Doctor Who: Panic Moon Ch. 33

'Admit that I'm the superior Master, Amy.'

Ah. So there it was. An obvious trap, in retrospect.

Anger rushed up in response, but it was masking something deeper, a cold realization that had been brewing in the back of Amy's mind for days now. The trouble was, Sander was right. He was the better choice, objectively. The Olivan hadn't just failed to care about Amy as a person, it had actively sought to eradicate her, to shuck out the woman she was as though her soul was little more than the useless pit at the core of a more valuable, fleshy fruit. Her body in a collar, holes always ready and pliant, was all they required.

Sander meanwhile... well, what was he doing now? Teasing and taunting, tempting out the resistance that would be unthinkable in the club. Drawing out the defiant, spirited Amy Pond that Fiori had tried so hard to erode, the one that had been there all along, fostered and nurtured by the Doctor, and traversal through the friendlier portions of space that she still longed to return to, once she had clambered out of these shadow lands.

Sander was the superior Master because Sander was a Master at all, not merely a tradesman sculpting a tool out of raw material, like Fiori had been.

Still, as real as that fact might be, sharp and cold like a knife in her brain, Amy wasn't about to verbalize it. Once it stopped being a secret in her head it was real, something shared between herself and Sander, an understanding that would fill the rest of their interactions with its looming, unbearable presence.

And he would tell Mara, and Mara would tell Ren, and there would be nowhere for her to turn to avoid that presence...

Besides, there was something else that Amy needed to say, as she suddenly realized, with a sort of growing horror. But her mouth was already working on autopilot, forming the words that had spared her such punishment in the club.

'Please may I cum, Sir?' It came out as a rote whimper now, as she automatically contrived to add in notes of vulnerability and weakness that seemed to appeal to the majority of her customers, gave them what they wanted and, hopefully, prompted them to show her the mercy of just... allowing her orgasm and getting it over with.

Back then, it had simply been expedient, a pragmatic choice she made to lower herself. Right now, with Sander pounding at her pussy in some abandoned building, her voice rang out as pathetic and weak. Context changes everything.

'No, of course you may not!' Sander answered as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. 'Not when there's still an order you've yet to obey, Amy. What kind of slave would ask that, knowing there's unfinished business to deal with?'

She wanted, desperately, to screw her eyes shut. To attempt to block out what was happening to her, the man who was doing this to her. Amy had had plenty of experience with denial in the Olivan, all those anonymous punters who had pressed her body's natural reactions to that climactic peak and opted not to give it to her, getting off on the idea that they could make her squirm like a helpless, horny bitch. That they could make her want them. But they were wrong, and she could drift away from them with ease; it was as simple as closing her eyes and imagining other things. It never worked completely, and she could never forget what was happening to her there, nor the shameful wants of her body, but it was something.

Something she could not attain with Sander.

He wanted her present, that was the problem. He kept saying and doing things that would drag her mind forward, keep her engaged and aware of the skill with which he could manipulate her. And so her eyes stayed open, her legs spread and positioned just as he desired... and her mind lingered, dwelling on the impending orgasm she was forced to keep just out of reach, and what was happening to get her there.

It wasn't the simple, mechanistic thing that an Olivan orgasm was, no simple conflux of nerves and physical contact here. Sander knew exactly what he was doing, and that was the trouble. Amy knew, right in the depths of herself, that she wouldn't be able to hold off forever, and that more importantly, Sander wouldn't help her any. He wasn't interested in teasing her so she could beg, now; if she failed and came without permission, then that was just an excuse to punish her.

Amy could only imagine the kinds of punishments he would cook up now, of all times. Potentially before just dropping her back at the club and leaving again, abandoning her to her fate, if she wasn't a good slave.

'I...' For her own sake, the words had to come. She had to force them from her lips, no matter what they did to her. 'I was better off... ahhh!' And here she trailed off into a wordless moan, at Sander's encouraging inward thrust. 'Under you. Y-you're the better Master, Sir...'

Despite the standing order not to, she hung her head, shame making her cheeks redden and burn, far worse than they ever had before. The truth was harsh and cold, and now shared between the two of them it could be fashioned into a weapon to prod her whenever she felt vulnerable, to twist a knife that she herself had made and handed to her captor for nothing.

