January 2011

S M T W T F S
      1
2345 678
9101112131415
16171819202122
23242526272829
3031     

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Saturday, June 12th, 2010 10:02 pm
Story: Collared
Author: The enjoying-this-more-than-is-comfortable [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, OAC (Original Alien Character).
Pairings Amy/Evil!Eleven. Amy/OC. Amy/OA (Original Alien).
Kinks: This chapter is written for the “drugs/aphrodisiacs” kink_bingo prompt. XXX for porn, porn, and more porn. Dub-con. Non-con. Slavery (voluntary and otherwise). BDSM. Alien!sex. Begging. Holding down. Forced sex. Abuse of orifices. Collar/leash-training. Electrical-play. Vaginal and anal plugs. Spanking. Evil. More evil. Profanity. And I’m pretty sure that if this section doesn’t make sure I’m going to Hell, the next instalment will.
WARNINGS: NON-CON. Lots of it. Human/alien!sex. Pain-play (implied and threatened). Seriously, folks, the first draft squicked my co-author, and y’all know how pervy O is.
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” alien is still borrowed and revamped from Ceefax the Sane.
Spoilers: Series 5 Doctor Who. Sometime. Not sure when, but not sure it matters. 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…

Part 2 took me a little longer than planned, because the first attempt squicked O, the second draft wasn’t rough enough [O sez: Hey, I’m picky.], and then I had to rewrite again to get to the “Goldilocks” draft. (e.g. “just right”) Part 3 will prolly be similarly longer-than-I’d-intended in the drafting/beta-ing process, because it just gets kinkier and rougher from here. (Plus, I think it’s HIGH time Eleven got a taste of his own medicine.)

Part of what makes this hard is this is the farthest I’ve ever travelled outside my comfort zone when it comes to NonCon. (I usually have a solid “consent only” policy.) Also, please don’t mistake this for an Amy-hating fic. I don’t hate her even slightly. I actually love her most of all the recent Companions.

But you know what they say about hurting the ones you love…

One final warning before we begin. PLEASE stop reading if you squick at alien!sex or NonCon (i.e. rape!fic). The camera does not pan up, cut away, or flinch from anything that happens here.

On with the show…



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

Amy goes numb. It’s as if the skin on her face doesn’t quite connect with the tissue underneath. As if someone’s put a cold gel all over her body. For a moment, all she can do is stare in disbelief as they take the wire-thingies off her head and the gag from her mouth. The holographic generator goes dark.

The Doctor didn’t come for her.

Not yet. But he will. He always does. (Even if it’s years later. God DAMN him.) When the bondage cops come for her, she doesn’t fight. Lets them clip a lead onto her collar. Follows them without comment or complaint as they lead her to another room. (Maybe some kind of examination room? There’s a table in there like the kind she’s seen in a doctor’s office.) She keeps her eyes on the ground -- if she looks at the Sushi, she’ll panic. Besides, meek and docile is less likely to get her arse kicked until she can think of a way out of this.

The Sushi comes in, the female bondage cop places Amy’s lead in one of his two-pronged tentacles, which ripples in bands of red and pale green, and the nightmare becomes real.

And then they leave her there. Alone. She stares hard at the floor. She’ll be damned if she’s going to let this bastard see her cry.

“I am Captain Lir,” says the thing in a harsh voice. He literally sounds like a fish out of water -- as if the air’s too dry for him, which it probably is. He reaches out to touch her collar, which pulses and beeps its way to life. “I understand you are called ‘Amy.’ You are now mine; my slave to be used for my gratification and enjoyment. Do you understand me?”

She keeps her eyes firmly on the floor.

He jerks the lead. “Do you understand, Amy? Answer.”

She bites her lip. Her throat closes down on what little voice she might’ve had.

With a bubbling sigh, the alien flicks a bifurcated tentacle. Apparently, it’s his species’ equivalent of clicking his fingers.

Pain. White hot. Radiating out and down. Too intense to scream. Hurts. Everywhere. Can’t. Breathe. When she can see again, she’s flat on the decking. Convulsing. Back arching. Can’t move.

She’s dimly aware of the Sushi (Lir. Captain Lir.) shouting at the top of his voice. The room is suddenly full of bondage cops. “… too expensive for so high a setting!” Lir shouts. “Ramp it down or I will return the goods and demand a refund!”

Someone fiddles with her collar. A sound that’s painfully close to the buzz of the Doctor’s sonic screwdriver. The agony stops as suddenly as it started, leaving her dizzy and limp. Pinpricks of light waltz in crazy patterns before her eyes. That’s not good. But she might be able to move now. A voice that blurs in and out assures her new master that she should be fine.

