Doctor Who: Panic Moon Ch. 31

Amy's heart sank.

The slave's deep brown eyes slid over Amy for only a second before settling on Lem, but the recognition that had been visible within them was all too easy to see. Amy recognized her too; her hair had been cut since they had last been together, shorn short much like Amy's herself had been, which hinted at some punishment that Amy hadn't been privy to, but she was familiar, all the same.

'Cherami...' Amy breathed, keeping her voice low enough that Lem couldn't hear her.

*******

It was a depressing thought to have, but she had first met Cherami on the main stage.

Amy had seen the tall, statuesque girl around. It was hard not to; it seemed the eyes of the Olivan were almost always upon her, like she was some sort of mascot or figurehead. She had a regularly scheduled show on the main stage, and the floor filled up with customers whenever it was time for her to take the stage. From what Amy could glean, she wasn't even available for impromptu rentals off the club floor; the rules had been bent so that she was for private reservations only.

They called her the Golden Princess.

Fiori had arranged their floor show together personally, advertising it as something of a special event. New flesh wasn't terribly common at the Olivan; every purchase ran the risk of yielding no investment, given the rather... unforgiving nature of the club's training regime. It didn't do to put a disobedient slave out where the public could see them, after all. Those that went through the trials came out the other side came out as perfect little packaged sluts, ready for use until they wore out.

Two slaves at once was a rare deal: the club's favourite princess paired with a new rarity? That would draw the crowds...

That day, there had been no costumes to speak of, no pretence that this was for any other reason than sex. Amy had been given her orders before she even stepped out on stage, and Cherami had clearly done this a hundred times before. The main stage was a circular platform set at the end of a small runway, so that any prospective audience could crowd around and see the show from any angle. Screens set above broadcast the finer details out to those who couldn't get close enough; there was literally no place to hide, once the curtain had risen and the show had begun.

Cherami was already standing in the ring when Amy walked out, her head tossed back in a cascade of shining blonde hair as two fingers plunged into her sex, over and over. The Olivan had always taken the phrase "warm up" rather literally, and it was with grateful eyes that the Golden Princess had regarded Amy, as she approached.

There was a sort of take-charge directness to her stride, something aided in no small part by her long, well muscled legs, as she met Amy at the rim of the stage. She took Amy's face in both hands and practically dove forward, the picture of pornographically perfect prurience, and kissed her deeply, their naked bodies pressed together. When Amy's thigh slipped between Cherami's legs, she could feel the telltale wetness of her swollen lips.

She kissed back, of course. This wasn't for her, after all, it was for the crowd. What happened when the kiss broke, and Cherami leaned in to Amy's ear, however, was.

'You're new here, right?' She murmured, in a voice so exotic and sympathetic that it was actually a shock to Amy, who had spent far too long without a kind word in her ear. 'Just let it happen, it'll go easier. Follow my lead...'

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

There was a sort of secretiveness to it all, Amy had found. Their eyes would meet for scant moments, barely enough of an opportunity for empathy to pass between them, but they took what they could get.

Any form of connection was worth it.

Fiori had given Lem and his crew the largest back room to conduct their "business," and the entire night to do so. The same kind of leash had been clipped to Cherami, who had accepted it with nary a sound, only a stoic nod of the head, and the pair had been led away from the sound and fury of the main floor and into the quiet confines of the back.

It was a familiar enough place to Amy; the bed was large enough to be imposing, and couches aligned with the two side walls, sporting plenty of room for whatever activities the occupants wished to get up to. She had once seen fully ten people, slaves and customers alike, walk into this particular room together, so she had some idea of just how varied those activities could be.

Two of Lem's goons had taken up positions at either side of the door, but the third- picked out specifically by Lem himself- had followed them inside. He took a seat on one of the couches, as Lem took the bed, dragging his two acquisitions along with him.

'Alright, now...' Lem tilted his head, holding both leashes in one hand so that his two toys were forced to stand close together. 'How am I ever going to choose?'

Amy's skin crawled. She had been in situations like this all too often, waiting in literally the most vulnerable position of her life, while strange men and women decided her fate like she was some cheap commodity. What was worse was having to stand next to Cherami while it happened, to look over and see that resigned look in her eyes. Brilliant blue, and utterly defeated.

