tagCelebritiesDoctor Who: Panic Moon Ch. 29

Doctor Who: Panic Moon Ch. 29

byKurokami©

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

Hey guys, y'all know what to do: if you like what you see, why not comment or vote? I'd appreciate it!

Kurokami


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The Showroom never truly shut down. That was because the patrons that frequented it tended to have highly variable hours; the Day People frequented the Showroom at night, and the Night People conducted their business during the day. It was mainly a matter of pride; the kind of person who would buy what the Showroom was selling would only want to do so during whatever their version of the witching hour was.

It was, as the name indicated, a room, though an unusually large one. It featured a vaulted ceiling studded with holographic screens and security cameras, overlooking a thronging crowd of humans and aliens alike, the entire room dedicated to the presentation of various ignominious attractions.

In the middle of the room was the wheel, the centrepiece of the entire operation. It spanned the majority of the floor, impossible to miss even through the mass of people.

It was an enormous cage, and it was there that Amy had been led after being taken from her cell. Her handler this time resembled nothing more than a six foot reptilian rabbit; scales and fur competing on pointed, aquiline features, with long ears flowing down its back. Despite this, there was nothing remotely friendly in it, to give Amy the illusion that she could disobey. It had her leashed, and even the slightest of pulling caused it to growl with unexpected ferocity.

Together, they wound their way through the crowd, her collar attracting more than a little undue attention from the patrons therein; Amy got the feeling that it was only the presence of the bunnydile that stopped them from getting more hands on. Inexorably, they edged closer to the cage, and from this angle Amy could see that it was separated by numerous partitions into sections, like the spokes of a bicycle wheel.

Many of the sections were occupied. She could see Sally in one of them.

The girl was at an angle from Amy's path of approach, looking the worse for wear for her time in the Guild's company. The Trine-form doctor had separated them before they had begun working over Sally, but Amy couldn't imagine that they had treated the brunette any better. At any rate, the girl wore her fear plainly, her heart on her sleeve and beating at a mile a minute. Amy could hardly blame her; she had been dropped right out of the world and into the jaws of monsters. They both had, but at least Amy had been prepared for this somewhat, by her time with the Doctor.

Her focus had zeroed in on Sally in the beginning, but the closer she and her handler got to the immense cage, Amy realized that the majority of the "spokes" were occupied by beings in much the same situation. Male and female, alien and human, of more variety that Amy had heretofore imagined, filled the traps of the wheel. All were as collared and naked as Amy herself. None of them seemed particularly happy to be there.

Oh, some looked resigned, downtrodden in special, bone-deep ways, and these were the ones who simply stood in the middle of their cages, bare and on display. Others were as frightened as Sally was, covering their nudity just as she did, attempting to hide themselves toward the centre of the wheel, rather unsuccessfully. Some wept, their deep sobs rising above the noise of conversation the closer Amy got to the wheel, bubbling up like sea foam on an ocean of sound. Some raged at their situation, either trying to break free of the cage, or simply yelling, in a multitude of languages, at any that passed by the bars.

And oh, so many passed by the bars, many of the stopping...

The bunnydile pushed Amy into one of the spokes and gave her one final growl as it sealed her in. It prodded at a panel hanging from the bars, setting it to display, as Amy had seen walking up, a serial number and profile for the contents within. And then she was alone; a product on display. A toy in a shop window.

It only took a few moments for her to attract some attention, as a pair of human women fell into the gravity well of the wheel close to Amy's spoke, drifting toward her door before zeroing in. They were beautiful, and dressed so well they almost shimmered, and intensely, chillingly disaffected by the plight of the beings in the cage. It was the normalcy of it that did it, giving Amy the sense that whatever world these ladies came from, it was utterly alien, beyond her grasp entirely. The fact that they had human features only made it worse.

They looked her up and down, in the manner one would examine a horse or some other form of working animal, paying special attention to the flanks, before whispering surreptitiously to one another. Amy looked back over her shoulder for support, but found Sally covering herself from the gazes of a collection of bipedal aliens that had stopped by her own cage.

