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No Means Yes In Gallifreyan	By : Ksennin Category: 1 through F > Doctor Who Views: 15341 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who or any characters in the Doctor Who franchise. I make no money from publishing this work.

Chapter List
- 1-No Means Yes In Gallifreyan
- 1
A/N: This was written as a Patreon reward after K-Box made a five dollar pledge, so thanks/blame go out to him.
All it took was one look.
For a while now, Clara had saved on shopping money by ‘borrowing’ outfits from the TARDIS’s voluminous wardrobe. When Danny had suggested a beach outing, she had decided she might as well impress and gone immediately to the 51^st century aisle, where most of the swimsuits were just bracelets that activated into towels when you were done swimming. But finally, she found a more conservative model.
The front of it was a small black triangle, the back not quite covering her ass, while the top barely contained her breasts—large and scrumptious no matter how the Doctor joked. The tight black material could almost be leather. Her creamy skin spilled out in all directions from the modest cover of the suit’s top and bottom.
Gathering her everyday wear in her arms, Clara left the wardrobe, emerging out into the TARDIS chamber where the Doctor was working a feather quill over a long length of parchment. She cleared her throat. He didn’t look up, his beady eyes focused intently on what he was doing. She cleared her throat again.
“One moment, Clara, you do know I’m not the other one, yes? I won’t just drop everything because you’ve stubbed your toe or caught fire or some such…” He underlined a passage, then looked up. “Yes, yes, what is it?”
Clara gestured to herself. “How do I look?”
“Same as always, I expect. Skin, nervous system, bits of hair scattered around the place…” He turned back to his parchment and jotted down a quick addition.
“The swimsuit, Doctor,” Clara insisted, verging on irritation. “How does it look? And before you get flip, how does it look on me?”
The Doctor scanned the parchment, rather like Clara going over a lesson plan. “Oh, on you, there’s an important distinction. That’s a Lanpreyan Eelskin bikini, so I’m sure if you asked the eel, it would think that it looks better on it, but you shouldn’t pay them too much mind, they’re lazy buggers, hate doing the work of growing a new one.” He circled one particular sigil, then looked up. Now Clara seemed to catch his eye. He scrambled up from the desk, fixing her with a stare that took Clara aback.
“Oh… oh, Clara Oswald, you have my apologies.”
“I… do?”
The Doctor went to the left. Clara went to the right, feeling rather like she was playing a game of football with him. “Yes! I see now! The expanse of skin on display, the needy conversation, the pheromone levels, it’s quite obvious you’re in heat.”
“Doctor?” Clara said, almost too confused to be affronted, which she thought was how he liked her. “I am not in—humans don’t even have mating seasons or cycles…”
“Oh, don’t be daft, of course you do. And I am quite sorry that I didn’t see it sooner, I can only imagine how embarrassed you. Probably had a devil of a time trying to find properly colorful feathers to attract a mate on the waterfall world of Vexon Prime!”
“You’re thinking of peacocks, Doctor.”
“What’s a peacock? Clara, you’re speaking in tongues, try to remain calm. Lucky for you I’m not offended by a bit of salty language.” He walked in, Clara backing up until she hit the TARDIS’s console. “Now, give me a moment, I am a professional, no need to worry, dear, I’ll have this settled in no time.”
Fearing what he meant, Clara ran for the door. The Doctor was faster, though. He skittered after her like the insect she’d always compared him to, his long arms reaching out and winding around her wrist to pull her back onto the console’s platform. He held her against his body, Clara feeling the bony hardness of his legs through his trousers, the jaggedness of his pelvis pressed against the backs of her legs. She struggled and twisted to free herself, but the Doctor’s strength was unearthly.
“Now, now!” he chided. “Don’t be a child about this, Clara, it won’t take but a moment. I think manual stimulation of the vagina and clitoris should resolve the issue…” His hands were moving down her stomach, fingers wiggling almost gleefully into her bottoms.
“You can’t!” Clara cried. “I’m dating Danny, only Danny touches me there!”