Captain (Sushi) Lir kneels, a puddle of tentacles, beside her. Caresses her face, a brush of smooth muscle. “Slave. Amy. Speak if you can.”

“He’s going…” Her mouth has never been so dry, like static electricity on her tongue. “To kill you all.”

Aqua blue. Concern? With luck, she won’t know him long enough to have to learn the colour code. “Who will?”

She swallows hard. Moistens her lips. “The Doctor.”

“Which doctor?” he says.

“The Doctor,” she says. “My Doctor.”

“Your former master?” Orange ripples of amusement. Like an octopus, not only does the alien change colour, but every colour has its own texture. Orange is vaguely spiky. Lir chuckles lowly, a rush of cool air. “You’re very naïve, Amy. No one is coming for you. Now. Address me by my name.”

Tears leak from the corners of her eyes. She blinks them away, impatient. “Captain… Lir.”

“Good. Kneel.”

She fights her way up to kneeling, determined to keep whatever dignity she can muster under the circumstances. (Going from sprawled to kneeling is hard when one’s hands are bound to one’s waist.)

Orange and red, with spots of pale green that pulse as she watches. It’s mildly hypnotic. “Good,” says her master. “Now we finish the preliminaries and I can take you home.” He peers at her. (Don’t flinch. Don’t flinch. And don’t pull away.) “If I unbind you, will you be calm and submissive?”

She nods.

He looks unconvinced. (Which is kinda turquoise-y.) He fingers the lead.

“I will be calm and submissive,” she says, then thinks to add, “Captain Lir.” When the Doctor did this kind of dominant/submissive thing, he usually insisted on absolute politeness. (Which is a fuck of a turn-on.) And no matter what he threatened, it was always a game to get them both off. The key was to pretend to obey and appeal to his ego.

She’s going to hang onto that thought. This thing’s spent a fortune on her, and he obviously doesn’t want her damaged or he wouldn’t have just bawled out the guys for setting her collar too high. She’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to kill her. He definitely does want sex, but maybe she can make some kind of deal that’ll fend him off until the Doctor comes for her.

Lir unbuckles the wrist-cuffs, though not the belt. Okay. This is better. As a gesture of good faith, she puts her hands on the tops of her thighs, kneeling demurely. (Though as soon as she spots anything that can be used as a weapon, this guy’s in a lot of trouble.)

“Beautiful,” Lir breathes. She squeezes her eyes closed as he reaches out to caress her face. Turns it to one side, then to the other. “You are unharmed?”

“Yes, Captain Lir.” Thank god he’s not slimy. She couldn’t have handled slimy. He’s not insect-y or spider-y either, which is also a mercy. Instead, he’s sort of… snakelike. Smooth. Neither cool nor warm. He’s all muscle under the skin, though. She has no doubt that he’s very dangerous when pissed off, so yeah, the goal is definitely not to piss him off. So she’ll play the slave. Maybe turn on the flirt a little. Cock-tease if she has to, but mostly stay out of grabbing range and look for a way out.

The Doctor better get here soon, because this is just not on.

“Just beautiful,” the alien captain says, sounding smug.

She remembers her manners. “Thank you, Captain Lir.”

Rippling textured red and smooth pale green, Lir beckons a servant over. It’s vaguely cat-man-ish, about the size of a ten-year-old human, and she has no idea whether it’s “boy”, “girl”, or “other”. The servant presents Lir with what appears to be some kind of briefcase. Humming his satisfaction, Lir opens it with a flourish. Inside, nested in a form-fitting layer of cushioning foam, are two things Amy can’t identify. Short. Squat. Smooth. Kind of contoured, though they’re narrower at the top, flare in the middle, shrink down to a little stem, and then each has a flat, slender base. Kind of like a mushroom on a stand. They’re small, though.

And she suddenly has a very bad feeling about this.

“Lie on the table,” the alien says. “And part your legs to present your sex.”

Not good. Not good. Not good. Okay, how to tell him to sod off without pissing him off? “Please, Captain Lir. I mean…”

“Lie on the table,” he repeats. “And part your legs to present your sex.”

She freezes.

He huffs, annoyed. “I’m not going to fuck you in here in front of the Bouncers, Amy -- it’s beneath my station. You’re for my private pleasure only. Let those who want to watch buy their own human. Now do as you’re told.”

Shaking, she lies on the table. Spreads her knees. Tries to think of this as some kind of demented gynaecological exam.

She does jump at the first touch on her privates. She can’t help it. She has to force her breathing to slow. Hyperventilating won’t help her. She looks anywhere but at the (monster) alien standing between her knees.

