Unbound Chapter Three - Time for some smut
Title:Unbound
Categories(?):Smutty goodness, a touch of romance, humor, angst, BDSM
Rating: Starts out R, but by Chapter 3 we'll be in NC-17 territory. Did I mention that there will be bondage..and discipline?
Pairing: Five/Turlough
Unbound - Chapter Three (The Doctor tunes in)
When both his companions retired to their rooms for the night, the Doctor was again free to pursue his own interests without them underfoot. After a few hours, he returned to the library and busied himself rearranging old books, and listening to recordings of Draconian opera. Gradually, his mind wandered back to the recent discussions he’d had with Turlough. The Doctor couldn’t help but be amused by the urgency in the young man’s tone as he spoke about what in some circles might be considered ‘kinky’. Being tied up by your lover is hardly outrageous compared to some of the activities the rest of the universe engages in. He wondered why so many intelligent beings attached feelings of shame to their sexuality. Sex was a normal part of life for the majority of species in the universe -even Gallifreyans.
The Doctor took a deep breath and sighed. Yes, well, most Gallifreyans. Yet again, my path diverges from the others. Over the course of the evening, he had become aware that a strange, irritating sensation had taken up residence in his chest. Determined to ignore this phantom, he hummed along with the tenor chorus, but the more effort he put into forcing the unfamiliar feeling out of his conscious thought, the faster it rose to the surface, insisting that it be acknowledged.
Finally the Doctor stopped the music and turned his attention inward.
I don’t feel ill. Simply odd. Like there’s an itch someplace I can’t reach.
Folding his left leg underneath his body, he settled into his favorite chair and closed his eyes, trying to remember when, or if, he’d experienced that particular sensation before. Then, it dawned on him. Oh, now I remember. Desire- to touch and be touched - simple. He felt a bit foolish that it took so long to catch on to what his body was trying to tell him. Again, he marveled that, in this incarnation, he frequently experienced a curious detachment from his physical being. It had been useful on more than one occasion; while meeting his other selves for example, but at the moment the feeling was decidedly unpleasant. The body, it seems, will no longer be ignored.
Making his way to his room, the Doctor felt strangely anxious, realizing that he’d given this new body only the most cursory examination when he first acquired it. He’d intended to go back later and explore in depth its strengths and weaknesses; likes and dislikes. It just happened that he’d always found something more important to do. Well, then, I suppose there’s no time like the present.
As he disrobed with near robotic precision, a strange thought occurred to him. When was the last time someone tried to rip my clothes off? He paused, standing in the middle of his bedroom clad only in his socks, trying to remember. Hmmm, must have been a while then. Was it the last me, or the one before? As if an invisible key had been turned in an unseen lock, a memory was released, and the Doctor smiled. Oh yes. That was a memorable UNIT Christmas party.
The Doctor stood in front of a full-length mirror and looked himself over. I appear to have the usual complement of appendages. Of course, I knew that already. I’d have to be pretty unobservant not to notice a couple extra fingers or toes this long after regeneration. Hmm, almost no hair on the chest. That’s different. Probably why I don’t need to shave as often. But I do need a haircut again. How ever did I stand having that mop of curls? Didn’t my head get hot?
Why am I stalling? I didn’t come here to choose a new hairstyle. Yes, fine, well it appears I have hair in the other usual places. Darker though. What is it they say on Earth? Something about the carpet matching the draperies…what an odd metaphor.
The Doctor’s mind continued to wander off course until the reason for his standing nude in the middle of the bedroom reasserted itself. Fine. Let’s see if I remember how to do this. Why wouldn’t I? I’m being ridiculous. I’m certainly not the only being in the universe doing this tonight. I’m probably not even the only one in the TARDIS.
The Doctor stopped himself cold. He didn’t allow the thought of either companion doing anything to themselves to form completely. No, no, no. Find something else to think about. That Christmas party, for example.
The Doctor closed his eyes and recalled the pertinent details of that evening. In his minds eye, he saw a lovely human woman with a bright smile who had been looking at him with that look in her eye all night. No matter how much eggnog he’d had, the Doctor knew he could not blame intoxication for what had transpired.
