Clara shrieked as she burst through the door of the TARDIS, soaked from head to toe. She popped her head back out, panting.
"Doctor! Hurry!" she cried over the angry roar of rushing water.
The Doctor raced into the TARDIS, his sodden coat tails slapping frantically against him as he ran. His momentum carried him up the ramp towards the console, and Clara slammed the door shut just as the tsunami crashed into the ship's shields. The TARDIS jolted with the force. Clara was thrown against the door. The Doctor flailed, grabbing the rail for support.
When all was still, the two time-travelers remained frozen in place, three hearts pounding. Their wide eyes met. Gradually panic melted into hysterical laughter.
"Perfectly safe, eh?" Clara said as she wiped at her face, the hilarity subsiding.
"Ah, did I say 'perfectly?'" the Doctor replied. "I'm sure I said, 'mostly.'"
"Mostly?" Clara raised an eyebrow.
"We're both alive and breathing, standing on our own two legs and speaking in complete sentences, hey? Well, at least one of us is speaking in complete sentences. What more could you want out of 'mostly!'" He held up his hands and examined both sides of them. "Not even a scratch!"
As the Doctor scuttled to her side Clara observed him coolly with that amused look, the one that infuriated him so. He grabbed her left arm, raised it to face level for examination then let it drop unceremoniously to her side. He took the right arm next, with all that white delicate flesh, and duplicated his investigation. The smell of her so close to his nose – she never covered her own scent – drove him simply bonkers. His hearts sped up again. The Doctor took a deep breath, as much to catch one last whiff as to reign himself in, before dropping that arm as well. Then he slowly circled round Clara, scrutinizing every inch of her sopping wet body, a task made easier with her short-sleeved blouse and skirt plastered to those curves. Clara watched him silently.
Must make sure my companion stays in good nick, he thought to himself. Purely a professional courtesy. Strictly business.
"You seem right as rain." The Doctor nodded in approval as he finished making his rounds, hands clasped behind his back.
"Oh yes, it was only a light drizzle," she said, wringing out a corner of her shirt onto the console room floor. Clara smirked. "I'm going to get out of these wet clothes."
That look. She was giving him that look again! And how she managed to make everyday conversation so... suggestive confounded him on an hourly basis. The Doctor huffed and stammered but Clara had already turned to go with a chuckle. He could have sworn he caught a gratuitous wiggle underneath that soggy too-tight skirt as she sauntered towards the corridor. The cheeky little thing! That bottom was begging for a swat. But instead of bounding after her, the Doctor's hand clenched and unclenched at the thought of that little gasp of surprise she would surely make. Soon he stood alone amidst the whir and hum of the console.
She was so spirited. It was part of what he loved about Clara, but sometimes it made him want to take her in hand. Firmly, passionately and with plenty of rope, like he'd done with Rose all those years ago. But Rose had been so inexperienced, had made her desires so apparent. Clara was different, and so was this incarnation. This body just didn't have a knack for social cues, especially not the kind that came from women. He could never tell if she was taunting him or baiting him, setting him up just to knock him down or genuinely interested in a more... physical relationship.
But there was no doubt in his mind that she'd most certainly benefit from a good spanking. Or was that just his own perverse mind making excuses again?
This is why he'd never done anything but flail at the touch of her lips: she was the only thing in the universe that made him constantly second-guess himself. Clara's existence was far from the only impossible thing about her.
It was no secret that the TARDIS had never taken a shine to Clara. When she and the Doctor had first set out to find her a suitable bedroom on board, every door they looked into held grinding machinery, bottomless pits and even a giant garbage disposal. They finally found one for her, but only after the Doctor had a little chat with his persnickety vessel. It was spartan and small to say the least, like a cell in a convent.
"She's being... temperamental. I'm sorry," the Doctor had said.
Clara was a nanny. She knew how to be the grown-up. "It's fine," she said, sitting on the single bed.
"Maybe you two will-"
"It's fine," Clara repeated firmly. "Thank you, Doctor."
