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Tuesday, June 8th, 2010 10:56 pm
Story: Collared
Author: The oh-my-goddess-I-did-not-just-write-this [livejournal.com profile] loveslashangst
Co-Author: the welcome-to-the-dark-side-we-have-cookies [livejournal.com profile] ophymirage
Characters: Amy Pond, Evil!Eleventh Doctor, Captain John Hart, Captain Jack Harkness, OC.
Pairings Amy/Evil!Eleven. Amy/OC. Amy/OA (Original Alien).
Kinks: Written for the “Wild Card” kink_bingo prompt. XXX for porn, porn, and more porn. Dub-con. Non-con. Slavery (voluntary and otherwise). BDSM. Alien!sex. Evil. And more evil. Oh, and lots of profanity. Other things for which I’m going to Hell.
WARNINGS: NON-CON. Knife-play. (Not together.) Pain-play (mentioned).
Disclaimer: I don’t own this lot, and they are profoundly glad I don’t. Did I mention I’m going to Hell for this? The Sulamid is still borrowed and revamped from Ceefax the Sane.
Spoilers: Series 5 Doctor Who. Sometime. Not sure. This is the sequel to “The Doctor Dances Darkly”, so we’re already AU as it is.
Summary: The Doctor is evil. Rory is dead. Amy is a nympho with a taste for dark sex. Unfortunately, she keeps wandering off. So it’s up to the Doctor to teach her a lesson she will NEVER forget.

Okay, so here’s the dealio…

This is the darkest thing I’ve ever written. For perspective, “The Doctor Dances Darkly” was a WARMUP to this. When TDDD was posted to the [livejournal.com profile] eleventy_kink meme, we got an inspirational request for a sequel from the kink's OP:

Despite the mind-fuckery Dark!Doctor has committed on Amy, part of her psyche isn't taking his domination completely seriously, making her rebel slightly, act out - go wandering off, for example.

To show her the danger of his actions, the Doctor takes her to a planet where he knows she'll wander off, and she promptly gets captured and sold as a slave.

She's at auction and thinks that the Doctor will bid on her, but he deliberately lets her get bought by someone else?

He rescues her eventually, but makes her live as his slave - collar, leash, gags, beatings, forced sex, the works - until she fully submits to him.

Bonus if by this point she loves it, and doesn't want the collar to come off, which is useful because he plans on keeping her on a leash permanently now.

We've taken the prompt and played with it. If you want to keep Eleven in your head as a sweet-yet-curmudgeonly professorial type, run FAR FAR away. If you don’t mind taking a blowtorch to anything even remotely canon, all in the name of porn that’s perverted (even for me/us), read on.

And consider yourselves warned.

On with the show…

The Doctor wasn’t going to do it, but then Amy pissed him off for the last time, the disobedient tart. Now no matter what happens, it’s her fault.

He has three rules. They’re simple rules. Two syllables or less so they’re easy to remember, even for stupid apes: “Do what I tell you. Don’t ask stupid questions. Don’t wander off.”

Despite being a fantastic shag with a masochistic streak (and a natural ginger, the bitch) Amy cannot seem to grasp -- let alone follow -- any of the above rules. She’s mouthy. Stubborn. Nosy. And once she gets a wild hair about the “right” thing to do, there’s just no reasoning with her.

So of course, he brought her to Naos.

He loves Naos. A man can buy anything here, especially if it’s alive, breathing, fuckable, and speaks a language. Slave traders have made this place their home for about two thousand years now. He lured Amy here with the promise of “the Sotheby’s of planets”. Told her it was something like Lloyd’s of London, only slightly less ruthless.

And she bought it. Now, this would’ve been a fine thing. He might even have sprung for a lovely lad so they could have a dirty weekend showing Amy the joys of a threesome. Or at least have bought her a few new shiny and vibrating toys to keep her occupied. But she just had to go and break one of his Three Rules. She realized the collection of spacecraft and vessels was a cobbled-together slavers’ paradise and had to swan off to try to free the very lad the Doctor had been eyeing as a shag-tastic potential sub candidate.