Indeed the pleasure of pursuit is heightened by memory of times one was caught.
He’d allowed her to lead him to someone’s empty office. She hopped up onto the desk like a cat and knelt on the blotter. Pulling her dress up over her head, she tossed it aside as if it were a useless rag. That was all the encouragement he’d needed. He could remember closing his arms around her, pulling her body to him. He kissed her. Her tongue was warm in his mouth, and the rest of her body burned him through his clothes. She pawed at the front of his ruffled shirt.
It took Herculean effort to pull back, to limit her contact with his body. Despite her arousal, she would no doubt notice the difference in his racing pulses, and the last thing he needed was for the woman he wanted so badly to run away screaming. He preferred to make her stay and scream. The only concession he could allow was the removal of his jacket.
Bracing her with one hand against the small of her back, he encouraged her to lean away from him. He could see all of her that way; all the important parts barely covered by sheer material. He traced the vertical line of her sex with his index finger as he covered one breast with his mouth. She moaned. It was a lovely, almost musical, sound that made him shiver - then and now.
Her scent permeated the room, affecting him more deeply than alcohol ever could. Without a word he dropped to his knees and bathed her with his tongue, soaking the already damp front of her panties. When she shuddered and put her small hands on the back of his head, he knew he she would accept this act as his only offering. He vowed to give her so much pleasure she wouldn’t care that he wouldn’t…couldn’t…do to her what she thought all men wanted.
In the present, the Doctor was dimly aware of one hand roaming across his abdomen, testing the sensitivity of his flesh, while the other traveled downward, taking hold of his rapidly growing organ. He felt tense and good. Ahhh, yes. Now I remember. In the dreamlike haze of memory, the Doctor reimmersed himself in the sensations experienced by his third incarnation.
Pulling aside ruined fabric with his teeth, he plunged his index finger inside her. She bucked in surprise, but he held her fast, keeping her hips tilted forward as he inserted a second finger. His tongue lashed at the critical bundle of nerves while he moved his hand away, then back, and away again. He drowned in the smell, the taste, and the sounds she made. He didn’t need to touch her mind to know she was lost in ecstasy.
“Oh, God!” she’d cried, her body trembling. He was torn between prolonging the sweet torment and pushing her toward completion. Finally, the need to make her lose control completely won out. He thrust his fingers into her deeply and sucked at the apex of her slit. Reflexively she tried to pull away, but again he prevented her escape as she rode a wave of need and gave in to her own pleasure.
It was over too quickly. He held her while she recovered, kissed her tenderly, and helped her dress. He never saw her again.
Back in his current body, the Doctor stumbled backward until he was sitting on his bed. He was vaguely annoyed that despite stroking himself rather vigorously he had not…finished. I would have thought the rather long break between now and the last time I did this would speed the process, not hinder it. I suppose I’ll just have to think of something else.
As he had commanded, the Doctor’s memory offered up another situation for him to relive, just as vivid as the first. Oh yes. She was lovely. Bright and cool, with scales that shimmered in the moonlight. Come to think of it…am I sure it was a she? Reptilian species do keep one guessing. He stretched out on the bed, bending one knee and placing a foot flat on the mattress to give himself just a bit more leverage. What about that curious feline species? Wicked claws and delightful tails.
The Doctor lost track of time as he recalled of a stunning array of sexual experiences with partners of various species. Turning over onto his stomach, he felt sweat bead across his back as he thrust himself against the duvet, reveling in the different level of friction. Still it seemed he could not push himself over the edge, and it was becoming terribly frustrating. He had long passed simply wanting to have an orgasm. Now he needed to experience one.
Eyes shut tight, he reached far back into the past. To home. Tapping the debauchery of his reckless youth, the Doctor found a memory that promised to scratch his itch perfectly. It brought with it just a touch of embarrassment that melted away in an instant as he could not deny the delightful effect it had on his body. He felt strong and powerful; completely in control.
A lithe frame strained against carefully arranged restraints. A soft voice pleading for release, begging to be spared further torment. “Please…please don’t tease me anymore! Theta, please, I’m so hard.”