She forced a smile, but when the Doctor left she stuck her tongue out at the walls. Okay, maybe not so grown-up after all.
After their tsunami adventure, Clara returned to her cell. Something was different; the whole ambiance seemed less severe. Was the bed a little bigger, the pillows fluffier, the duvet less scratchy? Maybe the TARDIS was warming up to her after all. Or maybe it had just been another long day and her mind was playing tricks. Either way, it was time for Clara to warm herself up.
Though she'd been chilled to the bone after their run-in with that sentient ocean, a hot shower righted all wrongs. She laid down on top of the covers, chestnut hair fanned out upon the pillow. The only stitches in this equation were the thread-count of the sheets. Naked and snuggled into the duvet – it was definitely softer than before – Clara was beginning to drift off when the Doctor's examination popped back into her mind.
I'll just bet he told himself it was purely a professional courtesy, she thought with a saucy smile.
The Doctor had been thorough in his inspection of her body. Very thorough. His touch had been perfunctory and brief, almost rough. He was usually so gentle with her, tenderly holding her hand, placing chaste kisses on her forehead.
Though Clara appreciated his kind nature, he thrilled her most during those glimpses she caught into his dark side. The force he'd shown at Akhaten had left her awe-stricken and damp between the thighs. She couldn't admit it to herself, but all the razzing she gave him was an attempt to get some of that forcefulness directed her way. She wondered what those long, clever fingers were capable of with the proper motivation...
Languid and with eyes closed, Clara let her own fingers meander southward.
Imagining the naughty things her Doctor might do, Clara completely forgot about the open door. The ship was so vast, and with the ongoing disdain "Sexy" had historically shown for her, the chances of the TARDIS sending the Doctor past her door were close to nil. It had never happened by accident. Not once. And on the rare occasions he did go looking for her room, it seemed the TARDIS sent him the long way around, so these days Clara rarely bothered with the door as a privacy measure. But today the TARDIS was feeling more benevolent – or perhaps just mischievous.
In Clara's mind the Doctor had backed her purposefully up against the wall and pushed her skirt up around her hips. She purred and chirped as her fingers slid around, the outside world a distant memory. She was too caught up in the fantasy to notice an astonished Doctor gawping at the threshold.
The Doctor had decided to go for a walk. Walking was good. It would take his mind off that skirt and its contents – or so he hoped. It was rare for him to be so wrong.
He paced through his beloved machine, tweed torso leaned forward, prominent chin thrust out, the creases in his brow drawn out like the sheet music to a long and strange space opera.
As he rounded yet another corner, the Doctor stopped in his tracks. Was that a moan? The furrows in his forehead deepened as he listened intently. Another moan echoed softly off the walls, emanating from a room down the corridor. Quickly he closed the distance.
The Doctor slowed as he reached the open door. As he crept up on it a low "ooooh" wafted out. Cautiously he peered around the door frame. His jaw dropped so fast it nearly dislocated.
There was his Clara, stretched out luxuriously on the bed, naked as an unpeeled banana, eyes shut, cheeks flushed and tiny hands busy at work between her legs. Despite the fact that he was the only thing on her mind, Clara was completely oblivious to the Doctor's presence. He unconsciously moved more fully into the doorway, taken as he was by the delicious scene within.
As he watched his flushed companion writhe atop the bedclothes the Doctor gradually regained his composure, fascinated though he was. Another moan left Clara's perfect red lips and the Doctor inhaled deeply.
They were both in a compromising position. Surely he couldn't keep standing there unbeknownst to her much longer, but escape was an unlikely option without attracting her attention. His jaw clenched and a dark look stole into those green eyes as he began to harden. It was all a matter of perspective. This is not an emergency, he told himself, this is an opportunity to do something he suspected they'd both been preoccupied with for a long time. If nothing else, at least he'd find out for sure – the TARDIS wouldn't have brought him here for nothing. The Doctor steeled himself against the thought of rejection by his dearest Clara. And then he cleared his throat.
Clara's big brown eyes flew open and her hands ceased their movement. She stared at him in dismay.