'I know,' Sander growled. 'And you're still not allowed to cum.'

He stood then, bearing Amy aloft with the kind of ease that hinted at the sort of strength the man could bring to bear at a moment's notice. She whooped at the suddenness of the motion, wrapped her legs around Sander automatically to gain some kind of stability, her hands landing on his shoulders to avoid falling backwards. But there was a certain momentum that had yet to halt, as Sander swung her around, essentially trading positions with her, so that Amy's backside landed on the same hollow Sander himself had once occupied. He had her seated there, while he stood over her, his new position far better for overpowering and taking advantage of Amy.

He gripped the leash once more, tugged it taut to keep her from sliding further down the wall and out of his reach. Not that Amy felt herself capable of struggling away anyway; for the entire movement Sander's cock had remained inside her, moving deeper and shallower at different points in a way that was both unintentional and dreadfully effective at attaining Sander's goals.

Amy had come down onto her new seat gasping for breath and blushing furiously.

Now repositioned, Sander could continue his assault, fucking her both harder and more deeply than before. His bulk eclipsed her vision, blocking out much of the surrounds; beforehand she had been forced to look at him, but now she simply had little choice. His hips scythed through the air, pounding into her so hard that the force of his thrusts pushed her back, bumping her roughly against the wall behind her.

'You're all better off with me, than just turned loose,' Sander said, seemingly talking to the room at large rather than Amy specifically, completing thoughts out loud for his own benefit. 'You, Sally, Christina, Lorna... Maybe it hurts to admit it, but my collar is a safer place to be in, than some of the shit you could get embroiled in here. When you all ran away you saw that first hand, but what did you really expect would happen? You were in a city I took you to, what did you think it would be like?'

Amy knew better than to answer. He wasn't looking for one anyway, but any potential answer she gave that was at all truthful would merely attract his ire. Things seemed... delicate, now. Fragile, somehow; inviting Sander to anger at the moment, Amy felt, would be catastrophic.

Besides, she had plenty of other things to occupy her mind in the meantime.

'Sir, please,' She hissed through gritted teeth, shooting him the most pleading look she could muster, eyes glistening with frustrated tears. She simply could not hang on any longer, 'Please let me cum?'

Sander opened his mouth to speak, and indeed did begin talking, but Amy's attention had already been drawn away, elsewhere, to a suggestion of movement to one side, beyond Sander's body. Her eyes stuck to it, even as the man above her continued to pump in and out of her, the sensations involved no less distracting or intense. They had previously been alone, after all, occupying some abandoned area where privacy could be assured. Any form of intruder was something worth paying attention to.

The movement quickly resolved itself into a figure, and a humanoid one at that. As it drew closer, out from the well of shadows it had been hidden in, Amy was able to pick up more details; dark clothes and hair on a definitely human figure, crouched low to the ground and moving with cautious, silent steps. Blue eyes shone with defiant, nigh murderous anger... and the glint of a command collar in the light, hanging around her neck.

As Christina got closer still, Amy watched something unfold in her hand, defined sharpness along its edge. Though she clearly knew Amy was there, the girl offered her no attention whatsoever, her eyes focused firmly on Sander as she took care to stay outside of his peripheral vision. Her slow advance brought her closer and closer, with the same ease that had taken her through so many successful burglaries and break ins.

Amy's mind was no longer capable of racing, too much of her available attention had been taken up with Sander, her own concerns, and the way in which those two intersected. Had she been fully cognizant she would no doubt have asked the right questions, noticed the correct details; Christina had been at large this entire time, then? But unable to remove her collar?

As it was, Amy's mind did manage to seize on a single pertinent detail: Christina was going to attack Sander. From the looks of the weapon she carried, and the bloody gleam in her eyes, she probably intended to do it with lethal finality.

And did she expect Amy to just sit there and watch?

Hating herself for it, but knowing in her heart that Amelia Pond, the Girl Who Waited, would not simply stand by and allow this situation to unfold, Amy folded in her knees, and gave herself sufficient leverage to dislodge Sander should the need arise. Before she did so, she shot Christina a surreptitious look, hoping to attract her attention, a strangled, desperate plea to reconsider.

