The only post
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The split second of pause is a mistake. In that moment, she runs a hand across her chest, tweaks a nipple, and gasps.
The Doctor makes to step away, back from the door, back from this moment of privacy, but only gets far enough to conceal his presence. Not that it matters; Jenny's eyes are squeezed shut and hair is falling across her face in curly, messy strands. Flitting across her face is the representation of a thousand feelings, and it's fascinating. Physiologically, so expressive. The Doctor has a million reasons for not moving.
Her back arches away from the wall and her breathing picks up. Her trousers are only partially open, slid only slightly down, revealing her sharp hip bones. Her hand is inside her knickers. The Doctor can see the outline of her fingers beneath the cotton, working in frantic circles against her clitoris. It looks so illicit, teenaged, trying to get off as quickly as possible. Her hips twitch, then buck and the speed of her hand increases. He can see her slip her fingers further backward and imagines her delicate fingers circling her vagina then pulling back to her clit, wetter, slippery.
She's biting down on her lip and cupping her breasts. She roughly pinches her nipples and then rubs with the palm of her hand, squeezing and kneading the flesh. Her breathing has become shallow gasps, much like the Doctor's own, and and her whole body starts shuddering.
"Come on," she says to herself, hoarsely. She moans. "Come."
And the Doctor does.
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Wonderful stuff.
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