He sighs impatiently as he consults the sonic screwdriver. (Have to isolate where in this mishmash of mutually-docked spacecraft his own property has got to.) He would just chuck the whole hero pretence and buy himself a new plaything, but Companions are so bloody time-consuming to have to break in. (Besides, why buy what you can steal under the guise of virtue?) He’d finally gotten Amy used to the four-to-five-a-day regimen that he prefers. Had shown her the real uses for just about every orifice on her body. Discovered that her love of receiving pain mixed with pleasure almost rivals his own love of giving it.

And she’s a natural ginger. Even down to the minge. Damn that girl.

Fortunately, he had a chance to observe her before she ran off to rescue her slave boy. See what kind of aliens would freak her out the most without snapping her mind completely. He’s looking for milder trauma, the kind that leaves a mark, but doesn’t incapacitate, as he’s got serious plans for that lovely little arse of her once he finds and retrieves it.

She squicks at tentacles. He’s rifled through her memories enough to “see” the time she found some truly vile hentai in Jeff’s web history. To her credit, she did break up with him, mostly because he wasn’t nearly as inventive as his taste in kink might indicate. And the Complication, of course, was too much the gentleman to imagine the sound fucking that actually does it for his intended. Thus, the Doctor’s had the responsibility of nearly all her training. Lucky for him, someone jammed a fifty-first century libido into Amy’s curvaceous twenty-first century body, so it’s been easy enough to employ basic reward/punishment classical conditioning for her training.

Punishing Amy. Yes. There’s a Sulamid captain skulking around. Gorgeous species, all smooth tentacles, big watery eyes, and colour-change skin. Like shagging a psychedelic humanoid octopus. And they have a fetish for humans, as do most of the species here in the 38th century.

So the Doctor makes the captain an offer that turns him shades of pulsing pale green and red with lust. Amy’s sure to get captured sooner or later. When she is, and then isn’t claimed by anyone, she’ll be put up on the auction block. Enter Captain Squick (whose actual name is “Lir”, pronounced like an uncomfortable stare), with a pocketful of credits supplied by Yours Truly, and the fun should begin. The Doctor makes sure to pad the purse a bit, promising Captain Squick that he’ll get to enjoy the girl (in the biblical sense, of course) for the better part of a week before the Doctor comes and “rescues” her. The colour patterns speed. Takes Captain Squick half a deck to stop flashing pale green.

Amy wants to be obstinate? Let her fuck with technicolor humanoid hentai. Then maybe she’ll listen when the Doctor tells her not to fucking wander off.

Sonic screwdriver says she’s on the next ship. Moving quickly. Probably running for it, knowing her. She’s a wily little minx, and has probably already sprung her slave boy. Good. Things should time out perfectly.

His next stop is the Bouncers. Cops aren’t welcome near Naos, nor are Shadow Proclamation, Judoon, or Time Agents, but every self-respecting hive of scum and villainy needs someone to make sure things stay (relatively) civilized. The Doctor collars a (more or less) lady Bouncer. Explains what nonsense his Sub has got up to. Gives her Amy’s last known location and likely escape route. Plans out with her what he’ll do when they find his missing shag-toy. Greases another palm and makes another deal.

Feeling much more cheerful, the Doctor whistles his way toward the Main Auction Bay, which is currently on a commandeered Tlaxian luxury cruiser. House S’ian’s boys are back in fighting trim again. Nice ship they stole.


Amy is running for her life. And not only for her own life, but for Naet’s as well. His hand is hot in hers. They dodge and duck through the crowd. He pulls her into an alcove. Hits a button. The door slides shut. They’re alone in a little space that’s either an escape pod or a lift.

Check that. There are random coats at Naet’s back. It’s a bloody closet.

He kisses her. The rows of decorative chains across his neck and chest clink and chime enticingly. Because he’s a slave, his master has him dressed (if you can call it that) in little more than chains and a mini-kilt that just barely covers his arse. She can smell the heat of him. Sweat and arousal and dear GOD the man can kiss.