He’s actually being fairly decent about it, clinical and impersonal. Maybe parting a girl’s labia to expose her quim is part of his normal daily regimen. She inhales hard when the smooth metal slides inside. It doesn’t hurt, but it is weird.

“You may touch this without injury,” Lir says. “As may I. Any others will… regret… their interest. You are for me and me alone.” He reaches for the second object (plug, oh shit, it’s a plug). Considers it. “Each of these will track the number of times they are removed. If I discover you’ve removed them for anyone but me, I will kill you both.”

She forces her voice to work, “Yes, Captain Lir.”

She yelps when he slides the second one into her arse. Again, it’s not pain, just a rude fucking shock. “Every orifice,” he continues, “is bought and paid for. You exist only for my pleasure.”

When she glares at him, he does the tentacle-flick thing.

Pain. Radiating down from the damn collar. Not as bad as last time, but enough to make her whimper.

“I can be kind,” he says. “Or I can be cruel. If you are kind to me, I will be kind to you. Do you understand?”

She struggles to get her breathing under control. “Yes… Captain…Lir.”

Tentacle click. The pain stops as suddenly as it starts. “Good. Get off the table, kneel on the floor, and wait for my command.”

Determination alone helps her wriggle off the table and onto the floor. The plugs shift inside her as she kneels. They’re surprisingly comfortable for all that they’re fucking weird. She resists the urge to wriggle too much, as she’d really rather not get shocked again. Okay. She can survive this. The Doctor’s probably somewhere near here. Maybe fighting off bondage cops and whatever else is in his way. But he’s smart. Smarter than anyone she’s ever met. And he loves her madly enough that he can barely keep his hands off her when they’re together. That means he’s coming for her.

And she’s starting to feel like she’s been on her knees forever. She blushes, humiliated and angry to have such an audience. From what she can see out of the corners of her eyes, the bondage cops look entertained.

“I watched your neural net display,” says Lir. “You served your previous master frequently and well. Now you will serve me.”

She hears herself say the obedient words again, and is determined not to let this asshole break her. No matter what he does, she can take it. It’s like being a kiss-o-gram (which she was damn good at) only more intense. She can survive until the Doctor comes for her.

Lir caresses her face again. Threads curious tentacles through her hair. She shuts her eyes. Tries to concentrate on the texture instead of thinking about what’s touching her. Like weird snakeskin, or someone with odd gloves. It’s weird to have one person be able to touch her in so many places, but it’s not all bad either. She can do this. Just focus on the here and now. The alien strokes down her arms. Up over her thighs. Jingles through the chains on her chest. Across her face. There now, that’s not so bad, now is it? He thinks she’s beautiful. That’s a good thing. She’ll just play along, lull him into a false sense of security and maybe look for a chance to pull a Princess Leia and throttle him with her lead.

“So lovely,” Lir says. (And what a mercy that, unlike the Doctor, he can’t appear to read thoughts.) He pulls her gently to her feet.

She forces herself to stand without flinching as he keeps running his (don’t say tentacle, don’t say tentacle) hands all over her. Fingers, right? Sexy little fingers. Dozens of them. That thought actually reminds her of the time Jeff took her down to London. The two of them got high as kites on E at a rave. Everyone was stoned off their arses. Dancing with absolute freedom. Touching each other because just feeling another person’s body, clothes, or skin was like a revelation. Like the second coming. And she did come, first on a stranger’s hand, then when Jeff shagged her nice and hard in the loo.

“And where are you now?” Lir’s rough voice startles her. “When you wish to be away from reality?” A forked tentacle grips her chin and face.

“A dance,” she admits. A little truth makes the lying easier -- something she learnt from the Doctor. (Don’t open your eyes. Keep ‘em closed. You can talk to him with eyes closed.) “We took drugs. Danced. Touched each other. It was sexy.”

Slightly spiky and roughened stripes ripple along her skin. (Hands. They’re hands in textured gloves.)

“I like this plan,” Lir says.

The trip back to the ship is a blur. A total of four of the little cat-man aliens flank them as they march through the crowd. They don’t look like much of a bodyguard detail until a careless blue alien gets too close. Then the claws and fangs come out (literally). And the little guys must have a helluva reputation, because the alien backpedals with almost cartoonish haste. She concentrates on decking or on the back of the head of the on ahead and to the right of her. It’s easier -- there are too many sights and sounds in the crowded halls. She lets Lir lead her, tries to remember how many turns to the left and right, but she swears he’s leading her in circles.

They finally get to the portal to a ship. Lir speaks a few guttural words to the cat-man security team, who obediently peel off and go somewhere else. She doesn’t look too hard for fear of another shock from the collar.