'Yeah, okay,' Lem seemed to be talking to himself, but a moment later his eyes flitted past the girls to his bodyguard. 'Claude, you take the redhead. Blondie, on your knees.'

The bodyguard- Claude, apparently- stood to take Amy's leash from his boss, removing his jacket and tossing it over the back of the chair as he returned to it, 'Interesting choice, Sir, taking into account your ginger fetish...' His British accent came as a shock to Amy, a little shard of home to lodge in her heart and prick her over and over.

'So I get to watch her,' Lem shrugged. 'I don't have to look down. A blowjob and porn, who could ask for more?'

Even as he was talking, his eyes never dipping for a moment, Lem had been undoing his pants and, eventually, dragging Cherami's head down into his lap. Obediently, the young woman went to work, her head bobbing to a backing track of slurping and sucking, even the occasional moan that Amy hoped, in that last little free place in her head, was theatricality.

'I think I can handle that,' Claude murmured to himself, unzipping his own fly. 'You'd best get on your knees, Miss.'

Amy blinked, the sheer strangeness of hearing an honorific like that in a place like this stalling her mind for a second or two. She risked a glance at Claude's eyes, examining his face as closely as she could in the short length of time she allowed herself. There was something familiar there, a sort of helplessness about the eyes, as though he was just letting himself get swept along in the current of what his boss wanted.

Not that it stopped Amy from doing what she was told, dropping to her knees in front of the couch, her head downcast in the usual respectful manner. It was the safest option, but also the best for Amy; she didn't have to look at her abuser like this.

She could hear Claude moving, undoubtedly taking his hardness out of his pants, but the moment she looked up to check any sense of routine immediately vanished. Her heart skipped a beat, and she swallowed nervously.

'Ooh, I can see that hesitation from here!' Lem said, clearly amused. 'Claude here is a special case, an import from Pyrdion. Cost me a pretty penny, but it was worth it: they grow 'em big there, don't they?'

They did indeed. Amy stared openly, a new kind of fear dawning on her for the first time, even after all this time at the Olivan. The best word to describe what Claude was packing was imposing; a cock that, even soft, was of a girth and length that threatened a serious difficulty in... fitting. At full size...

'You need to give me some help,' Claude's voice was a low baritone. 'He's watching. Use your mouth.'

It was an order, no doubt about it, but there was a gentleness to it that Amy wasn't used to. This close, her eyes were drawn to the tattoo on his neck, a familiar pattern that Amy sometimes saw amongst the crowd on the main floor, though always being towed around behind some well dressed client or rich pervert. She could tell what it was even without being told, knew that it was a mark of ownership just as binding as the collar around her neck.

Despite the difference in power, they were in the same boat...

Still, what he was asking of her was something of an ask. Hesitantly, Amy leaned forward and opened her mouth, lips stretching to accommodate even the head of the man's massive length. She struggled for a moment, jaw aching without getting much deeper. Though she was hardly a stranger to taking cock in her throat, this was a special case.

'Just use your lips and tongue,' Claude murmured impatiently. 'You don't need to suck, I get that.'

Amy nodded, unwilling to say anything and potentially ruin what was going on here. Mercy, she had come to discover, was a finite resource, one that a misplaced word or an incautious expression could scatter to the wind, with no indication of when she would next find some. Claude, by contrast, seemed to be a rich seam of the stuff, far more in one place than Amy had seen in a good long while, which was in itself rather sad. All he had done so far was not force himself on her.

Still, there were eyes at her back, she knew; Lem's presence was unmistakable, along with the wet sounds of Cherami's mouth being dragged up and down his shaft. Amy was still a performer here, and this was her performance; it didn't take her longer than a second to get back to work. Claude gently held his flaccid cock up for her, letting it fall across her face as Amy started to lick and suckle the pulsing, warm shaft. At his size it was impossible to imagine he was anyone else, but a charitable part of her mind was determined to reciprocate and foster whatever small measure of kindness there was between them.

