Doctor Who: Panic Moon Ch. 26

'Giving you an experience,' Sander unconsciously swayed in time with the music, grinning. The nanogenes had wrought their chaos on Amy's nervous system, he could tell; the firmware must have been updated since he had last been in a position to partake of the stuff himself. The bass was making her back arch, the sound of drums squeezing her thighs together. From her perspective, the music was getting antsy.

'Give in to it, Amy,' He continued, drawing her close enough that he could mouth the words into her ear. Even so, the living tide surrounded them; they were both alone and not alone, all at once, 'Remember your job? How good it felt to be the center of attention?'

'Y-yes...' Amy's voice shook, her breathing shallow and panting. Interfacers packed a punch, and as Sander listened the song reached its crescendo, notes rising, piling up on one another into a mountainous wall of sound. At its peak, he pressed his lips to Amy's, felt her squirm against him, enraptured in the resonant torrent, allowing him to push his tongue into her mouth.

Just for now, he had her. Easily.

'That's what this is,' He murmured, as she shuddered in his arms, released from the drug fuelled pleasure by the momentary silence at the end of the song. 'Enjoy it.'

'Feels good...' Amy's speech was slurred slightly, though it was impossible to tell over the noise of the club. It was one of the other advantages of the interfacers; they had almost no perceptible physical symptoms.

'Move with it,' This was the gentlest Sander had ever sounded, his voice devoid of any trace of command. 'It's made to go with the club, after all.'

The music wrapped its way around Amy's brain, each pulsing note twanging her nerves like the strings of a guitar. If she stayed still, the feeling built up in odd ways, but when she moved, it was like liquid, cascading through her like warm rain. Her body swayed with the music, letting the notes shower through her flesh, and before she knew it, she was dancing.

It was the crush of people that did it, music throbbing through the dark as she was surrounded by strangers, brushed by random passersby, treated to snippets of conversation; it stoked her memories.

She and Mels had spent some time in London years ago, shrugging off Leadworth like an uncomfortable coat, in favor of the big city. Real civilization. And with it, a real nightlife.

They had danced for whole nights, adrift in a sea of flesh, high on whatever had come to hand, moving until their muscles ached for the sheer joy of it. And as they danced, the outside world had begun to fade from their minds, normalcy took on an alien aspect as the rules of that new place had asserted themselves. In the beginning, when everyone had been fresh from the London night, and the real world had still meant anything, Amy had been nervous, surrounded as she was on all sides by strangers, buffeted by unfamiliar bodies, brushed by hands and arms and feet and shoulders, all in the dark.

But it was in the nature of these things to accumulate. The night had quickly become charged with a kind of pent up energy, sexual frustration combining with various chemicals and mounting physical exertion, building up like electricity. It was enough to change the world around them, certainly enough to change Amy's behavior. By the end of the night, she had embraced the human chaos that had surrounded her, pressing into its anonymous caresses, heat rising through her as those unseen hands only became bolder and bolder.

And in the Olivan, so as in London...

Only this time, she had a shadow, a mostly silent guardian in the form of her captor, watching from a distance as Amy gave herself to the machinery working her brain, and to the crowd that was all too happy to accept the girl in the collar into their midst. To them, she was a slave, the markings on her Command Collar identifying her as owned, but... open, in ways that others might not be. Her reactions only enhanced that image.

Oh, there were more than just hands in this crowd. Amy had become used to the feeling of fingers moving boldly against her flesh, touching her in ways the only Scot in Leadworth would never have allowed, but it was the things that weren't fingers that challenged her. The music stoked her mind, each beat like hot butter dripping through her limbs, and the appendages of countless species beyond identification stoked her body. Though she couldn't exactly see them, Amy was sure there were tentacles somewhere out there, and other things she couldn't picture through only touch; silky things, rough things, things that seemed to spread and clasp as they touched her.

Each touch was a momentary, fleeting peek into another world, opening up new genres of sensation that Amy greedily feasted on. Her entire body was awash with the light, dwindling pleasure, the sea foam ecstasy of a fading orgasm. Every new pressure on her skin only enhanced that, as though the Olivan itself was getting amorous with her. Sander knew his drugs, whatever these were...