Adrenaline is a heady high. Makes it hard to think straight. And she’s in a very short skirt of her own, mostly because whenever the Doctor takes her anyplace, they usually end up finding a convenient place to shag. And she’s learned to associate running with the Doctor fucking the life out of her after. She needs a cock in her, RIGHT NOW, just at the thought of him.

Naet’s built like a dream and dressed like the coverboy of a top-shelf spank-mag. He also kisses like he hasn’t had any decent action since puberty, his hands all over her. And she’s not going to stop him. She probably should -- the Doctor’s awfully possessive and not known for playing nicely -- but a quick, hot fuck is exactly what she needs. A good orgasm -- maybe even two, if she can get herself off quickly enough -- and then she’ll see about finding the Doctor. (And it’ll serve him right for not being here now.)

She reaches down to find what Naet’s got under his short kilt and is pleased to find that Scots aren’t the only ones who go Regimental. No doubt he expected to find knickers in the way, but the Doctor’s such an unpredictable sex partner that she’s taken to wearing crotchless panties. Saves time and prevents her unmentionables from being summarily ripped or sonic’d off when the Doctor gets impatient.

She wraps her hand around Naet’s cock. Gives him a few quick strokes. He moans. Buries his mouth in her neck. Sucks hard. Shit. MARKS. The Doctor’s gonna know what she’s been doing. She presses down the panic. No. Not this time. Let him know. Let him be jealous. It’ll just mean he’ll be rougher than usual, which will suit them both.

The cock in her hand is thick. Hot. (So much hotter than the Doctor.) Not quite as long as she’d like, but still good. And the idea of getting her own back with just a little rebellion is really, really hot. The Doctor’s gonna be well pissed, and both of them will…

Naet’s strong enough to pick her up. She wraps her legs around his waist. He pins her to the wall. Spreads her thighs wide. Fucks in hard and fast. Bounces her on his hips. God, he’s lovely… And she’s going to… Going to… goingtogoingtogoingto…!

The door rips open. Naet freezes mid-stroke, mouth hanging open. He looks terrified and (alas) a bit trout-like.

She’s not sure what cops look like in the 38th century, but she’s guessing that the black leather gear this lot is sporting is their version of a bobby’s costume.

They demand to see her identification. She left her purse on the TARDIS, not that an ID from Leadworth would be terribly helpful here.

They demand a sample of her DNA. She holds out an arm for the shot-hypo-thingie.

They demand the name of her master. She goggles at the thought.

They snatch her and Naet out. Check the ident tag implanted in his collar. Hustle him off. He looks like he’s about to cry. One of them (the one who might be female) snaps a collar around her neck. Puts a lead on it, like she’s a dog.

She tries to object. The woman yanks the lead.

She tries to call out. The woman yanks the lead.

She grabs the lead. The woman brandishes a short thing that looks like a riding crop. Rogue electricity crackles threateningly around its tip.

Pissed off, Amy tugs harder. The woman switches her arse with a charge that rips a scream out of her.

She decides that it’s better to go with them and hope for the Doctor to come for her.

Apparently, Naet’s costume was not just due to the tragically poor taste of his master, but appears to be standard for those in servitude. Also, becoming a slave here involves losing all of one’s clothing. Amy tries to hold onto the crotchless knickers (any panties are better than none), but the woman cop just flips open a switch-blade and cuts them off of her. Runs fingers (embarrassingly) through her still-dripping and unsatisfied slit.

Amy yelps, furious, but the cop just grins and shows her dampened fingers off to her teammates, who laugh and finish stripping her.

When she shouts for the Doctor, they gag her.

When she fights back, they restrain her with wrist cuffs that hook to a belt around her waist.

When she tries to make a run for it, they stun her silly.

One of the cop people (a big, burly guy) picks her up and throws her over his shoulder. She can hear the sounds of an auction ahead, and wishes hopelessly that the Doctor will find her quickly.


