Doctor Who: Panic Moon Ch. 33

What she wasn't used to was a construction zone like this one having no security at all.

They had just... walked in, straight through the complete lack of a grid encircling the walls. Sander could probably pay his way out of anything, but Amy had a hard time believing that he would pay to shut the entire grid down, rather than just bribing a access pass from the foreman. The stillness of the scene only added to her anxiety; it was obvious no work was going on here either.

Amy was dragged inside, the incomplete room seeming dreadfully open to the elements, and the prying eyes of... whoever could see in. Two of the walls had windows fully installed, and it was into the intersection between them that Sander led her, her feet shifting uncomfortably on the rough, uncarpeted floor.

'Okay,' Sander practically breathed the word, a long drawn out exhalation that seemed to drain all the tension from his muscles, anger slipping away from him, packed up somewhere else in his mind, away from the situation at hand. 'Now, I probably don't have to tell you this, you have no doubt figured it out already, but it would be an extremely good idea to be a good, obedient little slave right now. Imagine where you might end up if you disobey me a second time.'

The threat hung in the air as Sander moved closer, the leash slackening and bowing to the floor between them. Amy's mind filled with possibilities, new cruelties that could be inflicted, new places she could be abandoned in... everything that could happen if Sander happened to get any angrier than he already was. When he touched her, she noticeably flinched.

It didn't deter him, however; if anything, her reluctance only seemed to stoke the fires already raging through him. His hand slammed into her throat, shockingly fast and in a way that kept her pinned to the wall. The line of his fingers aligned with her collar, preventing him from outright choking her, but the implication was clear. His eyes were... strange; he glared, clear blue and intense in such a way that clashed with the sort of offhand lust that also lingered there.

He wanted her, but when simply taking her was so easy, such a desire became almost casual.

Sander's free hand drifted, wandered down her body with obscene ease. It cupped one pert, pale breast, squeezing hard enough to make Amy squirm with discomfort and whimper pathetically. She hated herself for giving him what he so clearly wanted this quickly, but she daren't speak and make it worse.

'So how did you like the Olivan, Amy?' He said in a low, private voice, just for the two of them. As he spoke, he took her nipple between two fingers and pulled, tugging gently to punctuate every word, 'Compared to how I took care of you, say? You're a slave either way, a tight, owned little body... but how bad do I really come across, now you're got a point of comparison?'

Amy kept her mouth resolutely shut, but she couldn't keep her mind from answering the question anyway; the truth was they were too different to properly compare. The Olivan, as a company, desired different things from a slave- and right now Amy was too addled to think of herself as anything else- than Sander did. The Olivan was a business, and within the bounds of that club she had been a product, and one that needed to be shaped into the correct utility before sale. Resistance, anger, humanity, had not been tolerated.

What the Olivan had wanted was her body, her pussy and mouth and tits and ass. Nothing else.

Sander, on the other hand, had picked her specifically. It hadn't been some lithe body he had sought, it had been Amelia Pond, twenty-first century resident of Leadworth, England, that he had wanted. And for very specific purposes, too. That purpose had been revenge, admittedly, but there had always been more to it. Attraction, fascination in some ways, and more importantly, a value to her victimhood.

For Sander Hackett, it wasn't enough to simply have her. Her struggles were what he wanted.

That, Amy reflected as Sander's fingers moved further down and slipped between her legs, was the key difference. The Olivan didn't want a person, they wanted a product. But Sander kept her human, because a human would struggle and blush and cry, a person wouldn't simply accept the kinds of things Sander did to her. Either way, Amy was simply a means to an end, but at least with Sander's means...

She was sure to come out the other side herself. She wouldn't end up like Cherami.

'Where would you rather be, Pond?' Sander asked, as his wrist pivoted and two fingers delved deeper, into a pussy that was still shamefully soaked and tight, throbbing around him. She gasped, shivered, felt herself tighten and tremble as he moved with an ease borne of familiarity, and felt his words drip coldly, hopelessly, through her mind, 'Did you escape into a better deal, Amy? Or were you just being fucking naive?'