When she looked back, the women had approached the bars, 'How far you've fallen, time traveller...'

The one who had spoken seemed to just be taunting her, but Amy's attention was drawn to the other woman, who was attaching a pair of adhesive circular pads to the backs of her hands. They hummed deeply, just barely audible over the din of the crowd, but instantly ominous all the same. When an identical hum began issuing from the forward corners of her cage, Amy's hunch was confirmed.

'Initiating ghost-drive examination tools,' A computerized voice issued from speakers far above. 'Please stand clear of the interdiction field.'

Amy stepped back, though she had no idea what an interdiction field might be, nor even where it might be coming from. That question, at least, was quickly answered; a pair of apertures opened from the solid metal corner segments of Amy's spoke, spilling out a cloud of tiny glittering particles, that hung in the air for a moment before knitting themselves together in a matter of moments. Seconds later, a pair of floating hands made their way down to her; when the woman bearing the pads flexed her fingers, the disembodied digits mimicked the motion.

'Now, let's see...' The woman spoke, and a moment later Amy squeaked, the sound of slapping flesh filling her perception before fading out. 'Nice tight butt...'

And so it went. As the hands explored her body, Amy couldn't help but appreciate them, just a little; as disconcerting as they were, they were at least clean and impersonal... to a degree, anyway. She could see the utility of them; on a truly galactic stage there was no way to ensure that the merchandise here could be handled by every species that might come by without causing damage either to the slaves themselves or their prospective buyers without some form of intermediate. As the ghost-drive appendages caressed her body, so convincingly that if she closed her eyes Amy could imagine a real person attached to them, she knew that they were the perfect answer.

Of course, none of that dispelled what was actually happening to her; here she was, yet again, getting manhandled and molested by strangers, an all too common occurrence lately. Unsurprisingly, there was no restraint in these hands either, artificial or no; they gravitated to the fun parts of her body, indulging with a startling amount of skill for a pair of mechanical proxies. One had moved up, tugging and pulling on one of Amy's nipples, as the other slipped down her ass at an angle that no hand that was attached to an arm could ever replicate.

It had its own goal in mind.

Again, Amy squeaked, as a pair of fingers tickled up between her legs, boldly over the lips of her pussy. A moment later, the flat metal palm slapped down on the inside of one thigh, before delivering a backhand to her other leg.

'C'mon girl, spread 'em!' The woman controlling the gloves raised her voice above the conversation, calling into the cage. 'I need a better view!'

There was a distressing level of expectation in that voice, as though the idea that Amy would have her own thoughts about what was happening not only didn't matter, but hadn't even occurred to the woman. This was the kind of person who consumed the products of the Chrysanthemum Guild; Amy knew better than to resist. She stood awkwardly, legs spread.

As she did so, she couldn't help the bubbling tide of resentment and sadness that welled up within her, at scales both large and small; she had been to the stars before, but never before now had it all seemed like such a tragedy.

How much of the universe was made like this? How many of the mechanisms of these interconnecting empires and societies relied on exactly this? Sander had shown her two planets like this, reliant on slave trade to survive... how many more were there? And how many other worlds and industries and people did this touch? How long was the reach of the tentacles of this engine of suffering?

She imagined an endless web, stretching out from Selestene and across multiple worlds, threads of despair made manifest as the slave trade stretched from planet to planet, ensnaring the galaxy...

And on a personal level, she had been caught up in it. Amelia Pond, the Girl Who Waited, fourteen years earthbound and nearly alone, and this was what had done her in. Not the Daleks, not the Weeping Angels, not even the wasting complacency of Leadworth, but the shameful and scuttling darkness of a slave trading post.

And she got the feeling, just from the blasé attitude of the people outside the cage, that there were far worse fates she could have met...

Not that any of that mattered; it was hard to concentrate on abstract concerns when there were all too physical ones knocking on her front door, so to speak. The woman controlling the mechanized hands knew what she was doing; her proxy fingers brushed with unerring accuracy against Amy's clit, before sliding inside her with agonizing slowness. The metal skin of the things was surprisingly warm, seemingly in imitation of human flesh, but every point of contact thrummed as though an electrical current was passing through them. Amy's knees nearly buckled.