The Doctor is well pleased with the proceedings. Caught in the act, stripped and processed, and now carried off to be sold. Life is good, and his part in this little melodrama is about to unfold. Like the consummate actor he is, he takes his place and prepares to make the scene.


This can’t be happening. Amy’s set on a platform. The Auctioneer has her turned around. They place a webbing of wires on her head. It projects a series of holograms.

Her and the Doctor’s first violent shag after they lost Rory. The series of quickies by and in the pool. Fucking in his room. Fucking in her room. That really fantastic blowjob she gave him on the last planet they were on. Him bending her over the console. Stripping her bare. Tying her up. Switching arse and quim till she begged him to fuck her. Using a whole arsenal of toys on her till she screamed. Fucking her: up, down and sideways. The first time he took her arse. Coming in her. Coming because of her. Coming on her.

It’s both humiliating and hypnotic to watch. She’s dimly aware of the Auctioneer touting her sexual prowess. Saying the next master will “barely have to break this one in.”

She looks out at the crowd and shudders. No humans. No Doctor. Nothing even vaguely familiar.

With a crackle of an electro-static gavel, the bidding begins.

Wait, there’s hope. A deadly handsome man in a bright red coat. Human, with wavy blondish-brown hair, killer cheekbones, blue-grey eyes, and the kind of mouth a girl could kiss for days. That one might not be so bad. OOH! And he’s bidding.

But so is that oh-my-god-what-escaped-from-the-nightmare-aquarium alien to his right. If cephalopods could leer, that one is.

There’s another man, though. Dark hair. Blue eyes. The look of a film idol from years ago. He might not be bad either.

He comes over to Red Coat. Whispers something in his ear. Sits down next to him. Eyes Amy up like she’s a lamb roast in a butcher’s display case. They’re together? This is definitely promising.

Blue Eyes leans over as Red Coat raises his hand again. The holographic display’s still riffling her memories above her head -- she catches a glimpse of Jeff’s orgasm-face (ew, talk about things she never needed to see again) -- so she focuses instead on these two, who are at least human, and tries to look encouragingly at them.

The two of them together -- that would be something, wouldn’t it? Maybe a bit of all right. Being held between them? Fucking one and sucking the other? Her body tightens. God, she wouldn’t mind at all having them between her legs. Either. Both. (If only she’d been able to finish with Naet she could’ve at least taken the edge off. Dammit!) She keeps her eyes on Red Coat and his even more gorgeous friend. Maybe they’d take turns? Maybe even…

Red Coat sits up, eyes wide and alert. Signals again to the auctioneer. All the ennui has vanished from his body language. Something’s gotten him hot, bothered, and a bit hyper to keep raising the price. Unfortunately, the tentacle thing and a few others are also much more enthusiastic as well. (Red Coat and his friend are still the only humans in the crowd.) Red Coat leans back, one hand casually rubbing the rather impressive bulge in his jeans. Points out something to Blue Eyes, who is ignoring him in favor of scanning the crowd like a third-year in Honeydukes.

Something else with spines (quills?) saunters over to the two humans. Blue Eyes looks up. Grins. Drags the alien down by one (paw? Appendage?) onto his lap. The two begin necking enthusiastically.

Shit. The prettiest ones are always the kinkiest.

Okay. Red Coat’s still bidding, the stubbornly insistent raise of a gorgeous hand. He has a devilish look in his eyes, but at least he only has two eyes and two hands. There’s hope.

Then she notices what’s on the hologram. The thing on her head’s not reading her memories anymore. Above her, a virtual her has Blue Eyes’ cock in her mouth while Red Coat enthusiastically fucks her from behind. The threesome (imaginary! She was just trying not to get bought by something alien and horrid!) changes positions. Again. Again. Again.

Horrified, she looks to the auctioneer. Never slowing his spill of numbers and cajoling for a moment, he grins evilly at her.

The hologram thing’s reading her mind. She tries to go blank. It just begins to loop, showing her and the Doctor one minute . Her and the lovely pair of humans the next.