Lir passes a tentacle over a panel by the portal. It opens. Gathering her courage, she steps inside.

It’s actually pretty nice. Not the phallic, smooth-hulled type she’d expect. Slightly boxy. Room for only a few passengers. Lots of windows. Looks safe and stout. (She’s being kidnapped by a Sushi in a 38th century Volvo.)

He indicates her seat. She sits, heart beating and nervous. “Dancing,” she says. “Do you like to dance?”

“Yes,” he says, settling a whole lot of appendages into a cradling chair like an oversized egg-cup. “Though not while I’m flying.” He gives her a sidelong look. “You may, though, once we’ve undocked and our course is set.”

She clings to the hope that undocking will be a long and elaborate process. Looks around frantically. No obvious big red button that she might hit to disable the ship and run for it. The plugs really are disturbingly comfortable. She could probably shift like a sprinter, even with them in. However, a few clunks and snaps outside and the futuristic “saloon car” is free. Lir pilots it with too many appendages in too many places for her to have any hope of driving the thing, even if she could commandeer it.

The star they’d been at disappears from view. And she is NOT going to cry. She’s not dead yet, she’s still got all her parts, and the Doctor is coming for her. Any minute now.

The alien captain flicks on music. It’s weird, the singer sounds like the shrieking of a rat being ritually strangled, but it has a decent beat. “Open your mouth,” he says.

This does not bode well, but the alternatives are worse, so she obeys.

He sets a small round thing on her tongue. Sweet. Gritty. It dissolves instantly. A heady rush, like liquid happiness flowing over her. Stronger than the Ecstasy she took with Jeff. And just like that drug, it makes her want to move.

“Again,” he says.

Giggling stupidly, she tries and fails to say no.

Tentacle-click. Pain, though it makes her laugh rather than cry. Another tentacle click.

“Kneel.”

She obeys, still trying not to snicker. (Whatever this stuff is, it’s fantastic.)

“Open your mouth.”

She obeys.

He sets another little pill or something on her tongue. This one’s sharper. Spicier.

“Keep your mouth open,” says Lir. “Let it breathe and wait for it to dissolve.”

She obeys. It’s a slower high. Hard to keep her mouth open for so long, but the drug just lets her relax. She feels giggly and mellow, which she freely owns is not very useful when one is planning an escape.

“Close your mouth,” he says. “And swallow.”

The music no longer sounds shrill and annoying, but exotic. She can feel it, raining on her skin. Sliding over her. Sexy. She sways to it. Closes her eyes so it can touch her.

“Beautiful,” Lir says. “Dance for me, and I will be kind.”

She stands. Represses another giggle at the thought of being ogled by a sentient octopus. Her master. Right. The music moves her body for her. She begins to move in time to the music. Isolates arms. Belly. Hips. It feels so good, a comfortable old habit. This was one of the services she was called out for on a regular basis.

“This used to cost extra,” she says, which is actually true. She’s slurring, though. That should bother her, though she’s struggling to remember why.

“Well worth it,” says the alien. (Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.)

This time, when the tentacle touches her leg, she forgets why she should cringe. It’s so cool! Smooth. Unusual. Weird textures that keep moving in the most hypnotic patterns. She just wants to touch it more. She brushes it up her body, swaying with the music. Wraps it around her. A second one is waving. Like a snake. A pretty boa. Back. Forth. Back. Forth. She can’t stop watching. She reaches out. Catches that one too. Straddles it. Her quim’s gone all hot. She needs to rub against something. She grinds onto her living boa. If Lir weren’t completely repulsive, she’d fuck him willingly. Could use something inside her to finish what the Doctor and Naet started.

“Amy.” But that’s not the Doctor’s voice. Why isn’t it the Doctor’s voice? Shouldn’t he be here by now? He’s always late.

Lir’s mostly pale green and red now. Slowly pulsing stripes that work their way out from the central part of his body. Pretty, for an alien. Kind of fun to watch. Pale green is horny, she thinks. Not sure what red means. Maybe hot and bothered. Most of his “hands” are still on the controls, but a few are reaching for her. They wave before her. She touches them. They feel so good beneath her fingertips. Weird, but good.

Curious, she brings the tip of one of his arms up to her mouth. Touches it to her tongue. Lir shudders beautifully. He tastes slightly salty. Like the ocean. She draws him deeper into her mouth. He feels incredible on her tongue -- pulsing and textured and ALIVE.

A low rumbling that she guesses is a moan.

Giggling, she releases the tip. Shoulder-shimmies to jingle the chains on her chest.