'Ooh, look at her,' The other woman, who only watched, gave a gentle smile, her voice low and calm, yet somehow able to rise above the susurration all around them. 'She likes it.'

'Oh, come on, not like you haven't felt this from me,' She who was at the helm of the mechanical digits had to mime each and every action, hands moving through empty air as she wore an expression of intense concentration. 'It's no wonder she likes it.'

Amy gritted her teeth, her gaze slipping away from the watchers on the other side of the bars; she couldn't bear the harshness of their eyes anymore. Especially not as the woman's ministrations provoked such a pronounced effect, so soon; there was an unmistakeable tremble in the muscles of her thighs, and her breath fluttered with the telltale asynchrony of arousal. Perhaps she could hide those signs, but there were others that would be coming soon.

As if on cue, Amy felt the heat rise in her cheeks, down her chest; the redness that followed would be undeniable. But those fingers wouldn't stop, no matter what Amy herself wanted; the palm ground against the sensitive string of nerves in her clit, sending a shiver down her spine.

No. No, she wasn't. It wasn't getting to her. No. She was not going to cum.

Nope.

Not going to happen.

Oh, god...

But therein lay the trap; it wasn't like the woman at the helm was going to stop until she got what she wanted, and Amy's body seemed to leap at the chance, filling with liquid heat, further and further, at every rubbing, awful caress. Her flesh was her own personal Judas, trampling over every last mental defence Amy erected, until the young woman was gritting her teeth, lower body shuddering to someone else's tune.

No, no, no, no... Please no....

She tried to stop it, to snatch away the bubbling pleasure before it could wrack her slender frame, but it was too late. She tried to settle for second best, clamping her jaw shut to strangle the lingering, reedy moan that rippled up through her throat as her orgasm became a certainty.

She failed there, too.

Climax washed over Amy, so strong she could barely keep to her feet. It was loud, it was noticeable, and it got noticed. From the other side of the bars, both of her inspectors grinned in unabashed appreciation, but they were far from the only ones; a small audience formed around the edges of Amy's spoke, aliens and humans and creatures of all shades, all of them strangers and all of them watching Amy cum, hard.

Worse still, at the edges of her vision Amy could see the occupants of the neighbouring spokes were watching too, fellow captives trapped in audience to her treacherous pleasure. And at the other end of the wheel, still within view, Amy had no doubt that Sally was watching too, as her hips ground against the perverse technology violating her, with every apparent sign of enjoyment.

... Apart from the tears running down her cheeks, of course.

Her unwanted performance seemed to drag on for an eternity to her mind, and it ended in applause; Amy blushed furiously, hotter even than the flush of orgasm that had spread over her pale skin, as the creatures that had gathered to watch expressed their appreciation. A number of lewd comments, shouted over the heads of the crowd and through the bars, crashing over Amy's fragile mind, twisting the knife of shame even harder.

Amy knew only one thing for certain, in that moment: her value as a commodity had just gone up.

'Well, this certainly seems like an unplanned addition to our shopping list...' The calm woman purred, as her more fiery companion disengaged herself from the control modules to the ghost-drive hands. The pair left a moment later, utterly unconcerned with how they had left the object of their attentions. At one time, Amy might have been able to muster some form of offence at this, and the idea of being discarded still tugged at her pride, but in the moment she could feel nothing but defeat. She slumped to the floor of her cage, eyes locked resolutely on the floor, to blot out the crowd milling on the outside.

But she could only ignore them, not will them away entirely; Amy could hear them beyond the bars, talking to one another, calling out lewdly to her... even lining up to take their turn at the examination tools.

Behind her, Amy could hear Sally crying out, leaving her in no doubt that those same examination tools were being employed to great effect on her. Moments later, the machines in her own spoke roughly lifted her back to her feet, ready to be manhandled once more.