"Don't stop on my account," he said, his voice a low rumble.
Clara's mind raced but could decide on no single course of action. Did she cover herself up? Yell at him to leave? Her pussy throbbed, and it would be so easy to just... It was everything she'd wanted, that fathomless darkness he held inside focused completely on her, but she was too terrified to move.
"I said," the Doctor enunciated clearly, "Don't. Stop."
Part of her was relieved to have the burden of determination taken away, and though the rest of her body was still frozen in place, somehow her fingers recommenced their dance.
The Doctor folded his arms and leaned against the door jamb, the last remnants of doubt melting from his mind. A devilish smile crept across his features.
At first Clara simply went through the motions, but despite the confusion – or perhaps because of it – she slowly began cooing quietly once again.
"Very good," the Doctor encouraged.
He moved unhurriedly from the doorway, the usual bumbling absent. Clara stilled her hands again and watched him nervously. Taking a chair from the corner of the room, the Doctor placed it at the foot of her bed and sat down, legs crossed casually.
"Carry on," he said. His eyes were intent upon hers.
She blushed intensely at his attention and groaned aloud, the sensations between her legs becoming more poignant even before she returned to her task. He studied the movement of her fingers like a scientist.
Clara wasn't just playing for her own pleasure now, she was performing for her Doctor as well. She had always aimed to exceed his high expectations in all things and silently resolved that this would be no different. Well, silent save for the occasional sigh of pleasure. Her breathing became ragged. She was close.
"Yes?" he replied calmly.
The pressure built up inside as her fingers became more frantic. "Doctor, I'm going to...!"
The Doctor smiled slyly. "You're going to...?"
Clara nodded vehemently.
"You're going to...?"
"You're going to stop."
Clara balked. "But Doctor, I-!"
"Stop. Right now."
With a huff of exasperation Clara grudgingly ceased her frantic ministrations.
He cut her off again. "Put your hands on the headboard."
The Doctor looked at her like one would a child. "Your hands. Put them on the headboard," he said patiently. "Right behind you now, quick as you like."
Clara frowned but slowly raised her arms above her head, placing her hands on the wooden slats. Dragging his chair closer to the foot of the bed, the Doctor cracked his knuckles. Clara's eyes widened as he flashed her a wicked smile.
"Those dainty hands are to remain firmly in place. Do you understand?"
Clara's palms began to sweat on the headboard. All she could do was nod.
The Doctor grabbed Clara by the hips and dragged her naked body down the bed. She gasped and grabbed onto the bottom rail of the headboard, desperate to maintain contact. Though she knew her Doctor would never harm her, she wasn't keen to find out how this side of him would enforce the rules he'd just laid out in no uncertain terms.
The Doctor chuckled at her predicament. "Careful now."
Thus repositioned, Clara's shapely calves dangled over the edge of the mattress to either side of him. This allowed the Doctor complete access to her trimmed muff, swollen and ruddy. Clara felt so exposed she could hardly stand it. When he placed his hands on her knees, she felt another surge of warmth between her legs.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the Doctor trailed his palms along the tops of her thighs. Clara groaned with need at the torturous, tortoise speed. Suddenly he grabbed her inner thighs, kneading the delicate flesh, thumbs millimeters from her furred lips. Inhaling sharply, Clara perched her heels on the edge of the bed so she could grind her pelvis towards him more effectively.
"Oh, you naughty girl," was the effect she achieved. "In a hurry, are we?"
Clara tried to stop panting, to take back some modicum of control, but it was useless. This was payback, and she'd worked very hard to earn it. She tried to make a mental note to thank or curse herself later, but her need was too imperative.
"Please," she said meekly.
Clara flushed Crimson Horror red. "Please... touch me."
She squeaked like a chew toy as the Doctor squeezed her thighs. "But my dear, I am touching you."
"Doctor! You know what I mean!"
"Let's just be sure we're on the same page."
Clara screwed her eyes shut and hid her face in her arm. She could make herself look at him or she could spill the beans, but she couldn't muster the courage for both.
"Please... play with my kitty, Doctor!"