He watches her in rapt fascination. (Pull away. She should pull away, though she can’t think…) She turns away so she can do a nice hip-shimmy that she knows shows off her arse. Yes. This is arse-shaking music. Feels so good. The music is on her and in her and and through her. It’s turning her on like nothing else. The plug in her quim’s rubbing her nicely too. She bears down on it, like the Doctor taught her when he used toys on her. Tighten. Relax. Tighten. Relax. If she can just keep this up, maybe she can finish what the Doctor and Naet started.

Lir’s watching her, his whole body turned to face her.

She continues dancing, though she can’t think of anything clever to say. Clever’s dissolved, along with that spicy little pill he gave her. Eventually, her brain assembles a few words. “How long till we get there?” she flirts.

Lir glances at the display. The lust-stripes move a little faster along his skin. “Long enough.”

How he gets that many tentacles around her that quickly, she’s not sure. The drugs are sweet poison in her veins. She wants to panic, but can’t seem to. And he’s not rough, just… inevitable. “Captain. Lir,” she slurs. “What are you…? I mean I’ve never… ”

“But you will,” he says, pulling her closer.

“I’ve only shagged humans,” she blurts.

“Your former master used you many times a day.” Lir is a bit breathless.

“But he was…” Well, he wasn’t exactly human, was he? “More like me.”

Lir pauses, considering. “So I am the first of my kind to use you?” Amy nods, then shakes her head. Lir flushes nearly pink. “The first of ANY kind?” He chuckles, a surprisingly warm sound from such a rough voice. “Then you are truly worth your price.” He draws her a little closer. “Have no fear, Amy. I will be kind.”

More caresses. She can hardly move. Tentacles. She’s covered in tentacles. Not hands at all. The drug can’t drown the panic. No. No panic. She has to stay calm. How else is she going to get through this?

She focuses on one of the limbs that’s touching her. The skin… It’s actually really pretty. Weird as fuck, but beautiful in its own way. Hypnotic stripes of red and pale green. Rough and smooth. Like someone with gloves on. Gloves. Hands in gloves. That’s good. That’s sexy. Someone with gloves is touching her. “Please…”

“Please, what?” His touch is gentle. Seeking. As if he can’t believe his good fortune. It’s weirdly complimentary. And calming. She gets herself under control. Closes her eyes to focus her mind. She can do this.

“I don’t want you to…” She can’t find the rest of the words through the haze of panic and drug (aphrodisiac?). “Please, Captain Lir. Please don’t.”

He draws her up to her full height. Strokes her face and throat. The chains over her chest jingle slightly as he reaches through them to stroke her tits. She fends off each tentacle. He catches her wrists. Holds her immobile, hands in the air. Waits patiently until she stops struggling.

She keeps her eyes firmly anywhere but on him.

“Look at me,” he says.

She squeezes her eyes tighter shut.

Tentacle-click. The collar lights up. Pain, intense, but not as incapacitating as the first shock back on Naos. “Look at me, Amy” he says firmly. “Or I will be cruel.”

She looks.

She has no idea how many appendages the thing in front of her actually has. And the patterns of colours and textures are making it hard to think clearly. Green-red-green-green-red. Deep eyes. Watery and strange and really not human.

“I am your master,” he says. “And you will serve me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Captain Lir.” The words feel like they’re coming from everywhere but her mouth.

He caresses her face. Throat. Breasts. Everywhere at once. She lets herself relax. The music seeps back into her body. The drugs soothe her. Okay, this isn’t so bad. The plugs are still a warm hardness inside her. When she can think straight, she’ll talk to him… Maybe… Reason…? It’s really not bad at all until he presses her wrists back into the cuffs. Buckles them firmly shut.

The tears bubble up. “Please.” She swallows hard. “Please, Captain. Please.”

“I will be kind,” he soothes. Gentle but firm strokes over her arms. Around and between her breasts. Teasing at her nipples. Running up the insides of her thighs. (And god DAMN the Doctor, because she’s become so used to that being foreplay that she reacts in spite of herself.)

Lir draws her toward what is unmistakably some kind of sleeping platform. She resists.

“Amy,” he says quietly. “Kind or cruel?”

“Kind,” she says. “Please, Captain.”

“Lay down on the bed,” he says.

She obeys. Wishes she were anywhere but here. The drugs are making her feel a little sick.

“Part your knees,” he says.

“If you make me do this, he’ll kill you.” The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them.

A sharp slap across her cheek. And even sharper one across the other. Tentacle-click. Pain. “Your former master is not here,” he says coldly. “I am. Do you wish me to be kind or cruel?”

“Kind.” Her cheeks burn where he struck her. “Please, Captain.”

Tentacle-click. He turns off the pain. She parts her knees. Her pride won’t let her whimper.