There was expectation in his eyes now, as he slowly, quietly finger fucked her. He wanted an answer, probably wouldn't stop until he got one, but Amy had nothing to give. Her pride made the thought of admitting he was better for her as unappealing as an idea could get, but to say otherwise was to risk his anger, and the possibility of losing her one chance to escape from the Olivan.

What could she say? What words could possibly make this okay?

'The Olivan-' She started, drawing out the last syllable into a shuddering moan as Sander drew his fingers over a sensitive spot inside her. Through gritted teeth, she continued, '- was a nightmare. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I was... better off with you...'

Sander's mouth twitched, a momentary smile the only interruption to his concentration. If Amy hadn't been watching closely, she never would have caught it, but it was there. He was pleased that she was thinking the way she was.

Of course he was. Beating her down like this was what he had spent years preparing to kidnap her for.

'I know,' Sander chided. 'But then, I'm actually familiar with this planet. I understood the risks before I set down here. I'm not in the habit of day-tripping through worlds and cultures I don't understand, wandering around through someone else's world until crazy shit starts to happen. Your time with the Doctor has ill-served you for the realities of the universe, Amy.'

She opened her mouth to snap something at him, eyes flashing with sudden anger at the pang of recollection of what she had lost, but Sander's hand raced up, clapping over her mouth tightly as he simultaneously slipped a third finger into her, thrusting in deeply and suddenly. All that came out of her was a squeal of sensation, muffled by his hand and underlined by a shifting stamp of her foot on the rough ground, the unwanted pleasure making her lash out with directionless frustration. Without thinking, her hands came up, gripped Sander's arms in an attempt to push him away.

Of course, he didn't go anywhere; Amy was plenty physically fit, but Sander was a genetically modified transhuman from the future. The futile gesture was enough, however. A lengthy stillness had settled over the man, a sense that some invisible, silent line had been breached.

A moment later, he spun on his heel and walked away, sitting himself down on a clearly unfinished recess in the wall.

'Come here,' He said in a simple, almost light tone of voice. 'You're wearing a Command Collar, so don't think about doing anything else, but I shouldn't have to use that. Come over here, Amy.'

He even patted his thigh, the beckoning gesture vaguely condescending in its friendliness. Nevertheless, Amy took one hesitant step forward after another. What other choice did she have? Naked and alone in an unfamiliar part of the city and, indeed, wearing the collar through which he could stop her with a word, she was once again back in Sander's clutches for the foreseeable future.

And after that? Who knew?

She still reached him far faster than she wanted, body language defensive and huddled in like a cornered animal with nowhere else to go. Wordlessly, Sander reached out with both hands, grabbing the rounded swelling of Amy's hips and drawing her closer still, until her legs touched his jeans-clad knees. Shying away did little, as her former Master's grip was sufficiently insistent to tell her what would happen if she tried to get away in earnest.

Wordlessly, Sander kept his eyes on Amy's as one hand began to move. The redhead actually flinched at the metal hiss of his zipper descending. She broke eye contact first, her gaze dragged inexorably downward to watch as he fished his cock from his pants and let it bob, semi-hard and wanting, in the air.

Her heart sank; this was going to happen again? So soon after the last time, when the bottom of the world had dropped out from under her and reintroduced Sander back into her life? Amy was sure her expression displayed her thoughts quite plainly, but Sander was undeterred. This was hardly surprising.

The man leaned in, cockiness leaching through every pore in his body, so that when he placed his hands on Amy's hips again he could reach back further, grasping the roundness of her ass too. She squirmed at the feeling of his fingers pressed into that soft flesh, dragging her closer, forcing her legs to spread around his. There was nothing to stop him, no defence she could make that would be enough; inexorably he led her in until his prize, between her legs, was upon him.

'Was it more satisfying, being the Olivan's whore?' Sander said, stopping himself at the last possible moment, the head of his cock splitting Amy's labia without truly entering her. 'Or when I do this?'

