Hi! Well, there's been some interest in this story, and in the next chapter... which is nice! Thanks! Most folks who responded to my previous chapter's question wanted "option B," (an in-person encounter) even if things start out in "option A" (more phone action, with the Doctor reciprocating by sharing his fantasies).

I'm still mulling over what this all means, and how to get it done, so, I'm doing something I don't do very often: posting this chapter, even though the NEXT ONE isn't ready yet. But it feels okay to do, and I'm looking forward to whatever feedback there is! Perhaps it will help me mold chapter 6.

"Options" aside, the previous chapter ended with Martha assuring the Doctor that the "movie in [her] mind" has a second (hotter) half that she still wants to share with him. So, as promised, this is one more chapter of the Doctor and Martha on the phone, with Martha doing most of the talking. After that, Martha has a choice to make! I think you'll find that the action ramps up here, even though the chapter is shorter - still very much NSFW!

Enjoy!

PART FIVE

There was a fantasy, a movie-in-her-mind, that Martha had begun having in 1969, when the two of them were trying to convince people that they were newlyweds.

Martha had played the first half of the movie for the Doctor, and it had been so, so, sweet.

"I feel… all the things. Everything," he gulped.

"I'm so, so glad to hear you say that, Doctor." she said, clearing her throat a bit. "In my mind, as my body calmed… you told me that if we were going to actually convince anyone else, we'd have to do better. You said, 'If you're going to say you're married, and give that secret smile with all that that entails, you're going to have to convey more than just being touched, and writhing, and shuddering over a bit of hair-pulling.'"

He chuckled. "Seems sensible."

"The Doctor in my movie is lusty and clever."

"You don't say."

"And oddly logical."

"Well, logic has to be part of the carnal experience. It just does," he joked.

"Dare I use the word manipulative?" she asked.

"You might, indeed."

"And fantasy-Martha finds it maddeningly endearing."

"Based on what I know of her, I have to say, I'm not surprised."

"So, when you said that I'd have to convey more than just a highly effective fingering, but also a good, hard, hungry fuck, newlywed-style, I didn't argue."

"Well, thank heaven for that."

She giggled knowingly – she couldn't help it. Then, "But I must admit, back then, this second half of the movie left me a bit wanting because…" she paused, and then cleared her throat.

"Because? What?"

"Well… just a moment," she said. The Doctor waited, and could hear her shuffling about, then he heard the distinct sound of a cabinet being opened. This was followed by the sound of a zip, more shuffling, then the cabinet closing.

"What are you doing?" he asked her.

"Sorry…" she said. "The second bit of the movie left me wanting because I didn't have everything I needed to make it feel real."

"Okay… I don't know what you're talking about."

"But the good news is, I have it now."

"Still don't know what you're talking about."

He heard her giggle again, then take a deep breath. "Did I tell you? The other day, after I left the TARDIS, my parents and I went back to my flat to salvage what we could before the council assessors showed up to officially condemn the place."

"Oh, right – I forgot it had been blown up," he said, somewhat confused, and momentarily wondering if the mood was about to come crashing down around them both.

"Yeah," she sighed. "The parlour was decimated, the kitchen fared a bit better… but the bedroom only had one wall blown out, and I was able to access most of my clothes, some of my books…"

"Good, I'm glad to hear it."

"And whatever was in my night stand," she told him.

"Okay. Which was?"

"Well, odds and ends," she teased. "A few pens, some face cream, a little can of mace…"

"Uh-huh…" he said, slowly, still not understanding where she was going with this.

"And, well, some implements for helping me sleep. Melatonin tablets, lavender-scented incense, a novel, and one very key thing, Doctor. Very key, indeed, to this conversation."

"I'm sorry for being obtuse, Martha, but I don't know what you want me to say."

"Really, you can't guess what I'm talking about? Something I kept in my night stand that might help make the next leg of the fantasy - about newlyweds - a bit more real?" she said, stifling another giggle.

"Erm…"

"Let's put it this way," she said. "Every woman I know owns one, and it's really not that strange. But I waited until my parents were out of the room to pack the contents of my night stand into a duffel because, well, one just doesn't want one's parents seeing that sort of thing."

"Oh," he said sheepishly. "I see."

She laughed. "And if I'm totally honest, Doctor, I had one with me in the TARDIS as well, but in 1969, we'd got separated from the TARDIS, and it wasn't the sort of thing you could readily purchase without judgement back then, at least not without going into a super-dodgy part of town."

"But you have it now."

"Yes," she said. "Right here in my hand. It's flamingo-pink, made of non-porous silicone, and looks rather like a torpedo. I'll spare you the dimensions."