Smooth tentacle tips. Gentle. Seeking. Teasing her clit. Parting her labia. Sliding in and along her slit. He moves the plug gently in her quim. In. Out. Slow little movements. She doesn’t want this to feel good. (Where the FUCK is the Doctor?) Super-fine tentacle tips tease under her clitoral hood. Stroke her. She’s still a little wet inside from this morning’s shag with the Doctor (and the half-finished one with Naet). The combination of strokes to clit and plug is honestly rubbing her the right way. She gasps. Pants. He strokes her with the plug. It seems to heat. Resonate a little. And it’s striking just the right spot… she could… she’s going to…

“Oh… oh… I’m… I can’t…” Her voice breaks slightly.

“You may come,” he says graciously.

She comes, shuddering. “Thank you… Captain… Lir.”

“That’s better,” he says. “This is your first time. You do not have to wait for my permission to come.”

“Yes, Captain. Thank you, Captain.” And she both loves and hates the Doctor for having played these kinds of games with her so she knows what to say.

He draws the plug out. Her breath hitches as she damn near comes again. He slips the first appendage (don’t think “tentacle”) inside. Curls up. Rubs. Oh yes, please, right there. (It’s really not fair that aliens have been far better in bed than the two humans she’s been with.) If she doesn’t think about who is doing this, it’s bloody brilliant. Almost as good as what the Doctor does to her. Two tentacles inside. Three. Four. Regular fistings by the Doctor actually come in handy here, as she’s quick to stretch. And she learned from her Time Lord lover not to fight. Not to panic. Just relax and take what he gives her. Trust him.

She spreads her knees wider. Breathes out deeply. Forces her internal muscles to unknot. Trust. Don’t fight.

“Good,” he says. “You will be ready for me soon. I will release you, and you will let me fuck you.”

“Yes!” Then, she realizes what she just said. “No! Wait! I can’t!”

Tentacle-click. Pain. Three sharp slaps across her cheeks. Tentacle-click. She gasps for breath. He’s still moving inside her. “I will release your hands,” he says, more firmly this time. “And you will let me fuck you.”

Tears leak from the corners of her eyes. “Yes, Captain Lir.”

He undoes the wrist cuffs. She reaches out to push him or touch him -- she’s not sure which. His appendages move faster inside her. Speed her. No. No, that’s not right. That’s not fair. He’s not allowed to… It’s not supposed to…

A low, watery chuckle. “You were perfectly made to be used this way.”

She comes, sobbing and cursing, in his arms.

Tentacles wrap around her wrists. Wrap around her body. Turn her over. She kneels up. He clips a chain to the ring in her collar. Presses her hands to the metal headboard. And inside, his (fingers, say fingers) work brilliantly. Slide past each other. She clings to the headboard. Pants. Moans. It’s even better than the Doctor’s hand. Almost as good as his cock.

“Look down,” says a rough voice in her ear.

She looks down. Cries out in sudden horror at the sight of all the tentacles moving in and out of her body.

“What did you expect?” murmurs the rough voice. The fucker sounds amused.

“I just…” she founders against a surge of nausea. “I never… Please, don’t make me watch.”

He is silent for a moment, working inside her. She concentrates on the vile bliss that is the friction inside her cunt so she won’t have to think about him. “If I could… I mean… Not look?”

“I will be kind.” Lir covers her eyes.

She sobs again, this time in relief. It’s so much easier to concentrate without the visuals. One slender tentacle wraps around her throat. The ones inside her speed. Rougher now. She’s coming harder. Harder still. Wrong. This is so wrong. She was only kidding about making the Doctor jealous. That was just a game with a pretty human boy. She never intended this.

He slips (fingers! They’re fingers!) into her mouth. That helps, because now she has something else to focus on. He’s slightly salty. Something like the Doctor’s come, only without the tingling. Lir strokes her tongue. And if she ignores the shifting textures, she can imagine it’s the Doctor. She closes her lips. Sucks, like she would if the Doctor had his cock buried to the balls. He taught her how to deep-throat. She can do that again. She will survive this.

Lir makes a noise of pleasure. The slender (hand! It’s a hand) at her throat tightens, rippling with textures. Smooth. Rough. Prickly. Nubbly. She sucks down harder. Times her breaths. Just like with the Doctor. He made her love to have his cock in her mouth. Between her legs. Anywhere she could. She will not let this break her. She will get free and get back to the man who loves her.

Lir’s got half a dozen things inside her. It’s impossible. Incredible. She comes again. Gushes on him. The mouthful muffles her curses.