The Doctor growled, his chest rumbling with the sound. He ground his hips into the mattress. I want…I want…mouth…not his mouth. He shuddered with need. I want something in my mouth. Oh Rassilon, I remember now.
The hazy images and phantom sensations came into sharp focus. He’d dropped to his knees, gripped his lover’s buttocks and buried his face in the man’s crotch. “Yes!” cried his captive as the young Doctor wrapped his lips around his lover’s straining penis.
Unable to deny the nature of his need, the Doctor shoved the first three fingers of his left hand into his mouth with such force he gagged. That reflex triggered another wave of delight as he remembered how his lips had stretched to accommodate this particular partner.
The insistent pressure in his abdomen made the Doctor aware that he was finally going to achieve his goal. With one final thrust his current body and past pleasures were joined. He howled with relief.
Later - he couldn’t be sure if it were minutes or hours - the Doctor rolled over onto his back. Oh my. He was at a loss for words to describe the intensity what he had experienced. I haven’t felt like that in…oh hell, I don’t know and I don’t care. As his breathing, and heart rates, returned to normal, the Doctor stumbled into the shower to rinse off the physical reminders of his unusually strenuous solitary activity. After the steam had cleared from the room, the Doctor found himself staring in the mirror. Why do I think I would look any different? Perhaps because I feel different. It’s probably just post-coital - well, post-orgasmic - euphoria.
The Doctor reflected on the particular memory that had helped him over the edge. So long ago. I’d almost forgotten him, and the others; the wonderful games we played. I didn’t realize I missed them so much. The Doctor looked in the mirror again, seeing his own thoughtful eyes looking back at him. Is that what this body wants? Honestly, I shouldn’t refer to my body like some entity that I don’t own. Well then, is that what I want? Maybe.
He pushed back from the sink and found himself a dressing gown. Covered again he felt more comfortable. As he replaced the sheets on his bed, the Doctor resumed his inner dialogue.
What am I so bothered by this memory? Is it the renewed attraction to my own gender? No, no surprises there. Is it the memory of…oh dear I can’t even remember his name…and the tying up? Yes, that’s it. I’ve tried to be more egalitarian in my intimate relationships since then. Of course, on occasion, I don’t mind being a bit aggressive, when it suits my partner. I thought I’d outgrown that desire for control. I’ve seen power misused so terribly; to manipulate people, keep them cowed or enslaved. I despise being bound and ordered about. It chafes my very being.
But I know I’ve never forced anyone to do anything. My partners’ submission was their choice. I was never cruel or unfair to anyone I exercised dominance over. Punishment, if one could call it that, was sparingly applied, even if it was warranted. Sometimes it was even requested. It’s actually terribly exciting. I really do miss that. I’d almost forgotten. Too often of late, I have felt wretchedly out of control. Perhaps it’s time to reacquaint myself with my own strength and power.
Inevitably his thoughts returned to Turlough and their most recent frank conversation. Oh yes, that is problematic. He was rather adorable all tied up like a package waiting to be opened. Argh, I mustn't think of him like that. Even if he is awfully handsome, and fun to be with. I simply couldn’t. How could I be sure he isn’t acting on a mistaken belief that he deserves to be abused? He certainly seems to be able to differentiate between giving up control and being robbed of it. Perhaps in volunteering, he finds a sort of strength, and considerable pleasure. He can be a bit of a hedonist, and he seems quite flexible. There are so many ways I could bind him. Then I would be free to explore that wonderfully cool skin and…oh no.
It’s going to be awkward the next time he wants assistance. Then again, I shouldn’t assume he will want more. I am perfectly capable of remaining detached. He has not expressed any attraction toward me directly. Flirtation is often an exercise. It does not necessarily lead to anything.
Was he flirting earlier? I think he must have been. If so, it was terribly clever of him to engage the olfactory aspect of attraction. He does smell wonderful. Dear me, the trouble with things that smell good is eventually one wants to taste them. I’m going to have to tread carefully. But if he makes an offer, how will I respond?
Repeatedly reassuring himself of his ability to maintain a completely platonic relationship with another companion he was attracted to, the Doctor allowed himself to take a short nap before getting dressed again and getting back to his usual puttering around.
