Doctor Who: Panic Moon Ch. 22

Apparently no longer interested in the show that she herself had ordered into being, Ren lifted herself up off of the bed with a light hum in her voice. Skirting the edge of the room, she retrieved her bowl from its resting place on the floor, sighing theatrically.

'Now, see, you two distracted me, and now this shit is all soggy,' She shook her head, stirring the contents with a cartoon parody of dejection on her features. 'I need to hook myself back up with more of this shit, maybe find out where Sander's going. You two enjoy yourselves, I shall be back!'

As the door slid closed behind her, the two captives spent a moment that seemed to stretch on forever continuing to tremble in their shame and ecstasy, bodies tight and connected, Christina's dripping, throbbing cunt filled with rubber cock. As her orgasm faded away, leaving lingering traceries of heat travelling through her veins, Lorna was allowed to return to the real world, cognitive faculties returning, enough to pull herself away from Christina, panting heavily. Step by step, she seemed to retreat from the noblewoman, strap on glistening in the unmistakable evidence of her arousal. More silence followed, before she thought to speak.

'Are you alright, Christina?' She tried not to stammer, fingers working at the straps of the rig around her hips. 'I didn't hurt you, did I?'

But Christina didn't answer, her body not limp but relaxed upon the bed, chest rising and falling with each deep, concentrated breath. Slowly, deliberately, she turned herself over, onto her back, showing off the deep red blush that extended across her face and down her chest, reaching the slopes of her breasts. There was fear in her, the potentially incredibly harmful implications of Ren's threats of ownership tugging at her mind, wanting so much to pull her away and force her to dwell on her fear. But she would not; fear was not the domain of the de Souzas. Lady Christina de Souza did not fear. She rose above.

Her gaze remained fixed on the ceiling, the pristine white plaster stretching from one corner of her vision to the opposite. She knew Lorna was talking to her, and it would have been a matter of simple courtesy to respond, to let her know that she was, in fact, alright. That her fear was temporary, a momentary discomfort. But, in her mind, there was room for only one thought. One thing, one word, looming in her mind.

Escape...

To be continued...