If the noblewoman had caught the look, she didn't acknowledge it.

She raised her hand, and Amy kicked out.

Sander stumbled back, the distribution of his weight ill-equipped to handle the sudden new pressure, arms flailing as he caught himself. At the same time Christina's arm scythed down into now empty air, the first sound from her mouth a growl of aggression, tinged with frustration at its terminus as her failure became clear.

'Command: Freeze,' Sander, on the other hand, seemed far more on the ball, once the initial surprise at Amy's actions had worn off. Before he had even finished tripping he had transformed the movement into a kind of hopping spin, doing a complete three-sixty degree circuit, speaking the command just as Christina popped into his view. The effect, of course, was instantaneous, but also indiscriminate, the order having been phrased without a target as it was. Christina went motionless, but the numbing of the muscles, the sudden uncooperativeness of the body, was also shared by Amy, who limply slid down in her seat as the collar's effect washed over her.

Sander turned, in a single continuous extension of what had come before, and took a handful of Christina's raven hair, dragging her upright, her unresisting body following insensibly. The man grinned, as his new captive glared daggers at him.

'Gotcha,' He said quietly, the phrase more a taunt than an expression of victory. As though the possibility of failure had never even occurred to him, 'And here I thought you were supposed to be some kind of globe hopping master cat burglar. All it takes me is a little walk around town, some loud talking and a little piece of mind altering tech and I get you that easily? Either you're losing your touch, or you never had much of one to begin with, Lady Christina de Souza.'

Words didn't- couldn't, given the standing order still drilling through her brain- come easily to Christina, and instead a formless snarl breached her throat, having to make do with coming out between clenched teeth and closed lips. Robbed of the tools with which the Lady Christina could assert her superiority, there seemed to be nothing left but anger and hate, bouncing around inside a body fit for something else entirely.

Though Christina had evidently been unsuccessful in securing the removal of her collar, she had made a better go of other things, like finding clothes to cover that body. Black, and cut close to the skin, she wore a pair of trousers and a button-up shirt, stolen from some unknown place within the city, no doubt. Contemptuously, Sander grabbed the front of her shirt and pulled, tearing fabric and dislodging buttons, the little black discs wheeling away into the corners of the room, revealing a white bra beneath, cupping the woman's heavy breasts.

'But, well, we know you have some skill,' Sander continued, pulling the ruined shirt from her body before moving on to the bra. 'All those museums and private art collections you plundered, I doubt those are all luck and happenstance. No, you're skilled. Which I guess just means one thing, then: I'm better.'

This brought another growl to the fore, the mere intimation of inferiority sufficient to set Christina's eyes ablaze even as she was stripped, systematically, of the clothes she had hard won, no doubt, from this city of slavers. Of course, this was precisely what Sander had wanted; he knew what kind of knife those words were, and his twisting of it was no accident.

'To think, all it took to capture the great Christina de Souza was to get her angry,' He shook his head. 'Imagine the looks on those Old Earth Interpol jokers' faces, if I brought you to them like this and explained! Course, they're all long gone, you record has gone dark... they never caught you, by the way. How could they? You were here with me the whole time.'

With a firm hand and a smug grin, he stooped to undo her pants, toying with the clasp at the front as his free hand ran imperiously up between her legs, 'I did have something they didn't, admittedly. A command collar keyed to your brainwaves, one that you couldn't remove yourself, nor could you get anyone else to remove it in an arcology that respects the collar as a symbol of ownership. Well, what else could you do? You're not leaving this place unaccompanied with that thing around your neck, and you're not getting any help with it on either. More likely you'd just fall victim to opportunistic sellers like the Chrysanthemum Guild that took the rest of the girls. No, you'd have to track down the guy who put you in the collar in the first place, and force him to take it off you.'