Categories(?):Smutty goodness, a touch of romance, humor, angst, BDSM
Rating: Starts out R, but by Chapter 3 we'll be in NC-17 territory. Did I mention that there will be bondage..and discipline?
Pairing: Five/Turlough
Unbound - Chapter Three (The Doctor tunes in)
When both his companions retired to their rooms for the night, the Doctor was again free to pursue his own interests without them underfoot. After a few hours, he returned to the library and busied himself rearranging old books, and listening to recordings of Draconian opera. Gradually, his mind wandered back to the recent discussions he’d had with Turlough. The Doctor couldn’t help but be amused by the urgency in the young man’s tone as he spoke about what in some circles might be considered ‘kinky’. Being tied up by your lover is hardly outrageous compared to some of the activities the rest of the universe engages in. He wondered why so many intelligent beings attached feelings of shame to their sexuality. Sex was a normal part of life for the majority of species in the universe -even Gallifreyans.
The Doctor took a deep breath and sighed. Yes, well, most Gallifreyans. Yet again, my path diverges from the others. Over the course of the evening, he had become aware that a strange, irritating sensation had taken up residence in his chest. Determined to ignore this phantom, he hummed along with the tenor chorus, but the more effort he put into forcing the unfamiliar feeling out of his conscious thought, the faster it rose to the surface, insisting that it be acknowledged.
Finally the Doctor stopped the music and turned his attention inward.
I don’t feel ill. Simply odd. Like there’s an itch someplace I can’t reach.
Folding his left leg underneath his body, he settled into his favorite chair and closed his eyes, trying to remember when, or if, he’d experienced that particular sensation before. Then, it dawned on him. Oh, now I remember. Desire- to touch and be touched - simple. He felt a bit foolish that it took so long to catch on to what his body was trying to tell him. Again, he marveled that, in this incarnation, he frequently experienced a curious detachment from his physical being. It had been useful on more than one occasion; while meeting his other selves for example, but at the moment the feeling was decidedly unpleasant. The body, it seems, will no longer be ignored.
Making his way to his room, the Doctor felt strangely anxious, realizing that he’d given this new body only the most cursory examination when he first acquired it. He’d intended to go back later and explore in depth its strengths and weaknesses; likes and dislikes. It just happened that he’d always found something more important to do. Well, then, I suppose there’s no time like the present.
As he disrobed with near robotic precision, a strange thought occurred to him. When was the last time someone tried to rip my clothes off? He paused, standing in the middle of his bedroom clad only in his socks, trying to remember. Hmmm, must have been a while then. Was it the last me, or the one before? As if an invisible key had been turned in an unseen lock, a memory was released, and the Doctor smiled. Oh yes. That was a memorable UNIT Christmas party.
The Doctor stood in front of a full-length mirror and looked himself over. I appear to have the usual complement of appendages. Of course, I knew that already. I’d have to be pretty unobservant not to notice a couple extra fingers or toes this long after regeneration. Hmm, almost no hair on the chest. That’s different. Probably why I don’t need to shave as often. But I do need a haircut again. How ever did I stand having that mop of curls? Didn’t my head get hot?
Why am I stalling? I didn’t come here to choose a new hairstyle. Yes, fine, well it appears I have hair in the other usual places. Darker though. What is it they say on Earth? Something about the carpet matching the draperies…what an odd metaphor.
The Doctor’s mind continued to wander off course until the reason for his standing nude in the middle of the bedroom reasserted itself. Fine. Let’s see if I remember how to do this. Why wouldn’t I? I’m being ridiculous. I’m certainly not the only being in the universe doing this tonight. I’m probably not even the only one in the TARDIS.
The Doctor stopped himself cold. He didn’t allow the thought of either companion doing anything to themselves to form completely. No, no, no. Find something else to think about. That Christmas party, for example.
The Doctor closed his eyes and recalled the pertinent details of that evening. In his minds eye, he saw a lovely human woman with a bright smile who had been looking at him with that look in her eye all night. No matter how much eggnog he’d had, the Doctor knew he could not blame intoxication for what had transpired.
