PART 2
He smiled with mischief in his eyes. "I know what these stones are for."
At the naughtiness in his expression, Martha's jaw dropped. "Ohhhh…" she said with realisation.
"Of course, it's just a theory. The next stone is Nolliever," he reminded her. "Boiling. Want to see what it does?"
"Okay," she choked.
He left, and came back with another stone. He didn't scan it this time, he simply held it out to her.
"Do you know what's going to happen?" she asked, with a small voice.
"I have an idea," he said, with a smirk.
She blew on the third stone, the boiling stone, and immediately, her eyes closed, her mouth hung slack, and she let out a deep, languorous moan. She leaned back against the pole as she seemed to lose the strength in her knees for a few moments. She slumped down as her breathing quickened, and her body caught fire.
A rush of heat was just the beginning. She found herself burning from the inside with searing, driving desire, and felt moisture start to flow between her legs.
So that's what these stones were for.
"Boiling," he whispered to her.
"Whoooo," she exhaled sensually. "Yes. All over. Do you feel it?"
"Oh yes," he answered with a gravelly voice, looking her over, watching her helpless, writhing, burning. "But not because of the stone."
He smiled and stepped forward, pressing himself into her, against the pole, driving his tongue into her mouth. He slid his arms down over her bum and reached behind the fabric of her shorts to squeeze the warm flesh. She tugged at her arms, longing to put her arms around him as well, but she was, of course, restrained. She wanted so badly to squeeze her body together, to fight the desire, to push herself against him, but her legs were restrained also. She absently thought, as the Doctor's mouth, slid down the side of her face and across her neck, I wonder what the hell the torture stone does.
He pulled away, so his lips were about an inch from her face. "No wonder the monks want these things taken off the streets," he whispered with another mischievous smile.
"They don't believe in lust," she replied breathlessly.
"They don't know what they're missing," he pointed out, letting his tongue snake out to lick her bottom lip.
"Monks never do."
"The stones are called the Unravellers of Life," he said. "Could it be that it's another bad translation, that it's undoers of flesh?"
"I'm coming undone," she pointed out. "I'd say that's a fair assessment."
"I could see this bringing down the domains of kings…"
"…doing damage, annihilating powerful men…"
"…and women," he added with a smile. He placed the boiling stone in front of her lips once more and she blew. Once more, a wave of painful, searing, exquisite heat came over her, and she wanted nothing more than to be taken. Now. Hard.
But she knew that torture was first.
He hungrily caught her mouth with his once more, and sucked at her lips voraciously. Both of them moaned heavily, and while the Doctor laid his hands all over her, she was held back, only to wish.
When he pulled away this time, he said to her, "Meplu. Torture. With a light touch."
She could not speak, only groaned once more, and leaned against the pole for support. He left again, and came back with stone number four. He held it out to her, and she blew. Although this time, nothing happened. For a few seconds, the Doctor looked at the stone with a frown, and then, he blew on it himself.
Then he smiled wickedly.
With both hands he reached out and pushed her tank top up, so that her midriff was exposed. And then, without touching her at all, he dragged his fingertips across the front of her, miming tickling.
She twisted, and let out a yelp. "Oh! What is that? It feels like a feather!"
"Yeah?" he asked, smirking. "Interesting."
He used the invisible feather's touch across her midriff again and then round her ears and eyes, and down her neck. She twitched and giggled, asked him to stop. He said nothing, only gazed hard into her eyes and relished in the "light" torture.
He reached forward once more and pushed her tank top up, over her shoulders, over her head, and let it wrap tightly round the back of her neck. Her breasts jutted out with alertness, her lips hung slack with the pure lusty anticipation of what he was about to do, and her eyes registered anxiousness.
She felt the feather touch swirl around the widest part of her breasts, the part that meets her body. And then the touch came outward, round and round and round. When finally the touch reached her nipples, she was breathless and her body buckled once more, her knees giving out momentarily. She moaned, letting an expletive fly with total abandon.
The Doctor moved down her body and began teasing her thighs, just at the spot where the fabric from her shorts ended, and exposed her perfect brown legs. She found this almost unbearable, and another expletive tumbled out, along with another moan, and a good yank at her restraints. He moved inward to the most sensitive part of her thighs, and after a few seconds, reached forward and slid his fingers inside the waistband of her shorts. He pulled them down until her spread legs wouldn't let them go any further – but it was far enough.
He teased her inner thighs again, moving the invisible feather back and forth slowly, then quickly. The litany of filthy words that came out of her then delighted him, made him smile, made him feel powerful. Liquid dripped down the inside of her thighs and she writhed against her invisible cuffs. Her clit stuck out from behind her swollen folds, all pink and slick, and he gave a quick swipe at it with the torturous light touch, nearly bringing her to her knees. Then he did it again, and then again. She jerked and swore each time, and begged him to stop, and finish her off.
Abruptly, he did stop, and he left the room. When he returned, he had another stone in his hand.