Leave it to Clara to catch him off-guard at the most inopportune moments. "Your 'kitty?'" he said, cocking an eyebrow in amusement.
Clara's eyes flew open and her gaze smoldered. "Is that a problem?" she asked angrily.
"No, no," he said, failing to hide a smile. "'Kitty' is fine."
He was making fun of her at a time like this! She wouldn't stand for it. Clara pushed herself upright. "Look, if you're going to-"
The Doctor was atop her before she could finish, tweed chafing against her delicate skin. Their noses nearly touched.
"I'm sorry I made fun," he said sincerely. "You have a perfectly enchanting 'kitty' that deserves plenty of petting."
As he spoke, Clara was drawn once again into the infinity of his green eyes. He tenderly but firmly pulled her wrists above her head, hands soon back in their assigned place. The Doctor kissed Clara deeply, cementing his sway over her.
"But if you remove your hands from that headboard again, there will be consequences."
The kiss left her breathless. "Y-yes, Doctor."
He rolled off Clara and sat facing her feet. "Now, where was I? Ah yes, petting your 'kitty.'"
Clara's eyes flashed, ready to rebel again, but the Doctor quelled the impending uprising with a pinch on her inner thigh and a finger on her clit. She gasped and all that passion was channeled back between her legs.
During his biological observations the Doctor had paid very close attention to Clara's methods and caressed just the right spot with a millennium's worth of expertise. Clara squirmed and purred under his touch. In next to no time she was close again. So close. The Doctor could have made her wait, but he'd put her through the wringer already. Clara had reacted so beautifully to everything, pushed the boundaries perfectly, given him every excuse to toy with her. He felt she deserved a reward.
And she almost got what was coming to her – that is, until the sensation became too much and Clara lost her grip on the headboard.
Instantly she realized her mistake and slammed her hands back onto the slat with a thump. The Doctor peered at her gravely.
"I'm sorry," Clara whispered.
"Tsk tsk," the Doctor replied. "I was very clear in my instructions. What did I say would happen if you let go again?"
"There would be... consequences."
The Doctor watched as Clara trembled like an autumn leaf in the breeze. Her eyes were so wide, her fear of his displeasure so genuine. The poor dear, he thought and opened his arms to her. She flew into his embrace and curled up against him.
"There there, you're only human," he said, stroking her hair. She nuzzled her face into his shirt buttons, relieved.
The Doctor heaved a great sigh. "But rules are rules."
Before she could react the Doctor flipped her over his knee. She struggled but he held her firmly by the back of her neck.
"Doctor, I thought you said-"
"You thought wrong, apparently." As she wiggled deliciously in his lap he placed one hand on her glorious rump. He was right (as usual), it had been begging for a swat.
"Oh please, Doctor, don't-"
"Oh, but I must. You know what they say about sparing the rod!" he replied cheerfully, taking aim on her left cheek.
Clara flinched as a light tap came instead of a slap. The Doctor grinned. He reared back again and Clara held her breath in anticipation.
Nothing came. She peeked up at him through a tangle of mussed hair. Their eyes met.
"I'll do you a deal," the Doctor said. "If we can get this business about who is truly the boss sorted out I will, in fact, 'spare you the rod.' This time."
Her heart thrilled at the implication of future intimacy... but for now, this was too simple. All she had to do was tell the Doctor that he was the boss and she would win a reprieve? How hard could that be?
"Okay," she said suspiciously.
He patted her bottom. "Up."
Clara clambered to her feet. The Doctor rose and straightened his bow-tie. That dark look had returned and Clara backed into the wall as he advanced on her. He boxed her in with his arms, palms to either side of her head. She peered up at him, heart racing. It was just like her fantasy, except without a skirt for him to push up over her hips. His possessive kiss made her knees go all wobbly.
The Doctor pulled back a few inches and spoke in hushed tones. "You're always disregarding my instructions – running off when I've told you to stay put, pushing buttons that should be let alone. Taking your hands off the headboard. My instructions are only ever given with excellent reason." He couldn't keep the amusement from his voice. "You should learn to mind me. I'm quite clever, you know."