He laughs. Envelops her whole body. Spreads her legs a little wider. Withdraws every appendage he had inside her. Her cunt, freshly-fucked and soaking, pulses, aching for more. Empty now and longing to be filled.

He withdraws from her mouth too. Panting, she tries to recover her breath.

“Beg for my cock,” he says.

She shudders. No. Can’t do it. She’s going to have to, but she can’t…

Tentacle-click. Pain. Pouring over her skin in a flood of sensation. She whimpers. Tentacle-click. She forces herself to remain upright.

“Beg for my cock.” She tries to hear it in the Doctor’s voice. He’s got such a gorgeous voice when he’s topping her -- sweet and polite one minute, fierce and demanding the next.

“I…” She can’t let him fuck her. She just can’t.

Tentacle-click. More pain. She grits her teeth and endures. Tentacle-click. She stares at the wall, furious and frustrated and determined not to break.

He huffs annoyance. “I’m ready to fuck you until I come. Beg me to do it or I will cease being kind.”

“No,” she says.

A sharp swat to her cunt. God DAMN him. It’s like he knows what triggers her. The Doctor’s applied the switch to her many times before. Once, he even fucked her with the handle of it before he took her for real. (She shivers with lust at the thought of it.)

“Beg me,” he says again.

“I won’t.”

Two sharp swats. She shivers in traitorous pleasure at the twin shocks to wet and sensitized flesh.

“Beg,” he commands. (The Doctor’s voice. Hear it in the Doctor’s sweet voice.)

“Please.” There. She at least got the word out.

Three sharp swats. (Like the Doctor’s favourite crop. God, she came to love that thing.)

“Please f-f-fuck me,” she says, and this time, she’s starting to mean it.

Four sharp swats. (Nothing so hot as the Doctor, fucking hard against her switch-reddened arse.)

“Please, Captain Lir,” she whispers. “Please fuck me. I want your cock in me.”

Five sharp swats to her cunt. Five more across her arse. She squirms in his grip. His tentacles circle her breasts. Knead. Tease her nipples.

“Please, Captain,” she gasps. “Lir, please. I need your cock in me. I’m begging you to fuck me. Fuck me hard until you come.” If only she could force herself to relax.

“You fear it, don’t you?” he says.

“Yes.” She’s painfully aroused and confused and empty. And her throbbing traitor of a cunt, which of course only remembers how good he felt inside her, aches to be filled.

“But you want it too,” he says. “And I would like to be kind, if you’ll let me.”

“Yes,” she murmurs. “Yes, please.”

Wet hardness slams home. She gasps at the feel of it. Finds Lir’s name on her tongue. He drives deep. Fills her completely with what feels like row after row of flanges. Smooth. Textured. They beat in time to the stripes of colour. He’s flexible and firm and no, no, no it’s not supposed to feel…

She cries out, adrenaline thrilling with the drug in her veins. So good. So fucking good!

He fills her mouth again. Helpless, she sucks at him. Draws him in. Comes on him, a wild spike of pleasure. This is happening. Really happening. She should struggle. She should fight. She wants to. She will. She will when he stops… She doesn’t want him to stop. He’s so hot. So different than the Doctor’s cold fire. Burning flanges move within her at every stroke. Make her shudder.

Tips brush at the plug in her arse. She stiffens. Fights. (No, no, no. You don’t get to take that too.) He overpowers her easily. Muffles her protests. Begins to move the plug in and out. Gently at first. Then faster. Rougher, to match the strange cock that’s burning in her quim.

She comes hard. Sobs around her mouthful. He removes the plug, slowly and torturously. Threads tips inside. Stretches her. Strokes her. Impossible. No. Not again. She refuses…

She comes like a wild thing.

And still he’s not done with her. He builds her again. Higher. Higher. When she’s just on the edge of orgasm, he pulls out, cock from her quim, “fingers” from her mouth and arse.

She whimpers in need.

“Beg,” he says again. “From now on, you must beg for my permission.”

She does. Pleads. Sobs. Begs him by name. Begs and begs and begs.

He slides hard into her arse. A spike so intense she can’t tell if it’s pain or pleasure. She’s beyond caring. He’s fucking her -- that’s all that matters. The chains at her chest chime in rhythm with his strokes. She curses, pleads, calls his name, screams and howls. Begs him to stop. Begs him not to stop.

Tentacle-click. The shock of the collar just makes her come harder. Pain and pleasure blur, sensitizing every inch of her skin. Tentacle-click.

She’s amazed her fingers didn’t leave grooves in the headboard.

He fucks her harder and harder. Deeper and deeper. Forces himself in. Forces her wide. And just when she thinks he’s going to rip her in half, he shudders against her. Gushes inside her. Fills her abused arse with hot slime.