"Birvre," he said to her, his breathless voice (and raging erection) betraying his own lust. "Quake. Tremble."
He blew on it, knowing exactly what it would do.
He reached out and touched both her nipples lightly with two fingers from each hand, and immediately, all four fingers began to buzz, hum… vibrate.
"Oh, my God," she moaned. She leaned back against the pole and closed her eyes, unable to keep any impetus about her whatsoever. Shock waves pulsed through her body, from her nipples all the way down between her legs. She moaned with the sensation, and with the anticipation of what was to come, of what she knew the Doctor would make her wait for.
He stepped forward and once again, slid his arms around her and his tongue into her mouth. He probed, noticing how hot her mouth was, how voraciously and hungrily she was clawing at him with her lips and tongue. He slid his palms down over her perfect round bottom, feeling the smooth, soft skin sail by like silk. And he reached down and very subtly slipped both of his index fingers between her legs, just below the curve of her bum, and just behind her swollen pink lips. His fingers vibrated there, unmoving, and he took great pleasure in feeling her twitch and writhe while trying to suck his tongue, and stay standing.
He licked the sensitive area at her jugular, pressing her into the pole, his own hardness driving urgently against her stomach.
"For God's sake…" she breathed.
"What?" he asked, his voice hot against her neck.
"Just…"
"What do you want?" he asked.
She didn't answer, could not answer.
"This?" he asked, pressing his fingers harder into the flesh between her legs. His arms pulled her close to him, flush up against him, and every part of him that throbbed or felt hot, she could feel it.
She let out a weak cry, and threw her head back. She cursed again and called him a name, which made him chuckle.
"This?" he asked. He took a step back and pressed two fingers against her clavicle, his magical digits vibrating against the bone. He began pulling his fingers down her chest, infuriatingly slowly. As he passed between her breasts, he leaned down and flicked each nipple with his tongue, only twice, making her body jolt.
As the vibrating fingers reached her navel, he swirled them around, and she took in a sharp breath and held it. He looked at her face with innocent inquiry, and she bit her lip and scowled at him.
"Oh, I know what it is that you want," he mused, letting his fingers meander down her abdomen, again, so slowly it made her want to scream. If she had had any one of her four limbs free, she might have struck him. "This," he said.
With that, he thrust the two fingers against her clit. Immediately, with no ceremony nor warning, she let out an unrestrained cry, and she came. Her body shook, her hips thrust forward against his quaking touch, and more fluid leaked down the inside of her leg.
But he didn't stop there, didn't stop touching her. Even as her knees gave out again and she slumped down, he kept pressing those fingers into her sensitive flesh. She jerked and writhed. "Ugh, stop," she demanded. "Take it away!"
He shook his head, and once again, pressed her into the pole and shoved his tongue into her mouth. The vibration did not let up, and even as she felt the discomfort of her plundered flesh reeling against it, she felt her body on the rise for a second time. He pushed harder and whispered in her ear, "Come on now, do it again." It didn't take much more encouragement, and she was flying over the edge, coming again, gushing, cursing, trembling like a leaf.
She pulled in a hard breath through her teeth as she came down from this high, and the Doctor looked her squarely in the eye.
"Whoa. Fuck me," she growled, her words clipped and slow, her voice low and clear. It was more of an expletive than a command, though she wasn't entirely surprised that he chose to interpret it as the latter.
"Oh, I plan to," he told her lightly. "But you have just a bit more work to do first. Then, I can spend the rest of the afternoon with your legs wrapped around me." He showed her the two buzzing fingers.
"If you do that again," she panted. "I'll be spent. It'll be like shagging a ragdoll."
"I'm sure you'll draw strength from somewhere," he assured her with a sweet, indulgent smile.
And once more, he approached her, brandishing the weapons, the fingers-cum-vibrators which had already effectively unravelled her and annihilated her resolve.
She moaned before he even touched her. This time, he surprised her by not stopping at just pressing the tools against her clit. This time, he pushed them inside her, into her liquid, molten crevasse, and she moaned even more deeply. He hooked the fingers upward, just behind her pelvic bone, and high-pitched cries began to emmanate from her mouth. Four-letter words came out, harsh pleas to dieties, even a couple of half-hearted demands for him to stop (which she didn't mean), all of which presaged an explosion which she couldn't contain. She pulled at her restraints so hard that her wrists and ankles turned white, around the places where invisible bands kept her tied. Tears rolled out, and a scream escaped, as her entire body went pop. It was an orgasm that should have ended it all, might have made her pass out, and felt as if it could have shaken the entire TARDIS.
She was left slumped and panting, though the Doctor held her up with one arm around her waist.
When she caught her breath, she looked up at him. "Cut me loose. Right now."
"Of course," he agreed. Calmly, he left the chamber and came back with the final stone: Chela. Release. He held it in front of her, and she blew on it. With that, the pole disappeared, and the restraints keeping her tied up and her legs spread, disappeared. She fell forward, and he caught her.