Before Amy could react, Sander's hands on her hips pulled down, hard. His erection forced its way upward, into her wet, treacherously needy hole, right to the hilt. Amy gasped, the sound wild and shocked, and for a singular moment, rendered in incredible detail in her mind, she could feel his tip throbbing inside her. Her body worked on autopilot, hips grinding against him as though he were just another customer of the Olivan, submission etching her form. Her head dropped, eyes downcast to avoid showing him the tears that sprang there at the sheer, familiar sensation of Sander's cock deep within her.

She no longer even had the luxury of hiding behind a curtain of hair.

'God!' She exclaimed the word thoughtlessly, a simple, forceful expression of frustration at so many things. Sander's fingers dug into her hips, a sort of not-quite-pain discomfort providing a jarring counterpoint to the similarly unwanted pleasure washing up from below.

'Keep your eyes up, slut!' Sander growled, the deep, angry vibrato in his voice brooking no opposition. Without space for conscious thought, heart pounding, Amy's head rose, her eyes on his, to behold the strange, undefined emotions in her kidnapper. The leash had lain forgotten between them since she had come to him, but now Sander picked it back up and tugged it tight to punctuate his words, 'Don't you look away from this...'

The silence of this strangely abandoned construction site rang out as Sander began to move, rolling his hips slightly, in and out as arousal climbed her spine against her will. It took only the barest of impetus to get Amy moving herself, a spank to her ass causing her to ride the man she was atop like she had been taught, hours of discipline and unyielding expectation from Fiori forcing her pussy up and down Sander's shaft as though it were a muscle memory.

Trapped looking into Sander's awful gaze, Amy turned her attention to the reactions of her own body, something she at least had some modicum of control over. Not as much as she would have liked, it turned out; she couldn't control her nerves, as they drank in every sensation with relish, forcing her to feel every ridge and throbbing inch of Sander's cock in perfect, prurient detail. She couldn't control her cunt, as it dripped down his shaft as she pushed herself off of it, and then back down, nor the way it clenched tight on the man's shaft moment by moment. She couldn't control the flush in her cheeks as he fucked her, nor the tightness and sensitivity of her nipples as they occasionally brushed against his shirt. The panting of her voice was one of the few things she could properly control, but opting for gritted teeth and silence didn't exactly help.

After all, she couldn't contain the occasional whimper as Sander's cock slipped in particularly deep, nor the fluttering unsteadiness of her breathing.

'There now,' Sander grinned, all too aware of the effect he was having on her. Amy's eyes never moved, but for a second his drifted, taking in the rise and fall of her breasts with every harsh breath, almost in time with his thrusts. 'Isn't this better than that dingy little club? Isn't it nicer, having my cock inside you than sucking off strangers in that back room they gave you?'

She felt herself blushing harder, his words strangely... out of character, almost. Far from the stripped back taunting she was used to from him. Amy wished he would stop talking so dirty, when every word went straight to her clit, elicited memories from corners of her mind she would rather forget about.

The last client who had wanted her mouth on him loomed large in her mind's eye, the way he'd forced her down onto his cock until she couldn't breathe, the blurred refractions of the dim light through her watering eyes, the way his cum had tasted, as he'd walked away right after finishing, leaving her gasping for air on the floor of that cell.

She hadn't even spat it out. She had been all alone, and still she had swallowed it without even thinking.

Like a good girl...

Her hips rocked forward in that special way, almost as if she was trying to curl in on herself from the bottom up, and as her backside scraped his jeans her pussy angled just right for a burst of obscene, jolting ecstasy to thud along her inner walls and up into her belly. She gasped suddenly, eyes wide as she saw Sander recognize what she had just done, what her training had made her do.

Really, his reaction times were so much faster than hers...

If she had been quicker on the draw she could have drawn herself back, put her body out of alignment, lost the position to keep it from him. But his hands were back upon her too fast, fingers gripping and groping and squeezing, a barrier that she could not pass. He kept her locked there, right at that angle, so that he could feel her back arch and her tits press into his chest as he drew his cock along that one lovely spot in her spasming cunt.

And again.

And again.

