Clara and the Doctor in a play session, take two.


The Doctor was kneeling with his head in her lap, his arms around her waist. Clara ruffled her fingers through his hair. He seemed calm again. No more tears, no more apologies for using his safeword.

“I’m ready to try again,” he said.

Clara tugged at his hair gently. “You sure? You don’t have to. We can stop.”

“I want to try again.” He looked up at her. His face was so open and trusting that Clara’s heart ached. “You liked doing it. I could see how much. Let me give this to you. Ma’am.”

“Okay. But I’m going slowly this time.”

“Thank you. And Clara? If I may ask?”

“You may.”

“Stay close?”

“Yeah. I will.” She leaned down to him and kissed him. He closed his eyes for her and kissed back sweetly, so pliant and submissive. That fierce face was calm now; no sign of the distress he’d felt earlier. The distress that she’d caused him by pushing him too far too fast. She hadn’t realized how important it had been to him that he never say no to anything she asked. It made it harder on her, not that she’d tell him that: now she had to make sure she never pushed him past his limits again.

Clara knew what she had to do this time. She was going to have to make him like it, beg for it if she could bring him there, but he wasn’t going to be in the right place straight away. He never was, no matter how often they did this together. He needed a lot of time and attention, and this was a challenge to her every time. She was impatient. She wanted him sweating and straining immediately, but he always needed time. Time to slow his giant brain down, to center himself inside his body, to get his attention on his skin and her touch instead of on the universe wheeling around him.

He positioned himself against the cross, facing out, hands and wrists ready to be bound. They didn’t talk about the step stool she had to use to reach his hands or to be able to kiss him when he was all stretched out. He got something out of the fact that she was so much shorter than he but so very definitely in charge, but it wasn’t something they’d talked about. Yet. That was another of the difficult parts for her: coaxing this man into talking about his feelings, when she wasn’t completely sure she wanted to talk about hers. But she had to, or they had incidents like this. She hated messing up.

It said something about him that he was half-hard again already, just from being bound in place. He was watching her closely while she moved around him, getting what she wanted ready. He’d already seen it all laid out on the bed, but she didn’t want him looking at the little flogger and getting tense again. The ring, he’d be feeling that soon enough. And her hand on his balls, squeezing.

She loved the feeling of his balls in her fingers. Whether they were playing hard or not, he liked it when she cupped his balls and stroked behind them. She wasn’t going to start there, though. No, she was going to start with a nice kiss. Kiss him and let her hands stroke over him everywhere, a little tweak at his nipples, just enough to remind him they existed, down his flanks, to his thighs, back up again. Her tongue in his mouth, her hand cupping him now. He was fully hard now. Such a nice penis he had, elegant like his fingers, a nicely shaped head peeking out from the foreskin.

Oh, the things she wanted to do to this man’s cock.

He was breathing steadily now, calm as she needed him to be, pliant under her hands. Time to take the next slow step.

He had reacted poorly to photographs of more extreme gadgets. No metal, no plastic. He liked leather, so leather it was. Leather and silk and satin and the solid wood of the cross. The cock ring was leather, a wide heavy strip, much wider than anything she’d used on him before. It snapped around him easily.

“Oh,” he said. “That’s different.”

Clara slapped at his haunch. “Hush, you.”

“Sorry, ma’am.”

It was a nice look on him, the black leather below his graying hair, his balls tugged away from his body, hanging down. So accessible. So vulnerable. Clara could hear it already, the way he’d gasp, the way he’d plead, the way the sweat would spring on on his face and under his arms.

“Who do you belong to?” she said.

“You, Clara.”

“Ready to please me?”


“Yes what?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She could feel the tension in him now, as he braced for whatever she was going to do to him. His breath was coming faster, fingers curled into fists, arms unconsciously tugging against his bonds. Well, why not give him what he was bracing for? Or something else.

Clara’s hand drifted down. There was his cock, fully hard now, jutting down between his spread legs, and he was going to stay hard thanks to the strap around him. Soft skin, moving over hardness underneath. He made such nice sounds when she stroked him. Such nice sounds when she cupped his balls, when she flicked a finger against him. Such a nice intake of breath. Again, not enough to really hurt him, but enough to earn his complete attention.

“This is what I want from you,” she said.

“Please take it.”

“Oh, I will.” Another flick, and a little gasp and flinch.