Indeed the pleasure of pursuit is heightened by memory of times one was caught.
He’d allowed her to lead him to someone’s empty office. She hopped up onto the desk like a cat and knelt on the blotter. Pulling her dress up over her head, she tossed it aside as if it were a useless rag. That was all the encouragement he’d needed. He could remember closing his arms around her, pulling her body to him. He kissed her. Her tongue was warm in his mouth, and the rest of her body burned him through his clothes. She pawed at the front of his ruffled shirt.
It took Herculean effort to pull back, to limit her contact with his body. Despite her arousal, she would no doubt notice the difference in his racing pulses, and the last thing he needed was for the woman he wanted so badly to run away screaming. He preferred to make her stay and scream. The only concession he could allow was the removal of his jacket.
Bracing her with one hand against the small of her back, he encouraged her to lean away from him. He could see all of her that way; all the important parts barely covered by sheer material. He traced the vertical line of her sex with his index finger as he covered one breast with his mouth. She moaned. It was a lovely, almost musical, sound that made him shiver - then and now.
Her scent permeated the room, affecting him more deeply than alcohol ever could. Without a word he dropped to his knees and bathed her with his tongue, soaking the already damp front of her panties. When she shuddered and put her small hands on the back of his head, he knew he she would accept this act as his only offering. He vowed to give her so much pleasure she wouldn’t care that he wouldn’t…couldn’t…do to her what she thought all men wanted.
In the present, the Doctor was dimly aware of one hand roaming across his abdomen, testing the sensitivity of his flesh, while the other traveled downward, taking hold of his rapidly growing organ. He felt tense and good. Ahhh, yes. Now I remember. In the dreamlike haze of memory, the Doctor reimmersed himself in the sensations experienced by his third incarnation.
Pulling aside ruined fabric with his teeth, he plunged his index finger inside her. She bucked in surprise, but he held her fast, keeping her hips tilted forward as he inserted a second finger. His tongue lashed at the critical bundle of nerves while he moved his hand away, then back, and away again. He drowned in the smell, the taste, and the sounds she made. He didn’t need to touch her mind to know she was lost in ecstasy.
“Oh, God!” she’d cried, her body trembling. He was torn between prolonging the sweet torment and pushing her toward completion. Finally, the need to make her lose control completely won out. He thrust his fingers into her deeply and sucked at the apex of her slit. Reflexively she tried to pull away, but again he prevented her escape as she rode a wave of need and gave in to her own pleasure.
It was over too quickly. He held her while she recovered, kissed her tenderly, and helped her dress. He never saw her again.
Back in his current body, the Doctor stumbled backward until he was sitting on his bed. He was vaguely annoyed that despite stroking himself rather vigorously he had not…finished. I would have thought the rather long break between now and the last time I did this would speed the process, not hinder it. I suppose I’ll just have to think of something else.
As he had commanded, the Doctor’s memory offered up another situation for him to relive, just as vivid as the first. Oh yes. She was lovely. Bright and cool, with scales that shimmered in the moonlight. Come to think of it…am I sure it was a she? Reptilian species do keep one guessing. He stretched out on the bed, bending one knee and placing a foot flat on the mattress to give himself just a bit more leverage. What about that curious feline species? Wicked claws and delightful tails.
The Doctor lost track of time as he recalled of a stunning array of sexual experiences with partners of various species. Turning over onto his stomach, he felt sweat bead across his back as he thrust himself against the duvet, reveling in the different level of friction. Still it seemed he could not push himself over the edge, and it was becoming terribly frustrating. He had long passed simply wanting to have an orgasm. Now he needed to experience one.
Eyes shut tight, he reached far back into the past. To home. Tapping the debauchery of his reckless youth, the Doctor found a memory that promised to scratch his itch perfectly. It brought with it just a touch of embarrassment that melted away in an instant as he could not deny the delightful effect it had on his body. He felt strong and powerful; completely in control.
A lithe frame strained against carefully arranged restraints. A soft voice pleading for release, begging to be spared further torment. “Please…please don’t tease me anymore! Theta, please, I’m so hard.”