And still her price goes higher.

A familiar voice chimes in. Outbids them all. Her entire body relaxes. Her Doctor. It’s him. He’s going to save her. That long, lanky body she loves so well appears at the front of the crowd. He looks both annoyed and reassuring (and more than a little aroused.) She must be a hell of a spectacle in her chain top and very short skirt. His eyes sweep her from head to toe, a quick perusal, but enough to turn the visuals on the hologram back to just the memories of her and him.

He grins at her and signals the auctioneer again.

Annoyed, Red Coat protests the bid. Calls for the Doctor to put up or shut up. Amy’s heart is beating too fast as the Doctor approaches the auctioneer’s table; he never has enough money, and these are not the kind of people to bluff with.

Tentacle Monster, flashing pale green and black, joins the objection. The Doctor tries to talk his way out, but she can see already that -- as always -- he just jumped in on this one.

When they discover the Doctor has no money of any kind, they drag him off. His eyes meet hers. “Don’t wander off! I’ll come for you!”

She tries to leap from the stage. Hits an invisible barrier. It knocks her to the ground, where she lays, stunned.

Two of the bondage cops come and pick her up. Shorten her chain to the platform till she’s bent nearly double. She blushes down to her nipples to think of how on display she is now. And it’s just turning her on more.

The bidding resumes, more hard-fought than ever. Happily, Red Coat is winning. She might be saved.

As he bids, Red Coat takes out a knife. Looks irritatedly at Blue Eyes and the hedgehog thing, whose quills have been slowly erecting under the man’s stroking hands. Red Coat presses the knife blade to Blue Eyes’ (gorgeous) jawline and the man freezes. Slowly withdraws his hands. Smiles his regret to the hedgehog alien, who smiles in return. Another warning glare from Red Coat and the alien beats a hasty retreat.

Blue Eyes pouts. And god, he’s cute when he does. Red Coat presses the knife to the perfect skin at Blue Eyes’ collar. Just enough to cause a thin line of red to bead up. Blue Eyes moans, audible even over the noise of the hologram and the auctioneer’s gavel and the steady patter of the auctioneer.

Red Coat withdraws the blade. Licks the edge of it. Blue Eyes leans forward. Licks the other edge of the knife. His tongue tangles openly with that of his partner as they lick the blood off the very sharp and very shiny blade.

The auctioneer is demanding. Cajoling. Trying to get Red Coat to go even higher. Red Coat reluctantly pulls back from the knife-bladed kiss. Waves a graceful hand to signal his bid. Blue Eyes eyes her the way a footballer looks at a pint. Leans back and stretches both legs out. And because the cut of his trousers leaves nothing to the imagination, she can tell how much he’s enjoying the proceedings. Though the wound at his throat has clotted, his neck is still smeared with it.

Even as he continues to bid, Red Coat runs the dagger up Blue Eyes’ chest. Digs the point near a nipple. Along his jaw. Over his lips. Foreplay. Shit. This is their idea of foreplay. And if this is what they’re willing to do in public…

With a start, she realizes how much unmarked white skin she is showing. They’re going to buy her and carve her up.

Frantic, she looks around, hoping for other bidders. Worse and worse -- while she was focusing on the Psycho Knife Twins, her price skyrocketed. Apparently, it’s now too rich for most of the bidders’ blood, though there are certainly plenty of eyes (and other frightening appendages) focussed on the proceedings. The only competitor left is Tentacle Monster.

So now it’s living sushi or sushi chef. Which one’s worse?

The auctioneer is challenging the Sushi. Oh god, he doubles the asking price. The auctioneer turns to Red Coat and Blue Eyes. There’s a whispered exchange that turns heated. Eventually, Red Coat, sulking and annoyed, shakes his head no.

The gavel falls with a crackling thwack. The Sushi has won.

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Crossposted to [livejournal.com profile] eleven_amy, [livejournal.com profile] elevenfic, and [livejournal.com profile] dont_wander_off