“Oh, you think he’ll want to thank me that I’ve shown you a few new tricks? Tell him it was no trouble, anything for a friend… ah, I just remembered, you humans enjoy a little oral stimuli during intercourse!”
Clara cried out as his long, bony fingers tapered up the hot flesh of her inner thighs, into the whitely untanned skin of her groin. Her open mouth let him kiss her, his harsh mouth on hers, craggy lips working endlessly upon her tongue and teeth. When his middle finger slid into the fur of her sex, she was warm and wet to the touch. The helpless young woman let out a gasp into his fierce kiss, an unexpected, unwanted thrill running through her, welding her to his strong body. She was held stunned as both her sensitive lips were parted, his fingers slipping as smoothly into the hood that enshrined her throbbing clitoris as his tongue took hold of her mouth.
Then she came to her senses and pushed madly at his unyielding chest, managing to rock him back on his heels but not truly move him. She only briefly held herself apart from him, like interspersing a paper between two magnets. Tears were filling her eyes. “You bastard! You can’t just touch me like that—you can’t just kiss me!” she shrieked, as if that were the greater offense.
His eyes darkened, eyebrows gathering together in keen interest at her hysterics. He’d never reminded her less of his predecessors, the handsome, happy-go-lucky lad who’d seemed like he’d stepped right out of her fantasies. “Now listen here, Clara.” He gave you a shake. “I’m trying to help you out, but if you’re simply going to be a provincial brat about it, I’ve half a mind to simply let you wallow in these chemical engagements that are causing you such trouble! After two thousand years, I have it in me to be the bigger man, but I’d advise you to watch your tone on our travels, lest you offend someone less tolerant than I!”
“What the fuck are you talking about, you’re raping me!”
The Doctor sighed. “You really are in heat, and it’s worse than I feared. You’re talking total nonsense, Clara, complete madness! I think it’s best if we skip on the foreplay this go-round, get you sorted properly!”
He forced her facedown atop the nearest available surface, the console itself, the numerous knobs and dials pressing painfully into her bare flesh. His fingers, somehow both spindly and strong as steel, pinched through her skin to her bikini bottoms, ripping them away to expose the full ripeness of her body. She looked back horrified as he deftly manipulated his fly, catching a glimpse of a thick, reddened cock emerging from his pants—she was horribly reminded of the snatches of red lining his jacket, revealed in brisk swirls of motion—now like portends of the weapon he now threatened her with. It was so big, so hard, that Clara couldn’t imagine it fitting inside any woman, even her.
“Oh God, no, don’t! Please, I’m sorry, I won’t—just don’t, don’t do that to me!” she pleaded, willing to say anything, promise anything, so long as he wouldn’t do what his mad eyes were so clearly planning. “I’ll, I’ll, how about I stroke it, or I could put it in my mouth—“ she suggested, hot tears streaming down her cheeks, even as he grunted and ground himself between her luscious thighs, getting himself positioned at her horribly throbbing sex. “No, no!”
Clara closed her eyes in desperate denial, feeling the pulse of his swollen cock at her passage. She held her breath for a prolonged eternity, petrified into submission before him, waiting and praying and hoping that it was all a joke, a ploy to assuage some unseen enemy, that he would spring some unspoken plan into motion now and apologize heartily for the scare he’s given her.
Instead, she felt hardened, merciless pressure against her opening.
“Damn you!” she screamed. “Damn you, you sick fuck, you bastard!” The Doctor heedlessly pushed inside her, cruelly stretching her clenched pussy until she felt as though her thighs were being ripped apart by the unbearable pressure he put on her. It was happening, he was doing it, he was raping her, she had no choice now, nothing to fight against. If it weren’t for the pain of him bearing down on her, she wouldn’t have even fought anymore, just given in to the shame and humiliation she felt now.
“You’re hurting me!” she howled, though it was more like sobbing when it came out. When she opened her eyes, it was to see his crooked face split by a sadistic grin, his teeth flashing brightly like those of a wolf in a storybook. Oh God, he’s going to eat me—he’ll eat me when he’s finished so no one will know what he’s done…
“Goodness, Clara, haven’t you orgasmed yet? What’s taking so long? It’s a wonder your species ever procreates, the inconvenience of it all.”