It actually took her a moment to recognize that the hands currently upon her were familiar, though the more persistent direction to their pressure did not escape her notice. Suddenly, her back was pressed against Sander's chest; without thinking Amy pushed her hips back, her ass grinding up between his legs. She felt his laugh, deep and reverberating, through his chest.

'See? A little bit of help, and you loosen right up,' There was a kind of settling relief in Sander's voice that almost escaped Amy's notice, in her current state. The hard part was over, the work at Hackett House behind him, and now he was here, and Amy was smiling... he had cheated somewhat, but enjoyment had been forced into this night.

'You were a kissogram, right?' He already knew the answer, of course, but he wanted her to acknowledge it. Her participation was important, here; only when she gave a too-enthusiastic nod, did he continue, smirking, 'Show me.'

Though Amy's body felt full to bursting with sensation, she found herself starving for more. Aching for contact, for heat and sound and light, anything to top the intensity of the moment before; Sander was just another outlet for this, a body that she knew all too well, filled with heat, and softness and hardness and all those things that, right now, she needed.

And he was inviting her in...

Some small, indistinct part of her knew she would regret this in the cold light of morning, but with the interfacers dancing in her mind, it was a useless, tiny thing; a buoy bobbing in a storm. Amy spun around, memories of her piffling little job back in Leadworth flowing back to her.

Normally she would have gauged the situation, adjusted her actions based upon the man in front of her, but not tonight, not in the world of the Olivan. Tonight, she was a rollercoaster without brakes; her lips met his, hard. Her tongue met his, even harder. Her eyes closed, and she stood still for the first time, rubbed and grazed and rocked by the crowd, and Sander's hands, and her own hands, moving incessantly over exposed areas of her skin, just to feel something.

And the interfacers turned the kiss from a simple act akin to her old job, to almost a transcendent experience.

They were moving, Sander guided them both back, his solid form pushing against Amy's until her back hit the wall. Amy had drifted close to the corner farthest from the entrance in her travels, and now she was trapped in it, isolated from the rest of the dance floor, treated to only glimpses of it over Sander's shoulders. The warmth of his body ensconced her, and with her back to the wall the music thrummed through her as a physical force, a vibration like a tongue directly on the nerves in her spine. She shuddered with sheer, unrestrained pleasure, drinking up her points of contact with the outside universe, as it poured such textured ecstasy into her through her skin.

'Do you know what this place is, Amy?' Sander placed his chin on Amy's shoulder and whispered into her ear, little private words that dripped with power and decadence. Even his voice sent a shiver down her spine, now, 'It's special. I could have you right now, up against this wall, and nobody would mind...'

Amy's head was spinning, filled with song and heat and vibrations, a whirlwind of thumping, throbbing feelings that stoked her memory in odd directions. She recalled that constant dance in the London night, the anonymous hand that had pressed itself between her legs through the mist of the crowd, the sickly feeling of violation that had followed... and the indecent pulse of curious lust that had stuck with her for the rest of the night. It had been a new feeling, and in that freewheeling period she had welcomed it.

And Amy Pond had found that she liked it.

'Do it, then,' Amy knew that the cold light of day would make her words tonight horrifying to her, but in the night, in the haze, she was in a different world. Her body hungered for it, her back arched into his touch, he was so warm and indelibly solid, in an unnamable, wonderful, factual way. So much of herself was adrift, scattered through time, years sustained on promises of the Doctor, years swinging from timeline to timeline, but here was Sander and tonight she could sizzle in her flesh like she had that one carefree night in London.

Had she even thought about the Doctor once, that night?

Sander kissed her neck, and the thought evaporated into the next beat of the song. He hiked up her skirt under the electric twang of a guitar. His hand moved against her wetness, accompanied by the roll of a drum beat. His zipper went down to an odd buzzing noise Amy couldn't identify, no matter how well it meshed with the melody. Amy was flying, possessed. Everything blurred.