The crowd throbbed, moved like one great, singular organism. Its borders lapped at the edges of the wheel, watchers in every shape and size, proceeding past Amy's increasingly exhausted, hazy gaze. The ghost-drive tools worked almost constantly in that time, borne by countless controllers, fondling and exploring and violating her body in every way imaginable. Those beyond the bars had no care for the aches she developed, nor the groundswell of despair that flooded her features; to them, she was a product.

It wasn't just Amy alone; all along the wheel, in every spoke, those that had been enslaved were being inspected by those doing the enslaving. The sounds from the cage varied along the general theme of sadness, abuse, and shame. The almost frantic sounds of pleasure from those who had decided to acquiesce completely were the only counterpoint.

In the brief moments that the crowd thinned, Amy could see the workings of the showroom beyond the show floor itself, chiefly the large, raised presence of the auction stage. She could only imagine it had been placed so close to the wheel to put yet more of the fear of god into those that dwelt within the bars as, oddly, nobody from the cage had been taken to the stage yet. Instead, a procession of slaves, collared and in varying states of abject depression, where led from backstage by handlers, fastened to a nearby post and then... the show would begin.

However, Amy couldn't get a good enough look at what that actually entailed; her view of it all was blocked not only by the crowd, but by several spokes of the wheel that stood between her and the stage. No matter; what her imagination came up with was far worse. She dreaded what was to come, but knew instinctively that, beyond this period of advertising to amp up the crowd, her time unsold would be short.

Just then, as if in answer to that thought, the bunnydile returned, snarling wildly at the crowd to disperse them from around Amy's spoke, before opening the cage door to extract the stricken redhead. The moment the cage was open, the inspection tools dissolved back into their component nanomachines.

Her few hangers on voiced their disappointment that Amy was being taken away, prompting the bunnydile to utter a series of yapping, vibrato noises, that were picked up by a small tag worn around his neck, and relayed in plain English.

'This one is not being taken out of rotation, she is being moved up to the main block,' A stiff, oddly genderless voice sluiced out from a speaker on the translation tag. 'All interested in securing the rights to her should make their way to the bidding floor. Thank you for your business with the Chrysanthemum Guild.'

Amy got the feeling that that last part hadn't been spoken in the alien's language, and had been tacked on as an extra by the Guild itself. It wouldn't surprise her; these people made a business out of robbing others of their freedom, would they really be concerned about robbing the bunnydile of his voice?

Amy was leashed back up and trotted out of the wheel, the crowd parting at the sight of the imposing alien. Perhaps it was the air of authority, or the Chrysanthemum Guild emblem he wore; eyes tended to track them as they walked, following the product to its inevitable destination. Amy's heart could do nothing but sink.

The bunnydile slipped into a darkened hallway, leading Amy through a gate into a kind of holding cell, attaching her leash to a mechanised track on the wall, at the end of a long line. It was hard to adequately describe; the only unifying factor of the slaves, fastened to the wall and waiting for their turn on the block, was that they were in line. There were more species than Amy could count, tugged along forward one by one; the metal loops that held their leashes whirred, forced them all onward, toward the stage. There was a curtain hiding what was going on beyond, and every few minutes the next figure in line was whisked through it by the motors in the wall, out onto the stage to face the bidders.

Above her connection to the wall, a small holographic readout appeared, displaying Amy's bio; basic stats, measurements, and an expected price. She looked down the line; those holograms were the only source of information she had on many of the creatures that shared the line with her. The being just ahead of her, a wide, blue alien with three eyes set in a vertical line in the centre of its face, inspected Amy without any form of emotion that she could place. She backed away, as far as her leash- and the replenished line behind her- would allow.

Normally she was fine with aliens, and god knows she had seen her fair share, but there was something about this, seeing them in this context, when they were as naked and stripped of power as she was, that made them feel truly alien. She was grateful when the triple-eyed being before her turned back to face the head of the line, trilling a sound that was unmistakably nervous.

They were all just like her, weren't they? Not just the ones that were human, and showed recognizably human fear, but all of them. Each and every life form in this line was trapped, enslaved most likely against their will and taken away from the lives they had once led. Perhaps there was a little, out of the way village full of wide blue aliens out there, with a wide blue Rory going mad searching for his missing wife...

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