And here he stopped, paused for emphasis, and slid her trousers down slowly, taking in her bare legs as he did so, 'Not when he was with his team, of course. Ren would take you to pieces, and I have enough telepaths on staff to keep me well informed of your whereabouts should you get too close to us all together. No, you'd need to find me alone, and vulnerable. Say, while walking one of you co-captives through the streets in a blind rage, frustrated over my inability to find you?'

He gave the thought time to sink in, before adding, 'And if he happened to wander into your little hideout in the process, past all those security devices you'd stolen the keys for and deactivated, into a place of seclusion, if he happened to get himself distracted in fucking away his aggravation, saying all sorts of things to the poor girl he's with to incite you, in turn, to act out violently then, well... all the better for you, isn't it? Unless he knew what he was doing the whole time, of course.'

Amy had listened as all the warmth in Sander's voice had drained away progressively throughout his little speech, leaving the last few words to leave him as a steely growl. With that, he ripped the panties from Christina, leaving her naked and collared once more.

'There we are. Right back where you started, which is exactly what you deserve,' Sander sighed, then tugged back on Christina's hair, making her raise her chin. 'Or did you think we wouldn't suspect that you were the ringleader behind this whole debacle? Hey Amy, do you still need to cum?'

He paused there, actually paused, despite the sure knowledge shared between the three of them that Amy was just as unable to talk as Christina, and in any case wouldn't respond in the affirmative even if she could. That it hardly mattered what her opinion was also occurred to Amy, and had no doubt done the same to her counterpart standing with their captor, but still the frustration with the man's endless taunting rose in her chest.

'Doesn't matter,' Sander said eventually darkly. 'Here: Cum.'

Dragging Christina along in his wake, Sander returned to Amy, nudging her legs apart with his foot before bending the dark haired woman double, forcing her head between Amy's legs and against her pussy. He growled something under his breath, just to the bent over woman herself, and Amy yelped at the sudden wet pressure of her tongue, up against an already oversensitive clit.

She couldn't help but moan afterwards, of course.

Though she became absorbed in Christina's reluctant oral attentions quite quickly, so unfortunately aroused had she been, Amy couldn't help but notice what Sander was doing; keeping an eye on Sander had proven to be something of a survival skill for her. Humming quietly to himself, he sought to arrange Christina's backside in a specific way, spreading the girl's legs wider and having her bent at the hips rather than via some curvature of the spine or bended knee.

It didn't take a genius to see what would come next, but Amy still winced in sympathy at Christina's suffering groan, once Sander had positioned himself at her hindquarters and still with his pants open from earlier, thrust forward.

'Such a small cost, really,' Sander grunted, slowly withdrawing himself from Christina before pushing back in all at once, drawing another wordless sound from the girl. 'In return from being saved from slavery or destitution. Because that's really what you were all this time here, Lady de Souza; not a cat burglar, but a homeless person.'

Perhaps he kept speaking, perhaps he remained silent and simply concentrated on fucking Christina, but Amy didn't care either way. Her pussy, already aching and denied from earlier, had begun to contract, clit shrieking with the sensation of Christina's lips and tongue, a shameful and traitorous orgasm overtaking her all too quickly. She whimpered, the sound tiny and all but swallowed up by the much larger sounds that Christina and Sander were making, as pleasure rippled through her in waves, rounding the curves of her hips. She shuddered in shame, her thighs gripping Christina's head as, beyond the both of them, Sander tightened and growled, presumably in the grips of his own orgasm.

Christina closed her eyes, and in the corners of them, Amy could see tears.

'Okay!' Sander said finally, clapping his hands together as he stepped away from the women, all bounce and evil grins. 'Well, this has been a productive day, hasn't it? All these things happening! Take five, ladies, I need to make a call.'

He turned his back, reaching for his earpiece in the process, but when he spoke, it was plenty loud enough for anyone nearby to hear.

'Hey hey, Sander here! Hi Ren, job's done, we're heading back...'

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

Up above the scene below, beyond the exterior of the arcology's dome and ascending further into the upper atmosphere, something stirred and moved. A ship descended, rounded edges and sleek, chromed red metal concealing the more oblong engine blocks and flight elements. Lights blinked off and on across the metal skin of the hull, alerting anything in nearby airspace to the presence of the hulking ship dropping steadily out of the sky.