The Doctor growled, his chest rumbling with the sound. He ground his hips into the mattress. I want…I want…mouth…not his mouth. He shuddered with need. I want something in my mouth. Oh Rassilon, I remember now.
The hazy images and phantom sensations came into sharp focus. He’d dropped to his knees, gripped his lover’s buttocks and buried his face in the man’s crotch. “Yes!” cried his captive as the young Doctor wrapped his lips around his lover’s straining penis.
Unable to deny the nature of his need, the Doctor shoved the first three fingers of his left hand into his mouth with such force he gagged. That reflex triggered another wave of delight as he remembered how his lips had stretched to accommodate this particular partner.
The insistent pressure in his abdomen made the Doctor aware that he was finally going to achieve his goal. With one final thrust his current body and past pleasures were joined. He howled with relief.
Later - he couldn’t be sure if it were minutes or hours - the Doctor rolled over onto his back. Oh my. He was at a loss for words to describe the intensity what he had experienced. I haven’t felt like that in…oh hell, I don’t know and I don’t care. As his breathing, and heart rates, returned to normal, the Doctor stumbled into the shower to rinse off the physical reminders of his unusually strenuous solitary activity. After the steam had cleared from the room, the Doctor found himself staring in the mirror. Why do I think I would look any different? Perhaps because I feel different. It’s probably just post-coital - well, post-orgasmic - euphoria.
The Doctor reflected on the particular memory that had helped him over the edge. So long ago. I’d almost forgotten him, and the others; the wonderful games we played. I didn’t realize I missed them so much. The Doctor looked in the mirror again, seeing his own thoughtful eyes looking back at him. Is that what this body wants? Honestly, I shouldn’t refer to my body like some entity that I don’t own. Well then, is that what I want? Maybe.
He pushed back from the sink and found himself a dressing gown. Covered again he felt more comfortable. As he replaced the sheets on his bed, the Doctor resumed his inner dialogue.
What am I so bothered by this memory? Is it the renewed attraction to my own gender? No, no surprises there. Is it the memory of…oh dear I can’t even remember his name…and the tying up? Yes, that’s it. I’ve tried to be more egalitarian in my intimate relationships since then. Of course, on occasion, I don’t mind being a bit aggressive, when it suits my partner. I thought I’d outgrown that desire for control. I’ve seen power misused so terribly; to manipulate people, keep them cowed or enslaved. I despise being bound and ordered about. It chafes my very being.
But I know I’ve never forced anyone to do anything. My partners’ submission was their choice. I was never cruel or unfair to anyone I exercised dominance over. Punishment, if one could call it that, was sparingly applied, even if it was warranted. Sometimes it was even requested. It’s actually terribly exciting. I really do miss that. I’d almost forgotten. Too often of late, I have felt wretchedly out of control. Perhaps it’s time to reacquaint myself with my own strength and power.
Inevitably his thoughts returned to Turlough and their most recent frank conversation. Oh yes, that is problematic. He was rather adorable all tied up like a package waiting to be opened. Argh, I mustn't think of him like that. Even if he is awfully handsome, and fun to be with. I simply couldn’t. How could I be sure he isn’t acting on a mistaken belief that he deserves to be abused? He certainly seems to be able to differentiate between giving up control and being robbed of it. Perhaps in volunteering, he finds a sort of strength, and considerable pleasure. He can be a bit of a hedonist, and he seems quite flexible. There are so many ways I could bind him. Then I would be free to explore that wonderfully cool skin and…oh no.
It’s going to be awkward the next time he wants assistance. Then again, I shouldn’t assume he will want more. I am perfectly capable of remaining detached. He has not expressed any attraction toward me directly. Flirtation is often an exercise. It does not necessarily lead to anything.
Was he flirting earlier? I think he must have been. If so, it was terribly clever of him to engage the olfactory aspect of attraction. He does smell wonderful. Dear me, the trouble with things that smell good is eventually one wants to taste them. I’m going to have to tread carefully. But if he makes an offer, how will I respond?
Repeatedly reassuring himself of his ability to maintain a completely platonic relationship with another companion he was attracted to, the Doctor allowed himself to take a short nap before getting dressed again and getting back to his usual puttering around.