It’s so good she thinks she’s going to die.

He withdraws. Slides the plugs back in. One in her cunt. One in her arse. He closes her legs. Buckles her wrists back into their cuffs. Leaves her huddled against the headboard, sobbing and exhausted and defiled and utterly undone. She shivers even as he goes off to what appears to be a sink. Bathes, a brief hypnotic dance of tentacles. Settles back into his chair, pulsing orange with what is unmistakably self-satisfaction. Meanwhile, she’s still breathless and covered in God knows what. She can still feel him on her. Inside her. Oh god, inside her.

“Exquisite,” he says, “hands” back on the controls. “Worth every credit of your price.”

“He’ll kill you,” she says.

The monster chuckles. “It’s hardly my fault he can’t afford you.”

“He’s going…” Dammit, she’s dissolving into tears. “To kill you.” She fights as long as she can, but eventually the sobs overpower her. She folds in on herself.

He says nothing, manning the controls and pointedly ignoring her. It’s a relief actually. She’s not big on coming unglued in front of people, no matter what they do to her. Besides, this is all some sick dream anyway. It never happened. She’ll wake up soon, safe in the TARDIS. Her Doctor, half-asleep and annoyed, will tell her to go back to sleep. Maybe he’ll even wrap his arms around her. Soothe her. Tell her it’ll be all right.

“Your master was demanding,” says the Captain. “I will be less so. Tell me, how often did he use you?”

It’s just a dream. She can talk to a nightmare -- he’s not even real. “Four,” she manages. “Sometimes five times a day, depending.”

Lir nods. “I will only use you twice. In the mornings, I will be cruel. I will overpower you. You will fight. You will bite. You will hurt me if you can.”

“Yes,” she says with feeling. “Captain Lir.”

“You will feel rage and the rush of the attack,” he says. “It will heighten the sensations. I will use the collar on you if I must. As with tonight, pain will become pleasure.”

She’ll be buggered if she allows him to do any such thing, but she says, “Yes, Captain Lir.”

“Then, I will hold you down and fuck you until I’m satisfied,” he says.

Damn it. She hates him for the twinge of desire that sparks. She should not want him. She does not want him. He’s sick and evil and perverted (and amazing in bed) and she fucking HATES him with every fibre of her being.

“If you are good,” he says, “And I know pleasure, I will return the favour. If you misbehave, I will punish you until I am satisfied. Do you understand?”

Her heart’s beating so fast she can hardly think. Eyes. She’s going to claw out his eyes. There has to be something like a brain behind them if she sinks her fingers in far enough. “Yes, Captain Lir.”

“In the evenings,” he continues, “I will be kind. Intoxicants like the ones you used tonight will be waiting for you, if you wish. You will be unbound. You will go to the bed. You will clip your collar to the headboard. You will place your hands on the headboard. You will part your knees. And you will beg me to fuck you.”

She does NOT want him. Her goddamn cunt needs to shut the hell up, because this is getting seriously fucked-up. Her mind’s a blur, but she manages to say, “Yes, Captain Lir.” Though what she really means is “Your days are numbered.”

He’s pulsing orange with satisfaction. “If I am satisfied by the urgency of your pleas, you will know as much pleasure as I can wring from you. Tonight was just an appetiser to whet your desire and mine.”

She wishes that sounded a whole lot worse than it does. In some ways, this would be a fuck of a lot less confusing if he weren’t so very, very alien. “Yes, Captain Lir.”

“Tonight,” he says again, “You were worth your price.”

She’s sweaty and sticky and slightly sore in strange places, though the come in her arse is actually kind of soothing. It’d be a weirder thought if the Doctor’s come didn’t also have healing properties. “What do you want of me now, Captain?” Please let him say he wants her to bathe.

“You will remain where you are,” he says. “Until we land on my homeworld. You will follow me to my home. Once there, you will learn your place. You will bathe when I permit it. You will eat when I give permission. You will only wear the uniform of your profession. If I command it, you will place your wrists in the manacles and be bound. You will service me in whatever manner I command and do it with the obedience and courtesy that are appropriate for a slave. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Captain Lir.” She understands that someone’s gonna kill him.

“Good,” he says. “Now be silent until we land.”

Fortunately, silence suits her mood. If she’s honest, she’s hopelessly confused. She came harder than she’d imagined possible, but now he expects her to submit to… No. This is just not on.

Too much movement attracts the alien’s attention. “Lie down and be quiet,” he says. “I will not warn you again.”

Fighting sobs again, she obeys. She’s starting to see why the Doctor kept warning her not to wander off.

Previous | Next


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