The song was motion, the matter around her pulsed with the beat. Her hand running down Sander's chest plucked the strings of the guitar, her panting breath prompted the metal hiss of some unknown instrument. The bridge of the song was her hand around his hardness, the heat of it an atomic explosion travelling up her arm, spreading that warmth through the rest of her body. She trembled as the music spilled out of her, overflowed out of him, rainy pinpricks of life on their skin, until she could feel Sander's heartbeat synching up with the drums, and didn't care that it was impossible, moving too fast.

He lifted her leg up and the music swelled, pitch climbing; the pads of his fingers pressed into her thigh and played a few more notes. Amy leaned back into the wall, letting Sander take her whole weight, just one foot beneath her to keep her balance. The dark sliver of guilt that persisted was just another aspect of the mosaic of everything that flowed through her, so easy to ignore among the writhing morass. When she opened herself to him, she also opened herself up to the rest of the room, the air and the music...

He entered her as the music petered out into silence, a momentary punctuation mark to the party around them. Amy moaned, bereft in the quiet and alone with Sander's hardness inside her, the sound long and loud in the sudden absence. People turned to look, but by that time the music had started up again, and Amy was beyond caring.

Some stayed to watch, more interested in their lascivious display than in continuing the dance, and Amy could see them as her body rose and fell with Sander's initial thrusts. The crowd pushed in, there was no space for her audience to maintain any kind of respectful distance, and their gazes were unavoidable. Some were human, others weren't, and all of them stared openly, both at Amy herself and Sander, laboring inside her.

Occasionally one reached out to touch her, the contact a sparkling addition to the tapestry of commotion that subsumed her, but it was nothing to the electric hotness that climbed her spine, starting at her hips, at the roiling core of wetness between her legs and Sander's erection sliding smoothly in and out of her. Her skirt was a bunched up band of fabric around her waist, leaving her ass and pussy bare and open to the public, and she didn't even care. Every inch of her body was in ecstasy.

When the hands of the crowd, by now some monolithic singular entity in her mind, moved to roll down Amy's shirt, exposing her chest in much the same way, she reveled in it; it allowed Sander, her partner in this public sex show, to drop his mouth from hers, nipping and licking down her neck to her breasts. Amy cried out freely in the absences of his kisses, adding her own melody to the song above her, much to the appreciation of the watchers. Her voice rose and fell with the rhythm of their sex, body quivering with abandon.

She wondered whether anyone she knew was watching; Christina or Lorna or Sally, even the rest of the crew. What would they think? Did she even care, right now? Of course, Sander had spiked their drinks as he had hers; the same fugue of synaesthetic pleasure had descended upon them too. They were all unchained from context tonight, floating free in this miasma of hedonism.

Anything could happen, and they would only come to regret it in the morning, once the damage had been done.

Once they had stripped her down as far as they could, the crowd seemed content to just watch, to let Sander do his thing. This place had a similar atmosphere to Nirvana, those scant few months ago; the collar around her neck denoted ownership. Here she was property, and there was only so much the people surrounding them were willing to do in the light of that.

He thrust into her harder now, leveraging her into such a position as to increase the impact and depth of his cock within her, and those few shreds of modesty and decorum she had left flitted away. Amy howled her pleasure to the rafters, her voice weaving through the music, the tune surrounding her like a glittering thread. The Olivan had come together in a single, nonsensical, glorious whole, filling her up full to bursting. She could almost see the reverberating beat passing through her body and into Sander, leaving remnants of itself in both of them.

Sander fucked her hard, openly, shamelessly, and entirely to the approval of the audience. The hushed conversation around them was barely audible below the thumping speakers, but Amy could hear enough to understand that the forcefulness with which Sander was using her was appreciated. She could see why; her body rose and fell with each thrust, pert tits bouncing, nipples desperately hard and begging to be touched.

Sander bowed his head, took one into his mouth, twanging a string of nerves all down Amy's body. She squealed. The crowd cheered.

How long had this song gone on for? How long had she been here, pinned up against this wall and fucked mercilessly for the amusement of a bunch of strangers? Time lost all meaning in this place, where every part of the world raped her senses, where the drugs in her system interpreted all her sensory input as the threat of an orgasm... and with the very real, very literal threat of the same boiling up from below.