Clara continued to stare at him. He was in her head, pulling levers and turning dials, her mind buzzing away like the TARDIS console. Even still, it was an effort to bite back a sassy remark.
"Now," he crooned. He spun her round and suddenly she found her breasts pressed against the wall. He guided her back until her arse stuck out proudly. "Who's the boss?"
Clara's face was obscured by a screen of mahogany hair. It gave her just enough privacy to think again.
This is easy, Clara reminded herself, just tell him what he wants to hear. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Even with the Doctor's sadistic side simply waiting for an excuse to leave hand prints on her bum, she just could not give him the satisfaction of hearing that one solitary syllable.
He slapped her arse gently. She jumped. A warning shot.
"Who's the boss?" he repeated serenely.
Clara took a deep breath and opened her mouth again.
"I am," she whispered, so quietly she hardly heard it herself. As soon as the words left her lips she wished she could shove them back in. Maybe he hadn't heard. If he'd been a regular human male, he probably wouldn't have. But those sensitive Gallifreyan ears picked them up as if she'd been shouting.
"Oh really?" he asked, that gleeful, nefarious tone creeping back in.
Though she was fully expecting the slap, it still hadn't prepared her for the hot outline of his hand imprinted on her bottom. She grunted, but the pain only reinforced her willfulness. That was just fine by the Doctor – in fact he'd been counting on it. He was just getting warmed up.
"I'll ask again," he said. "Who's the boss?"
Clara made fists on the wall.
"I am." This was no whisper.
"Really? Funny, it's not often you see the boss being spanked like a bad little girl, is it?" he said and delivered the next blow.
Clara cried out, her body covered in gooseflesh. The pain had collided with pleasure and her pussy was dripping again.
The Doctor rubbed at the red marks. Pulling aside the curtain of hair to peer at her, he looked quite pleased with himself.
"Still feeling bossy?" he asked.
She stuck her tongue out at him. "Yes."
"Oh, hurrah!" He let go of her hair and slapped both bum cheeks at once. Clara gritted her teeth and groaned as her desire swelled.
The Doctor put one hand in the small of Clara's back to hold her in place and she felt him fiddling around behind her. She tried to look but all that damned hair obscured her vision. By the time she'd inelegantly blown it out of the way the Doctor had pressed himself up against her. The hardness that dug into her bottom through his trousers confirmed his thorough enjoyment of the situation.
The Doctor reached out and slid Clara's hands together on the wall, looping something over her wrists. He was binding her with his bow-tie.
"The Astro-Scouts of Blorgram Seven call that a cosmo-knot," he said as he finished, allowing her to stand upright. "Good luck getting out of that, boss."
He had some devious thing planned, she could tell. She tugged at her bonds as her eyes darted around the room. The Doctor stood between her and the door. The expression on his face said: Run, I dare you.
Clara was never one to turn down a dare. Maybe she could hop over the bed and get out the door – she hadn't thought as far as where she might go after that, but she would give him a run for his money. However, his foresight put the best chess masters to shame; the Doctor's mind was always 20 steps ahead. He knew what Clara was going to do before she did, and as she lunged he tackled her on the mattress. His face was alight as he straddled her and yanked those bound wrists above her head.
"Is that the best you've got?" he goaded.
"I'm just... lulling you into a false sense of security!" she said, struggling against him.
"Ah. I suppose you've delegated the task of escape to some underling, as any good boss might?" The Doctor loved how Clara squirmed beneath him, and battled with his own desire to immediately roger the living daylights out of her.
"I am the boss!"
The Doctor smirked and began drag his fingertips over her ribs. Clara's eyes widened in alarm.
"You're not ticklish, are you?" he asked.
She tried to stifle the giggles, but the Doctor simply tickled harder.
Clara screamed as she laughed. "No! No no no!"