He hadn't been hard at the outset, which hinted that he was less than immediately interested himself, but that didn't remain the case for long. Amy's soft lips and nimble tongue had been trained, honed by Sander and Fiori and every customer she had been forced into a room with, and she was too fearful of the paying audience to relax them now. Claude's breath hitched in his throat as her long fingers caressed his balls, tongue working up from the root of his cock to the tip, playing there for a moment so she could beam him her best sultry look. Her kissogram years had helped with that.

She felt him twitch against her tongue, and ran a series of light, teasing kisses around his crown in response, before dipping back down. He throbbed in her grip, the taste of his precum curious and pleasant in ways she couldn't quite name. Despite the situation, despite being thrown together with this stranger at a moment's notice in the backroom of a nightclub immersed in the sex slave trade, Amy felt herself getting wet. Her clit ached, intense sparks of conflicted discomfort shooting through her hips as the clamp around it tugged in Claude's careless, distracted grip, and yet she dripped shamelessly.

'That's enough,' Claude shook his head, shivering in obvious pleasure. To stop her, he ran his free hand under her chin, lifting her face so their eyes met, the simple humanity of the gesture again stalling Amy's thoughts. She felt herself smiling, but only for a moment before he continued, 'We don't want to end things too early, trust me. Climb into my lap...'

Long legs unfolded, her pale thighs glistening with her own juices and the glinting light of the clamp on her clit, as Amy rose to her feet and awkwardly moved to straddle Claude. She actually blushed, the rough scrape of the man's trousers against the inside of her thighs reminding her of the strange immediacy of all of this. She hovered there, just above his lap, that cock much more impressive when it was erect and at the cusp of penetrating her. Could she even take it?

'Lean in,' Another direction, this time obeyed automatically. Amy steadied herself with both hands on his shoulders, tilting herself forward so that her nipples rubbed against his shirt, and she was brought face to face with the man himself. The corners of his mouth curved up in an apologetic smile, 'He likes to watch. This way, he'll see me inside you better. Won't interfere as much.'

Amy could understand that; in this position she had to arch her back and push her ass high just to keep herself hovering over his cock while leaning forward, and anyone behind her would be afforded what she imagined to be a quite exquisite view of her pussy, rubbing nervously at the head of Claude's erection.

'Go slow,' He whispered. 'Don't try to take more than you can handle. He's not out to watch a race.'

Pausing to brace herself one last time, Amy lowered her hips, all too quickly feeling the startlingly hot tip of the man's cock against her entrance. He gasped as she moved down further, her lips spreading around his head, slipping him inside of her. The suggestion to move slowly had been a smart one, no doubt borne of prior experience; already Amy could feel the stretch, slight for now but with challenging implications for the rest of all this.

She cried out, bit her lip as more and more of Claude's monster cock filled her, pushing her open wider in a way that progressed from merely uncomfortable to achingly painful faster than Amy would have preferred. She looked to the man inside of her for... what, exactly? Some kind of comfort? Perhaps even understanding?

There was some sense of the former, certainly. Claude's eyes had an apologetic set to them, though to apologize for a simple fact of biology struck Amy as a little odd. This wasn't his fault, it was Lem's, the man behind them watching while forcing Cherami's head up and down in his lap.

Without saying anything, Claude moved one hand from the arm of the couch, where it had sat almost rigidly until now. Slipping into the join between them, his thumb pressed lightly against her clit and then paused, as he gauged her reaction. The little sigh she gave encouraged him, enough for him to up the pressure, rubbing gently at that sensitive little nub.

The sensation warmed her, a blush cresting her cheeks and a moan on her lips. Pleasure eased her progress down his cock, though Amy still bit her lip and choked back a cry as she finally found herself at the base, fuller than ever before. She simply sat there for a moment, adjusting to the feeling, letting the strange scene around her wash over her; in all the time she had been at the Olivan, a male slave had never been thrown into her path before. A part of her had wondered if there even was such a thing, in the vicious society Sander had sold her to.

But here he was, evidently affected by what was happening between them just as Amy herself was. Intensity flooded his eyes, a kind of magnified attraction that made him fidget, clearly anxious to...