By the third thrust, now positioned perfectly to turn her traitorous body to jelly Amy couldn't stop herself from crying out. She took the risk of bracing herself on him, one hand on his shoulder as her new posture left her at risk of falling. The rational part of her mind told itself that she would stay upright because letting Sander down was too great a threat, but the primal part of her that throbbed in her clit told the rest of the story.

She didn't want it to stop...

'There now,' Sander growled, ignoring Amy's sobs of desperate, forced pleasure. 'Give it up. You like this better than that club I took you from. You like being my whore, more than being the whore of some cadre of alien strangers. Admit it.'

'Nnngh!' Amy gritted her teeth to bite back the moan that Sander's latest, deep and probing thrust had ripped from her. Her eyes remained opened and locked on his, and though she knew that answering back was a fool's errand, one word stuck in her mind like a splinter in the skin of her sanity, making her pride rumble and rise, demanding a response, 'N-not a whore...'

The words had come tremulously, hesitant and small, issuing as they had from a mouth that had been thoroughly conditioned over the past days to revile and reject even the concept of resistance. It had been a struggle, in fact, for Amy to speak at all, as if parts of her had been trying to shut her down even as she formed the sentence in question. Her heart beat faster to hear it in the air, the evidence of her being a bad slave filling the reality between he and the man fucking her like some kind of noxious poison.

Amy actually flinched, expecting pain that never came.

'Don't fool yourself, girl,' Instead of lashing out, of punishing her, Sander merely shook his head, slight laughter causing his shoulders to rise and fall, his voice to come uneven. 'Like this? You're a whore no matter what you do. At the Olivan you weren't getting paid, but you were having sex so somebody could make money. You know that, right? That you're a product there? Or did you think all those dicks you sucked, all those fuckings, were just for someone's amusement?'

And here Sander stopped, considering something in the back of his mind even as he continued to screw her, hips rolling and cock sliding deeper each time. He even kept her tilted at the right angle for maximum effect, his grip a rigid constant so that even as Amy just sat there her body rippled with arousal, cruel and intense.

'Okay,' Sander said eventually. 'They were kinda for my amusement, sort of. A bit. More than you'd think. But the point is that you shouldn't harbor any illusions that there was some greater point to all that. You were a whore there, and you're a whore here. Hell, you were a whore back in fucking Leadworth, in those short little skirts and fetish bait bullshit. Really, your whole adult life has just been a matter of intensity, based around that one single theme.'

Amy had begun to open her mouth to respond, what pride that had survived her time out here demanding that she argue back, but her captor wasn't about to allow that. Before even a single sound could be uttered, Sander thrust in deeply and stayed there, his cock buried up to the hilt in her molten wetness, the incline of his hips rubbing incessantly against her clit. With the little bundle of nerves already swollen and erect from the stimulation thus far, it ached and reached for this new pressure, bolts of pure prurient lightning shooting up Amy's body from below. She gasped, the words ripped from her throat at their inception, ceded to the shocked, desperate panting of sex.

'So what I want from you, Amelia Pond,' Sander said after a moment, introducing a slow, slight motion to the proceedings, a thrusting barely a few inches in length. Barely enough that Amy's needy cunt could detect it, that the movement could give her a few seconds of delectable contact, of pressure, along the length of her hole. She shuddered, feeling the heat of what was happening to her all throughout her body, as Sander continued, 'is an acknowledgement of the truth. That you were better off under my thumb. That you, and all the other girls, had it better as the slaves of Sander Hackett, than you did when you were turned loose out here in the universe.'

Amy stared, struggling to decode the ultimate goals of his words. Distracted as she was, she knew it was a hopeless endeavour, but she couldn't keep her mind from wheeling through possibilities, what she knew of Sander, anything that might make her aware of the hidden barbs in his words, the trap that lay at the end of whatever path he wanted to send her down. Though seemingly nonexistent, Amy was sure that it was there, somewhere she couldn't divine, concealed in some rhetorical flourish or another, and that Sander was waiting for her to trip the right trigger, to say the thing he needed her to say- and had begun leading her down the primrose path to saying- in order to pull off his next trick.

But, evidently, Sander was not willing to wait, and he leaned in with a sharp edged grin, whispering in her ear.