Now Clara squeezed. Carefully, watching his face to see how she was doing. No sharp sudden movements like last time. This time she closed her fingers around him steadily and listen to him moan. He was trembling, hips moving reflexively. It hadn’t tipped from pleasure to pain yet, then. She released him and let him whimper. Again, harder this time, right over the edge: he stiffened and held himself completely still.

Clara found that patience was easy now, as she squeezed his balls and released, experimenting with him, finding that edge and riding it, leading him further along every time, holding him harder. Was she cruel? There had to be some sharp places in her, that she could love doing this to a man she loved, love hearing him whimper, love watching his face go red, the sweat spring out on his brow. That she could do this until he was begging her for something, anything, please Clara please please.

Time for a respite. A moment of pause before she brought him all the way there. She stroked his cock gently, played with the head a little, almost tenderly. His breathing slowed. He leaned his forehead against hers, which was allowed. Oh, this lovely, lovely ridiculous man. What a gift he was.

She said, “You’ve done so well, Doctor.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” His voice was unsteady, which she loved hearing.

“One more thing to bear. Do you know what’s next?”

“No, ma’am.”

“The little flogger.”

“Oh. I–” Clara waited for him to find words for whatever it was inside him. “Kiss me first. Clara. Please.”

There it was, the Doctor wrung out, completely open and vulnerable, kissing her with all of himself in his eyes, nothing held back. This was why she did it. Why he did it, she suspected, because he couldn’t get here any other way but he wanted it so desperately. She kept her hand where it was, to remind him how much in her power he was, and kissed him. His mouth was open and his eyes were closed. Soft lips, gentle kisses.

She pulled away from him and he strained after her for an instant before relaxing in his bonds. He was watching her just as avidly as she watched him. Now the little whip, a tiny thing with little knotted lashes on it. He was ready for it this time. She held it up to him and he kissed it. She got down from the step and ran the lashes over his thighs, his jutting cock. Held it between his legs. Flicked her wrist up once.

The lashes snapped up against his balls. He writhed against his bonds, shuddering, gasping. Sweat running freely from his temples now, along his ribs. Clara smiled. Oh, this was what she wanted. This man, giving his pain to her as a gift. She was as wet under her skirt as he was hard. One touch and she’d come right this instant. But she denied herself; that would be his reward later, to bring the both of them to orgasm.

Up onto the step, to claim another kiss from him.

She said, “Did you like that?”

“Y-yes. Ma’am.”

“Would you like another one?”

“Harder? Please, Clara.”

“Since you asked so nicely.”

Down from the step, into position. He’d braced himself already. Clara grinned a feral grin and gave him a little casual flick of the lashes against his balls, just a friendly tap, and he gasped. She gave him no time to brace himself again, but snapped her wrist sharply, harder than the first time. That was a cry from him, a cry and a whimper and a creak as he pulled hard against the cross. She was pressed up against him before he settled, before he could silence himself, kissing him again.

So much less work than the flogger, and the results were so exquisite. He was deep in trance state, moaning at every touch of her hand on his body. Wide pupils, sweat, trembling arms.

“One more,” she said. “You can bear one more for me.”

He nodded slowly.

Clara didn’t give him just one, but three more strokes in quick succession. That was a full-throated cry from him at last. She threw the flogger aside and leapt to him, undid his bonds, caught him as he came from from the cross. She helped him down to the floor. He steadied himself on hands and knees, his thighs spread wide. He knew what she liked, even in this state with tears on his face he was obedient. Oh, yes, tears on his face, and that was what she wanted to see. The state he needed to be in. He’d have days of peace after this.

He kissed her feet. How he managed to do it gracefully after that, she wasn’t sure, but he did, and it was touching. He stayed where he was, trembling, still weeping, his mouth open.

“So good,” she said. “You were so good.”

“Thank you.” Voice so low and rough, so raw. She forgave him his failure to say “ma’am” after that. And now his reward, and her reward too: that cock, still hard, was going to feel so good inside her.


Twelve/Clara mature

1818 words; reading time 7 min.

first posted here

on 2015/02/08

tags: p:twelve/clara, f:doctor-who, c:clara-oswald, c:twelfth-doctor, c:dom!clara, c:sub!twelve, kink:dom/sub, kink:cbt, kink:bondage, genre:kink