"Yeah, thanks for that."

"I don't know if the batteries are fresh or not – after the run we've had, I can't even remember what month it is. But I guess we'll see, eh?"

"So, if you didn't have it in 1969, what did you do?"

"Well," she lilted, her voice dropping back down to a sultry, secretive level. "I was just recovering from what you had just done to me – hair-pulling, anti-clockwise motions, when you whispered to me about fucking like newlyweds. I imagined you looking at me with a kind of hard inquisitiveness, again, daring me to demur. I lay back and closed my eyes…"

"Yes?"

"And just imagined," she said. "The whole of your weight pressing gradually down upon me, your breathy groan in my ear…"

"And now? Tonight in your bed in 2007?"

"I'm lying back with my eyes closed, and imagining the weight, yes… but your voice?"

"You can hear," he whispered.

"I can. And I can hear your breath through the phone. I can hear it quickening. So much nicer than conjuring it in my mind in 1969," she mused. She took a few seconds of silence, then said, "And you asked me if I was ready."

"Well… are you ready?"

"I've been ready since the moment I met you, Doctor," she whispered heavily.

"Then don't wait," he said. He wanted to encourage her, in the moment, in the fantasy… but it came off as supplicating.

In the end, that was fine with both of them. It was hot, urgent, and honest.

"I don't wait. Can't. And I could hear your imaginary moan as you slid into me." She said those last three words slowly, lightly, deliberately, and her breath hitched. "It was so easy for you – I was so, so slippery and soaking wet, my body ripe and begging… and d'you know what?"

"What?"

"Almost involuntarily, I found myself with three fingers buried inside myself. Right there on the sofa, out in the open."

"Mm, lovely. And now?"

"It's not my fingers. But you already knew that."

"Perhaps," he said, singing a bit, taking a page from her book. "Was it as easy as it is in your fantasy?"

"To push this lovely pink tool all the way inside myself?"

"Yes."

"Oh, yes," she affirmed. "And… moving it back and forth, gently for now, also so, so easy. So slick, so smooth…"

"Better than fingers?"

"For imagining you? Your cock buried deep in me, pressing against my insides, in places my fingers could never reach? Getting ready to thrust and bruise me? Yes. It's better."

He gave that half-laugh, half-grunt, a sound Martha had grown to love, and said, "I can't believe how amazing you are."

"And I moaned loudly then, almost as though I was hoping you'd hear."

"How did that sound?"

She gave him a demo, a long, languid groan, full of sensation, and pleasure and promise. "And then I asked you to fuck me."

"You did?"

"Actually, I demanded it."

"I can't imagine I'd have had any quarrel with that, even in your mind."

"No, indeed."

"So did I do it? Did I give you the proper, newlywed fuck we'd been needing?"

Martha moaned lightly, and said, "Oh, you did. Medium-paced and steady at first. Pulling nearly all the way out each time, but never quite, before driving back in."

"Are you doing it to yourself now?"

"You know I am," she answered, breathily. "Why even ask?"

"Oh, just curious," he said, jokingly, lightly.

"Curious… yes. To know if I'm fucking myself. Filling myself over and over…. oh, I am… again… again… oh, Doctor, are you with me?" she asked, again, breathy, passionate.

"I am," he said.

"Tell me you've got your hand wrapped around your cock."

"I have," he confessed. "Have had, pretty much since you started talking."

"Stroking?"

"Oh, yes."

"Mm, someday I'd like to see that. Prepared to take this all the way to the end?"

"Try and stop me."

"Never. Eyes shut?"

"Yes. It feels…" trailed off, and she waited a few moments. Then, "It's so good to hear your voice, and think of you wrapped around me."

"Very nice, Doctor, that's the spirit! But do you know what I found? Even back then?"

"What?"

"That you couldn't keep up a medium pace for too long."

"No, no," he breathed. "It would be too much. You're too much."

"It's you… you're too feverish, and impatient, and rough, and wanting, and…"

"You're too warm, too slick and soft for me to keep things under control."

"Yes, yes, all of it," she said to him. "And I used to find my fingers pistoning in and out faster and faster, and I'd say to you, 'don't hold back.'"

"Don't hold back…"

"I say, 'give me everything, hard as you can.'"

He groaned. "Oh, no, that's not good…"

"Of course it is," she said, now panting, her voice barely coming in bursts. "It's good… it's so good, Doctor. I've got you here, your voice, your presence, and my body is on-edge… it's just there. Right there… yes, right there…"

"Right there…" he repeated, just barely.