"Good. Then you won't mind if I do this..." he moved his wiggling fingers up to her armpits. Clara cackled hysterically and thrashed about with a force that would likely have injured them both if he hadn't pinned her down so well. Her cheeks flushed. Her perfect breasts danced. Her eyes sparkled with lust and outrage. She was completely at his mercy.
Indistinguishable words flew from her amidst the laughter.
"Pardon?" the Doctor said, easing up just enough for her to speak.
"You - ha ha ha!- Y-you are!" she squealed.
"Oh no, Timelords aren't ticklish," he replied and dug his fingers into her side.
"N... no! No! You're the – ee-hee-hee! – the boss!"
"I'm the what?"
"The boss! You're the boss!"
"Finally you're talking sense," the Doctor said, ceasing his barrage.
It was difficult to glare at him through the subsiding guffaws, but somehow Clara managed. He took off his jacket and laid down on the bed next to her.
"That wasn't so hard, was it?" he said as she caught her breath. "But there's something in this bed that is quite hard indeed."
The Doctor guided her hands, still tied, down to the bulge in his trousers. "Take it out."
For a moment Clara fought with herself. Her wounded pride dictated she ignore his instructions and make a smarmy remark, but though she hated to admit it she was aflame for her beloved captor. She longed for his cock like no other before.
Clara fumbled with the button on his trousers – how terribly inconvenient to have her hands tied for this! – and lowered the zipper. Finally she reached in and grabbed hold of her prize. He was longer and thicker than she'd hoped, and it pleased her mightily when he inhaled sharply at her touch.
See, I am the boss, Clara said to herself with smug satisfaction. Her eyes must have betrayed her thoughts because moments later the Doctor had shucked the remainder of his clothing and roughly rolled atop her. He forced her thighs apart – or would have had she not been so welcoming – and positioned himself at her entrance. Suddenly that excruciating need was back, and Clara moved against him encouragingly. The Doctor smirked and began rubbing the head of his cock up and down.
It was a battle of wills. Despite the desire to immediately fuck his Clara senseless, after 1000 years the Doctor could be almost as patient as he was proud. But even he had limits. All that slipping and sliding was driving them both crazy. The Doctor had a mind to make her beg for it, but after exercising so much of that famous Timelord self-control, Clara's mewling was askance enough.
The Doctor forced his cock inside of her. He was large and her pussy was was tight, but so wet from the endless teasing and tickling and torturing that he was able to slide all the way in after a few strokes. She wrapped her legs around his waist and rocked her hips up to meet him. The Doctor held Clara's bound arms above her head, slamming into her while staring fiercely into her beseeching eyes. A keening noise escaped Clara's throat as he jackhammered away. The Doctor threw one of her legs over his shoulder and redoubled his efforts. He was so deep inside her that Clara began to squall at the overwhelming sensation – she didn't know whether to implore him to stop or beg him to fuck her harder.
The Doctor was barely hanging on, ready to explode, but wanted to see Clara come again first. Shifting his angle, he was gratified as she fell into that petit mort. Her pussy spasmed around his cock and, hollering in Gallifreyan, he joined her on the other side, pumping her full of his come until it dripped out onto the duvet. He collapsed on top of her.
As his senses returned, the Doctor flopped over onto the bed.
"It's a good thing in space no one can hear you scream," he puffed.
Clara cuddled into him, sniffing at his alien pheromones.
"For a while there I thought I was going to be the one with a blue box," Clara said. "But I knew you'd give in eventually."
"I gave in, eh? That wasn't the last update I'd received."
"Well... it's only because I didn't have time to prepare," Clara said lazily.
"There certainly weren't any claws on that 'kitty.'"
Clara swatted at him. "I demand a rematch."
"I don't think you'd stand a chance." The Doctor said and gently tickled her ribs. "But I'd certainly like to see you try."
He leaned over and kissed her tenderly. She gave as good as she got and pulled back from the kiss with an impish smirk.
"Just you wait, Chin Boy, just you wait."
***The Doctor was feeling quite benevolent on his 50th Anniversary and in celebration finally allowed me to finish off this story. Thank you for reading, thank you for the reviews. Your encouragement has meant a lot to me.***