. He tugged Amy forward, but the increasingly bright lights and her natural disinclination to go where Sander wanted had combined into an incredible recalcitrance. She quavered, whining around the plastic prick in her mouth and pulling against the collar around her neck. Over the past few days she had been raped multiple times, tortured and generally abused. This was something different. Now she was being dragged through the streets of some alien world, practically naked and tied up. Amy sensed that whatever had been done to her in the past was only playtime compared to what she would experience if she kept going toward the bright light ahead of her. She struggled.

Around them, interested masters would stop and cluck their tongues at the disobedient slave. Some offered recriminations of Sander for failing to train her properly, making Amy flush with shame. Others scolded Amy herself for being rebellious. Others still gave Sander suggestions about how to punish Amy's insubordination. Some even tried to lend him tools to punish her with. Sander laughed, liking the way that Amy stiffened in panic and shrank away from him when she heard the tenor of the crowd's reaction turning against her. Sander could see the keen looks in the eyes of many of the gathered masters; they wanted to see this hot new slave being punished.

Sander shook his head, ' No need for that... I'm sure she'll cooperate now. I mean, I've got a Command Collar on her, but I do so hating using it. You've learned your lesson, right, slave?' Amy felt a finger prod her in the chest. She whimpered and nodded emphatically, bowing her head in what she hoped was a proper sign of submission. Tears pooled in the mesh eyeholes of her mask, filtering through and falling to the immaculately maintained concrete. After a moment of sheer debasement, she felt Sander's familiar touch stroke her hair.

'There, there,' He said, all faux- tenderness. 'We'll consider this a warning then, shall we? Any more disobedience will be punished, slave. Now come on,' He tugged on her leash, and she stumbled forward. The crowd parted to let them through, with reactions varying from approval to disappointment.

'Do you see?' Sander hissed at Amy between clenched teeth as they drew away. 'You are not among friends here. These people want to see you hurt. It really is best if you stick with me; at least this way you'll leave this planet eventually. You are hot as hell, if you get caught up here you'll be used every way you can think of and then dumped when you're all used up. They like new meat here, and the collar and the Arclight and all that stuff back at the base? That isn't even the worst technology that they have here.' He gave a little, uneasy laugh. Chroma might be a hell of a lot of fun, but it was also terrifying.

Large, tinted glass doors slid open soundlessly and closed again. Inside, the writhing, living chaos of the city fell away, leaving an austere, chilled silence in its wake. They were in a well-lit foyer, cast in obsidian metal and smooth, curving contours. There was a constant, low hum as numerous air filters pumped out cold, sweet smelling air. Sander had not realized just how hot the press of bodies outside had been, but looking back he could see Amy's lingerie clinging to her body with sweat.

'Hello, sir,' Called a voice from behind the bold black desk in the center of the room. A beautiful brunette sat primly behind the reception desk, smiling warmly. This smile did not extend to her eyes, which, although sparkling and clear, carried a certain constricted, dead quality that put Sander off. She was stunning, in a manufactured, robotic kind of way; as though her appearance had been constructed mechanically. As Sander drew closer, he realized why; there was a collar around her neck, with a metal white rose turning slowly from a clip at her throat. Chroma's slave culture had a sort of unofficial code; white rose said that the individual in question was indeed a slave, but that they were not to be touched or interfered with. They were the property of a master who, while not using their slave right now, did not want anyone else using it either. Black rose said that interference was allowed, but only via negotiation with the master. Red roses, well... Red rose designated a walking free-for-all. Open all entries, all the time.

There were three plastic trays at the end of the desk, each filled with a different color rose pendant. Sander tilted his head to one side and thought, hard. It took him a minute, but eventually he settled on no choice at all, and picked three pendants, one of each color. His eyes roamed up the body of his blind captive with a speculative air. He winked at the slave-receptionist. She gave a giggle in response that was just a little too energetic.

'We have a reservation, name of Hackett.'

The slave lowered her eyes to an embedded screen in front of her, fingers tapping away at a keyboard. She raised her head, 'Yes, you do, sir. But, if it pleases, this one sees that your reservation is for three, sir?'

Sander made a little noise in the back of his throat. "This one," huh? Her master, possibly the shadowy proprietor of Shangri-La, did not wish for her to speak of herself in the first person. He wondered what it might be like inside her head, when she wasn't even allowed to think of herself as a distinct individual. She was, literally, just an object here.

'Our third will be along shortly, I think,' Sander said. 'She's the one who made the reservation. Calls herself Mara.'

'Ah, yes, sir,' The slave was somehow managing to sound timid and confident, at the same time. Sander had no doubt as to which was the actual emotion she was feeling. She pressed a button below the desk, and slid a keycard across to Sander. She had a scar across the back of one hand, and Sander wondered how it had got there. Then he realized that he probably didn't want to know.

There was something unwholesome about Chroma in general and Shangri-La in particular. One felt that they were covered in a thin patina of grime mere seconds after entering the building.

'You are in suite 600-09, a platinum-level suite, if it pleases, sir. Please proceed through the double doors; there are elevators to the left, and the public entertainments are on the right. The Shangri-La Help service is tuned to wireless frequency 8.46, but if you have any questions, please do not hesitate to ask, sir.' The slave drilled out this spiel, as though it had been implanted directly into her brain.

'I do have one question: What's your name?' He knew he shouldn't be asking it, but Sander felt a kind of horrified fascination with the young woman. He wanted to fuck her, but felt incredibly bad even for that basic level of attraction. He felt like this woman would dissolve into sand at any moment.