"I'm being filled up, deep inside, all the way, over and over again, harder and harder each second… so hard… oh, so hard it hurts. It hurts… it hurts, and it's the best… let me hear you."

He couldn't say anything except, "I'm still here," but it was enough. The breathiness in his voice translated everything she needed from him.

"Good… I hear that newlywed fervour, and it's pounding me hard… pounding me…"

And then he heard a distinct buzzing sound coming through from her end.

"Oh good," he said, still breathless, still climbing toward climax himself. "The batteries work."

"Mm-hm," she told him, absently. "Oh, it's working fine… keep pounding me, Doctor, I'm almost there… almost… there…"

"Good, good… I want you to fall over the edge…"

And whatever was tethering him to reality was completely gone now. The only things he could see or feel was his hand, his cock, and that impending release. Just there – so close.

They breathed into the phone together, moaning each other's names, getting closer and closer to a moment that neither of them could take back. He gripped harder and stroked faster. She pounded herself with the pink toy, in and out, over and over, back arching, vision blurring.

The Doctor knew that there was a 1969 fantasy in the works, but the heat in his body came from the image of her. He knew she was in her bedroom in her parents' house, shoving a vibrating, flamingo-pink, torpedo-shaped toy in and out of her writhing body, mouth agape, every inch of her taut with tension, the image of him in her mind.

And suddenly, he knew where this was all leading.

She confessed her love. She confessed all of this, and with only words, was bringing him to the brink of orgasmic madness. Her voice, the buzzing through the phone. The fact that he couldn't sleep thinking about her, hadn't eaten much, hadn't worn real clothes in months…

This was why he had cut off those first two calls – the heat was so intense, he'd needed two days to get here.

And yes, he knew where it was all leading.

And there it was, right there in his mind, gelling solidly, undulating, and wonderful: he was in love.

And it was glorious.

Not just his body, but every part of him was on the brink of a magnificent release, of revelation, all pushed to the edge by Martha Jones and her fabulous heart, voice, body, and mind.

"Doctor, I'm… I'm… I'm there now," she groaned. "I'm coming, and I need you to… oh! Come with me! Please! Let it all go, and fill me up… oh…"

And he did.

He listened to her come for the second time while his body gave way, and jets of pleasure spilled out of him.

And for the first time, though she now knew it would not be the last, she got to listen to the low grumble he made when he spasmed with pleasure and relief and realisation. He growled, then hissed a low, tense expletive as he orgasmed, and she heard it in all of its uninhibited, naughty beauty as her insides throbbed their last, gripping the tool inside of her.

She switched it off, and concentrated on the sounds coming through the phone.

She could hear breathing, as could he.

Then, "Bloody hell, it's been a long time since I've done that," from him.

She chuckled. "Me, too. Crossing the planet under cover of night, sleeping in broom closets and under picnic tables, and all."

"I guess we've both been needing something."

"You're just now figuring that out?"

"Well, you forced it out of me."

"Forced is hardly the word, but okay," she said, with another chuckle. "You said you were ready to be touched."

He laughed, still breathless. "And so I was."

For another couple of minutes, they simply lay, recovering, listening.

Then, "Doctor?"

"Mm?"

"What's next?"

"I don't know."

"You wanted to know how I felt, and what went on in my mind. Now you know. Do you feel better?"

"I do."

"Why?"

"I was so confused, Martha. I had all these feelings, and I wasn't even sure what they were. I didn't know if you were in love with me…"

"I am."

"And/or if you had sexual feelings about me."

"I do."

"I guess the prospect of it was a little disorienting. Frightening. I needed to put a label on it before I could sort out my own… stuff."

"Your own… stuff?"

"My own feelings. Because I guess, as it turns out, my feelings are… well, remarkably similar. I just needed…"

"Yes?"

"Well, you know how sometimes a jar won't open unless you bang its head against something hard?"

She laughed. "Yeah."

"That's me."

"Remarkably apt, Doctor. So, again, I ask, what's next?"

"Well, we could go our separate ways now."

"Is that what you want?" she asked, with more anxiousness in her voice than she would have liked.

"Let me finish. We can get some sleep in separate parts of the universe, and meet up for breakfast in the morning."

"Okay."

"We can keep talking for a while, and see what sorts of movies it conjures. I did confess to having a small filmography of my own that someday I might like to share."

"Yes, you did."

"Or, I can materialise right now in your parents' front garden."

Her breath quickened again, this time in panic.

"Wha… you're leaving it up to me?"

So... thoughts? Ideas for chapter 6?

A review would make my day, so please don't hesitate! Thanks so much for reading!