And he came down hard on her small body, his weight crushing her burning breasts against the hard edges of the console. The rock of his hips thrust her forward, grating her over the prickly surface. There was no stopping him now, and Clara wept even as she flushed with hatred over how the danger she’d always sensed in him was finally coming out. She cried even as she grunted with each twist of shooting pain and, somehow, shocking pleasure.
Then those spidery fingers were on her face, jamming her against the cold metal of the console, his cock pulsating deep inside her as he bent down to her ear. His eyes ran coolly over the cords standing out in her neck from trying to fight him off, though her resistance was effortlessly overwhelmed. He whispered “Now, why don’t you show some gratitude that the last of the Time Lords—the thirteenth and mightiest incarnation of the Doctor himself—has taken it upon himself to relieve you of your lowly and, frankly, quite disgusting human lust?”
All Clara could do was give in now, try to go along with what he was doing to her in the hopes that it would go easier for her. “T-thank you, Doctor.”
“What was that, Clara?” he asked, an imperial sneer in his voice. “I do believe you were mumbling. A bit louder, please, you’re a teacher, you should show better enunciation!” He arched himself inside her once more, stretching her painfully, his face lighting up with delight at the ecstatic smile swimming over Clara’s agonized grimace.
“Thank you,” Clara repeated weakly, but a bit louder than before. She hated him, but she hated herself more for enjoying even the smallest part of what he was doing.
“Thank you for what?” the Doctor demanded, as if wanting to drain the last ounce of pride from Clara’s ravaged body.
Clara’s teeth were clenched, tears of shame falling from her eyes, the obscene words he wanted from her stuck in her throat. But he pulled out almost all the way, then rammed back into her, hard enough to stove her face against the central column. “THANK YOU FOR FUCKING ME!” she screamed as hot blood ran down her face from a cut on her forehead, the lewd words echoing through the labyrinthine TARDIS as she herself shrunk down, coiling around the orgasm she felt burning hatefully inside her.
She had struck bottom, utterly degraded herself, given in to the worst sort of desires—her own shameful impulse to be challenged by the Doctor to the point of totally losing control to him. She could never face Danny, not when she’d come so hard with another man, a man she hadn’t even wanted to fuck. She could never teach again, looking after young developing minds knowing that she’d enjoyed being taken against her will, said unforgivable things, meant them. She couldn’t think of one thing in her life or body that had any value. There was nothing for her now but the blunt instrument buried deep inside her, tormenting her with the greatest pleasure of her life.
“Oi! Clara!” The Doctor poked his head into her bedroom, heedless of the frantic activity going on under Clara’s bedsheets. “Do you mind not fantasizing while you’re aboard the TARDIS? It’s very insensitive to the psychic among us. Especially when you’re going to be imagining that.”
“Out!” she yelled at him, even as a fresh blush of shame somehow added to her pleasure.
“As if I would ever do such a thing—stick my valuable body parts into some strange apparatus when I don’t even know where it’s been! And, hey, what are you even doing, corrupting one of my sweet, innocent sonic screwdrivers? Don’t you have a boyfriend for that?”
Clara grabbed her mug off the nightstand and threw it at him. The Doctor dashed off, door shutting behind him, grumbling through the wall as he headed away.
And as Clara recovered from her orgasm and wiped away the guilty tears, even as she still touched herself, too hesitant to let go of a sensation so good it was degrading, she thought of how wrong such thoughts were. She loved Danny—truly, deeply loved and appreciated that she had such a wonderful man in her life, so kind and so understanding and with such a nice body. But he was so nice and so accommodating… how could she not wonder what it would be like, having the complete opposite, the Doctor’s piercing stare trained on her, making her feel new sensations in the same way he regularly took her to new places and showed her new ways of thinking?
It was sick and wrong and totally unfair to both Danny and the Doctor. Next time she masturbated to it, she’d have to make sure she was alone.
- 1
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No Means Yes In Gallifreyan