'This one is called Pearl, sir.'

Sander shook his head, 'Of course you are. Elevators are this way, you said?'

'Yes, sir.'

Sander stopped talking. There was very little point in it. He led Amy through a pair of doors so seamless that when they were closed they were invisible. The elevator doors were much the same, and the elevator beyond them played soft piano music as they entered, the first sound to intrude on the club since they had entered. Sander recognized the piece; Chopin's "Raindrops," and he clucked his tongue appreciatively. Somebody in this club had excellent taste in music.

With the cool air blowing and the pleasant music taking the place of powerful club beats, Amy was beginning to relax, if only a little. Her shoulders had dropped back down, and her breathing was returning to a normal rhythm. In the cooling air, her nipples were beginning to rise on her lusciously pert breasts, showing through her damp bra. Sander stared openly; she was blind, she didn't know what he was doing. There was no harm in it.

Shangri-La was actually a giant tower, one of the atmosphere-scraping super-towers that functioned as one huge testament to the decadent excesses of Theros. There were hundreds of floors, each one bristling with rooms both private and public for the use of the thousands of customers that were deemed worthy of the earthly delights that Shangri-La offered. A plasma screen attached to one wall of the elevator pointed out the locations of numerous specialty services that the club offered. Sander stood transfixed; some things he felt he simply had to try, or to make Amy try. Others were far more lasting, and he wondered whether he was willing to permanently alter Amy in some of the ways the screen was suggesting. Sander had learned of Shangri-La by reputation, but he had never realized just how sprawling the club actually was; it offered everything a master could ever want for his slave, from simple piercings and tattoos all the way up to gene therapy and direct mental downloads.

Sander found himself fascinated by the idea that sexual technique could be improved vie psychological implantation. He could actually change who Amy was...

Fortunately, the elevator reached its destination shortly after Sander set down that particular train of thought. He shook his head to dislodge it; altering Amy's personality wasn't part of the plan. It defeated the purpose of keeping her captive in the first place.

It was only a short walk to their room. The door opened when Sander pressed his new keycard against it, and his eyes widened. The room truly earned the designation "platinum."

'Wow,' He breathed, stepping into his new digs. For the most part, the suite looked like a high-priced hotel room; large double bed, well appointed bathroom and kitchen, and the small living area featured a television screen that was positively breathtaking in scale. But there were several additions and alterations to hint at what the suites actual purpose was.

The walls and roof had a variety of depressions, handholds and clips spaced out at odd intervals. The headboard and foot of the bed featured sturdy iron rings, and even the kitchen counter had some rings through which ropes or chains could be passed. That struck Sander as somewhat unhygienic.

The whole room had been purpose built to restrain people, as well as allow them to live in comfort. A large black wardrobe sat in one corner, distinct from the others in the room. Sander knew, just knew, without having to open it, that it was full of an incredible array of instruments of pleasure and punishment. That was just the kind of place that Shangri-La was.

The Shangri-La service staff had already carried Sander's bags from his shuttle up to the room. They were that good. Sander ignored them, instead walking over to Amy and reaching around the back of her head to undo her mask. Now that they were safely inside the club, there was no way that the Doctor could find them; and with no publicly accessible cameras it didn't matter if Amy was caught on tape. In fact, it might be fun to get her on tape...

Amy's fiery hair cascaded down from its tight bun as the mask came free of her face. Her eyes blinked, adjusting to the light, as the rubber cock came free of her mouth with a satisfying slurping noise. She coughed, taking in deep breaths.

'Command: Strip,' Sander exhaled, dropping heavily onto the bed. Outside, clothes were a matter of decorum. Inside the club, none of that mattered.

'Oh, come on, Sander...' Amy complained even as her hands worked to obey the command. Sander shook his head in response.

'I'm not going to fuck you,' He said. 'Mara and I have a gentlemen's agreement on that point. I don't get to start the real fun until she gets back. That said, we still have around an hour to kill until she finishes up. So we're going downstairs to kill some time.'

'Like this?!' Amy squealed as she peeled off the last of her outfit, leaving her gloriously nude.

'Yup,' Sander gave his best winning smile. 'Enjoy the freedom, Miss Pond. There's nothing like it where you're from.' He guffawed, 'Of course... If you walked around Leadworth like this, some people might appreciate it. I know I do.'

'I hate you,' Amy snapped. Sander just laughed.

'Well, sure! But I'm in the position of power here, my dear. It isn't a good idea to antagonize me, my little sex slave. Come, we go!' He stood, skipping to the door with a gesture over his shoulder. Amy followed unwillingly, going weak at the knees at the thought of walking around in public like this.

'Oh, wait. Before I forget...' Sander clipped the small black rose to Amy's leather collar, the only piece of clothing Sander had allowed. He grabbed her leash, just to complete the image. Free of any kind of covering, Amy's small, pert breasts jiggled as she walked, a sight that Sander had to physically wrench himself away from. She shivered a little in the cold, her arms covering her chest and crotch. Sander moved to stop her, but the sight of her trying to preserve her modesty, a look of abject defeat on her face, was simply too much. He shrugged.

In the elevator, Sander studied the electronic brochure, looking for something to do. It didn't take him long; ground floor... a simple idea, but certainly entertaining, and in keeping with his idea of recording Amy's little misadventures. Yes, that would do nicely...