The beat had moved up a gear, moving through her faster now, the climax of the song enhancing every sensation. It was reaching its peak, and so was she, writhing shamelessly on her captor's cock, wringing every ounce of pleasure from him, feeling his own gratification through his skin. His fingers were tight on her thigh, hinting at just how close he was; they were both going to tumble over this edge together, she knew.

With a thunderous harmony of notes the song reached its end, and as the final hard blows of the drum slammed into Amy's body she came explosively, shuddering in Sander's grip. Her head tipped back, and she screamed into the silence that followed, her lone orgasm dominating the room. All eyes turned as, with a grunt, Sander slipped effortlessly into his own climax, and Amy's pussy milked him for all he was worth, his sticky warmth inside her its own genre of sensation.

Amy Pond squirmed against the wall as wave after wave of true bodily pleasure crashed over the shores of her consciousness, clit throbbing, all shame evaporated. She was watched, observed, marked as a possession by the collar ringing her neck, and she just couldn't bring herself to care. When the crowd applauded she welcomed it, drinking up the new sounds even if they couldn't match the sheer bliss of the music here... or of Sander's cock.

She came down with a little mewling sound, her panting breaths subsumed under the volume of the next piece of music, but still the crowd stared, wanting more. But they had none to give, even as Sander kissed her deeply, possessively, tasting her. She let him; there was nothing left to hide now.

Gradually those that had watched Amy slide into depravity lost interest, rejoined the fray that still moved around them, as Sander cleaned her up. As he readjusted her clothes she giggled; she felt oddly ticklish, now of all times.

Wordlessly, he stepped away from her, giving Amy what space he could, and the urge to move returned. Like an addict, she gave into it, let the song flow through her bones like liquid metal, let it carry her away, back into the dance. Back into this little microcosm of the universe, where her troubles seemed so distant.

She spun, and danced, movements dictated more by the tidal movements of the floor, gaining glimpses of the world she had left to come here as she found her joy again in the fugue of the drugs. She saw Sander, watching her from the outskirts, assuaging her every fear; Sander Hackett was capable of many things, but Amy felt safe in assuming he wouldn't allow any harm to come to what he considered as his property.

And she quickly found her perspective turning anyway...

She whirled, saw more familiar faces, if only for moments at a time. There was Ren, arms draped over Lorna and Christina's shoulders, hands disappearing inside their shirts, moving about at roughly chest level. All three wore smiles, subsumed in the same fugue as Amy herself.

There was Dulcimer, interacting with a group of aliens in some secluded corner, apparently deep in telepathic conversation. Further along was Sally, the closest thing Amy had to a friend in this place, sitting in Mara's lap with the blonde's tongue down her throat. The entire dynamic of captive and captor had been suspended, at least for tonight.

For whatever the morning would bring, tonight, everything was permitted.

And in a seat on a raised platform, looking out over the club, the bald man was giving Amy an inordinate amount of attention. He was easy to spot, looming over the room as he did, and every time he had drifted past Amy's gaze, she had seen him looking, his eyes on hers. He never seemed to look around, was that normal?

Did it matter? The next song was playing. The next beat was licking her up and down. The next anonymous being was sidling up into her personal space, gearing up to touch her. Amy's awareness of her skin had intensified, to the point that every brush of the fabric against her was a burst of erotic pleasure, a soft and strange caress over entire sections of her body at a time. When she squeezed her thighs together her skirt nuzzled in between them, and Amy felt herself shudder. A sweeping warmth filled her hips.

The deep bass of the music wasn't just throbbing in the air or wrapped around Amy's mind, but reverberating up through her feet, travelling up her body from below, filling her up.

Amy went through the next series of touches and drumbeats, mind lost in the haze, the fervor of the Olivan. In the silence that followed the end of a song, that crystal clear moment where everyone waited in expectation, a young man in a dark suit made his way through the crowd to her, taking hold of her wrist just as the crowd began to writhe anew. He led her with more insistence than the other hands on her had, but the thump-thump rhythm of the sound system had settled back into her mind, making her pliable. Perhaps there was something wrong, but it didn't matter; Sander was watching.