'Touch me,' Amy said softly, taking his free hand and placing it on her back, just above the curving swell of her ass. Rory had so often settled his palm against that same patch of flesh when they had made love, the simple pressure there, in this context, was a caustic burst of nostalgia. Claude was nothing like Rory, and this was just fucking, but she could still reclaim this night in subtle ways.

She closed her eyes and bowed her head, willing herself into some other place and time, as she slowly allowed herself to rise off of the cock below her. It was harder than one would imagine; the sheer physical stresses of taking something that large made it difficult to disengage from the present... not to mention that every situation remotely like this in her memory involved Sander, not Rory.

But she could find it... she had to. Amy's brow furrowed, she bit her lip and concentrated. Come on, what was there? Mmm, the Sunday after that trip to London, when she had tempted Rory into his first big city sex shop, and brought home that lovely thick toy. He had been so reluctant to use it- what was wrong with his own cock, was the reasoning- but it hadn't taken Amy much more effort than to bend over for him to change his mind. The sight of her round, creamy backside had moved his mind more times than she could count.

Wiggle it, and he was hers.

He had fucked her with it, that quiet Sunday when the rain had dripped in streams down the gutters and all the world that had any sense had stayed indoors. It had been thicker than her usual too, and she had hung her head to watch Rory, captivated by her whimpering moans, working away between her legs.

Yeah, come on. Something. Anything...

'Faster, now,' Lem's voice shattered the illusion and dragged Amy back to the present, back to straddling this stranger's alien cock and feeling it split her wider than anything she had ever experienced before. Of course; why would there be any escape from this, even into fantasy? The Olivan had proven more than adept at cracking her will thus far, over and over...

Despite her better judgment, Amy looked over her shoulder, allowing herself to watch Cherami for a moment as her mouth rose and fell on Lem's shaft with every apparent sign of pleasure. Not for the first time she was forced to ask herself: how much of that was genuine, and how much was just acting?

After a certain point, who could tell the difference?

A flash of pleasure went through her, lines of fire shooting up her hips as Claude pressed in against her clit a little harder than usual. Amy's eyes were drawn to the strong, angular lines of his face, her hips wriggling into the unexpected stimulation automatically, just in time to see the smile spread across his features.

It was strange, seeing someone so ebullient in the face of abject ownership. It caused Amy to wonder what the difference was, what she was doing wrong, that her situation was beating her down so. Lem didn't seem to be a superior Master when compared to Fiori at first glance, but then, bodyguard work with occasional sexual services probably wasn't as stressful a job as full on sexual slavery.

Some tiny, aching part of her mind hoped, somewhat desperately, that it was her in particular that he reserved that smile for. Perhaps there was a connection he saw between them? Of all the slaves he had been forced to fuck for his Master's amusement, how many of them were like Amy, how many hadn't been completely shattered and rebuilt by their ownership?

In a sea of compliant faces and bodies acclimated to use, the struggling newbie would be quite refreshing, she hoped.

She could do this mostly with her hips, she found; by bouncing her ass up and down his cock, Amy could keep herself relatively stable, even comfortable. Being able to control the pace of the sex was a godsend; acclimatizing to the new pressure her body was under was simply required. The very thought of Claude in control, slipping into her fresh and fast with no preparation, sent a shiver down Amy's spine. It would be too much, all at once.

This way, she could become at home with it all. Her wetness dripped down his shaft now, easing her traversal up and down it, the slick gliding a marked contrast to the halting, gasping progress of that first insertion. Her pussy fit around his rod like a glove, the wet sound of Amy's slow humping speeding up competing with the slurping blowjob still happening behind them. A familiar coiling heat settled in her belly, growing tighter and more insistent by the second.

Claude simply rubbed her harder, not only picking up on her body's cues, but actually caring enough to play off of them. Who was this guy?

Amy rocked her hips harder, finding that in all the friction of the act Claude's length hit her in just the right spot, sending clenching waves of pleasure and tension flowing through her pussy. Her lips parted, mouth fell open so she could pant freely, and in a movement both sudden and obviously premeditated, Claude swept forward to take one of her nipples in his mouth.