He worked her down onto the floor, onto her back. He pulled at the shorts which had been slung unceremoniously around her upper thighs, and brought them down over her shoes and tossed them away. He hovered over her, gazing semi-helplessly at her with intensity, with his hands planted on either side of her head, and relied on her to unbutton and unzip him.
"See? Not a ragdoll," he told her, just before thrusting inside her, and moaning with relief.
She gasped at the onslaught and hissed, "Indeed not."
He whispered her name over and over as he pushed in and out artlessly, voraciously, needing each forward movement more than the last. To her surprise, she was still strong enough to relish each movement, even appreciate the mindlessness of it, the feeling of being needed and wanted with someone's whole body and being, and right now. And she let it take her again to the top, and over. Now, at the fourth time, her eyes practically crossed as she came, and her body almost didn't know where to put all of the pleasure, as though her legs and arms and head were too full to accommodate so much. Once again, she went pop, and let out a nice, tight cry.
As if that were a cue to him, his thrusts gained in intensity, just as her answering thrusts waned. He buried his nose and mouth in her neck and hair, and though he felt her body give way, go limp and lose strength, he couldn't stop. But he knew she wanted it – she always wanted it, no matter how many times she'd come or how weak she became. She always wanted it, he could see it in her eyes whenever she looked at him. Sometimes it lay dormant, but it never took much to bring it to the surface, that desire, the long-incubating hunger that seemed to posess her in these moments, turn her into an insatiable sex goddess and make her say uncharacteristically filthy things. So he gritted his teeth and fucked her hard, with no holding back, no longer any particular thought or consideration, with satisfaction the only thing on his mind.
Because after the torture he'd put them both through, he needed this, needed to devour and release. Specifically, he needed her, needed to have her and release inside of her, and no one else. She was the one who had brought this out in him two months ago – this pleasure was her fault, the lust was her fault, the sex, the fantasies, this out-of-control, driving need to possess . And it felt fantastic. Explosive and ecstatic. He knew she loved him, and now he seriously wondered if he loved her as well, or if he just loved her for this. He knew he cared about her, craved her, had over-the-top strong feelings for her, sometimes wanted to own her and more often than not wanted to tear her clothes off. But loved her?
Perhaps now. Right there, on the floor, fucking her madly into the cold tile, grunting in her ear, listening to her pant and whimper… perhaps he loved her now.
He'd revisit that question later, because for the moment it didn't matter. He was in her thrall, or in the thrall of something, and he was teetering on the edge.
And then he fell hard. Tumbling from the edge into the crevasse, he found himself in the throes of absolute electric, blinding pleasure. He groaned as if someone had hit him in the stomach, and gave her everything then, unleashed in her, filled her up, and heard her whisper "yessssss," as he did. It felt like a thousand waves over his body, pulling him loose, drawing out his release.
Before he was quite spent, while there were still deep pulsations going on inside, he opened his eyes and looked at her. Her hair was spread out over the floor like a stringy mop, and her face was covered with sweat. She was flushed and pink in her cheeks and had tears in her eyes. Her mouth hung slack, and she was at a loss for words. With her brilliant mind, filled with at least two languages, including medical terminology and some time-and-space jargon, she could think of no words to say just now.
And yet, even as he came down from the most intense and contemplative orgasm of his very long life, he had never wanted anyone more. And he knew he'd do anything to have her.
Yes, even now. He'd have her again and again... and again.
Those bloody stones. He was effectively undone, and he liked it.
"You know," she said with a slight smile, still panting, her cogence returning. "It just so happened that I was the first to blow on the Clemana stone, the restraint. It could have been you."
He chuckled. "It could have, you're right."
"Still could be."
"Very true," he agreed. He rolled onto his side and rested his head in his hand. "But there is a legend that says that this kit is not the only of its kind. There are other abominations out there, other weapons that need confiscating. This one came from Scalif, but there are Roneog people who are equally threatening, who are said to be harbouring a box of rope that does something unspecified in the logs of the Claponti order. I'd wager I know why it's unspecified."
"Very intriguing, Doctor. But didn't it take three hundred years to track these weapons down?"
"Yeah, but it's not like I was the one looking for them. I bet I could cut that time down considerably. I can put some feelers out right now."
She smiled. "Okay, you do that. But in the meantime, we'll have to tide ourselves over with this set."
"I'll look forward to it."
"Good, but not for long, because you're going to meet me in your bedroom in twenty minutes."
"Don't we have a planet to save, or something?" he asked half-heartedly.
"Probably, but it'll wait – we have a time machine, for God's sake. Why are we always in such a rush?"
He laughed. "Good point."
"Twenty minutes, and prepare for unrestrained, restrained torture."
"Oh, torture. How can I resist?"
She grabbed his collar and pulled him in for a juicy kiss. "You can't."
Yep, unravelled. Those bloody stones.