Clara Oswald: Into the Vortex (An Erotic Doctor Who Fantasia – Part One)

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Clara Oswald: Into the Vortex (An Erotic Doctor Who Fantasia – Part One)

The central unit of the TARDIS’ slowly rose and fell with a dynamic, rhythmic whirr, propelling the mysterious craft forever onward, to continue its fantastic journey through space and time, while Clara lay dreaming,naked, in bed. A strange hand lovingly caressed the console, clicking buttons, pulling levers and twisting dials until the soft whir became a deafening roar and the motions of the main pillar increased in fury and vigour until the control room was awash with movement and noise; a deafening alarm, then a crash followed by an uncanny silence. And through it Clara slept on; and Clara dreamed on.

Clara dreamed of many things that terrified her; she dreamed of the terrible monsters she’d unluckily encountered, the single-minded Cybermen, the mechanical killers, the Daleks and the chillingly fearsome Ice Warriors. As the dial turned on the console and the temperature soared dangerously in the control room, Clara’s dreams slowly shifted from fear into an altogether different realm; Clara was experiencing strange dreams that terrified her and then aroused her; Clara dreamed of the Doctor, and of sex. The mysterious figure operating the dials chuckled to itself and exited, satisfied that a job had been well done. The TARDIS went spinning back through time. Or was it forward? Or perhaps a combination of the two. Either way, a cryptic alien message on the display screen flashed with urgency. Roughly translated to English, it read “next stop,
oblivion.”

“Next stop, oblivion,” came a sweet but worried snarl from Clara’s chapped, sleeping lips. The TARDIS had jerked from side to side and the jolt appeared to startle her into action. Her eyes flashed open and she sat bolt upright in bed, throwing a blanket aside as she did so. Any observer could tell that she wasn’t actually awake since her face clearly had the vacant, morbid expression of a somnambulist. The next time she spoke was markedly different; soft, gentle and enticingly sexual.  The voice of quiet seduction. ‘Oh Doctor, you saved me.’ As she spoke a silk sheet that clung tightly to her skin slid gently away exposing her astonishing figure to the electric illuminations of her private chamber. “Doctor, you saved me,” she breathed. “You’re a wonderful, wonderful man. I want you. Take me Doctor, let me reward you, Let me give you what I know you
crave.”

Inner heat and tension rising fast, the TARDIS froze in time, span around quickly, and then abruptly exploded. It then lurched forwards in time, stopped and disintegrated once again before being propelled backwards in time only to be rend asunder for a third time, then a forth, a fifth, a sixth and so on, over and over caught in an infinite and devastating time loop. Clara, oblivious to the apparent mathematically impossible events taking place around her, continued to dream an unabashedly erotic dream. The electric light flickered once again, illuminating her soft skin, the tight curve of her breast, and every desirable inch of her unworried nudity. The illumination picked out the sweat of the heat on her skin, the goose-bumps covering her flesh, the gentle tremors of her aroused and shaking form. The illuminations looked dispassionately on as Clara’s uncontrolled, unawake hands, uncertainly explored the subtle contours of her body, slowly touching, caressing and enjoying every inch of her unaware, but vulnerable form. As the ship exploded again and again Clara’s hands slid excitedly across her breasts and dainty, firming nipples; they slid down her stomach, stroking and playing as they went lower still until eventually resting on her wet cunt, and a finger entered into that playful private vortex. As it gently slipped deeper and deeper inside Clara managed to moaned again out loud, “Doctor, you shouldn’t put that in there… oh! Yes Doctor, that’s one hell of a sonic … OH! OH!”

BOOM!

A further explosion occurred, and Clara awoke and fell, unsatisfied, to the floor. A further explosion and it all ended as the TARDIS flew itself out of the deadly infinite time loop and into a dimensional vortex of unknown worlds and desires; into a vortex where literally anything might happen; where Clara might encounter the whole of space and time … and memory. Clara – the impossible girl – was about to experience the impossible.

She Wakes

She Wakes
(Author’s note: I wrote this attempting to capture a gentler, more sensual moment.)

Her body lies sprawling, naked and peaceful, an erotic adornment to the stark crisp linen of her bed. The dawning sun shyly observes her calm and unmoving beauty, for she lies perfectly still but for the soft regular rise and fall of her small delicate bosom. Strong male hands run lightly across the tips of her breasts and grab hold of her curving hips; a firm cock slides gently inside of her; and she wakes.

The first coy greetings of the morning sun tentatively shine through and brighten the room, illuminating her precious nudity. She yawns, stretches out her arms, and then blearily wipes away the encrusted sleep from her sticky eyes. The bolder rays beam their warmth across her smiling face and neck, bringing welcome heat to the exposed breast, recently cupped so tenderly by the man now thrusting his way deeper and deeper within.

She wakes as the gentle thrusting quickens, intensifies and heats; as the penetrating rays of the sun explode and refract into a light of a thousand beautiful colours; and then it burns and dies. She feels a husky breath on her neck, her warm body is surrounded, cradled in the arms of her lover, and she emerges into the day feeling safe and content. One arm wraps tightly around her, hand playing fondly with her chest, the other gently squeezing downwards on her thigh.  His semi-rigid cock lies pressed up against her ass, while the seed it spilled trickles innocently down her leg. She wriggles, pushes her body onto his, and then giggles sweetly.  She mutters, “I love you,” incoherently before drifting back into sensuous sleep.

The sunlight creeps ever over, caressing her soft, naked skin.

The Pleasure in Death

Vampires
I quickly wrote this quickie.  I’m going to write some erotic vampire fiction later, so this is just me putting down some initial thoughts for you to read. 

I stood alone, transfixed by Carmilla’s haunting gaze – or possibly it was the thick blood red wine freshly drunk – an uncontainable fit of lust coursing through my body.  I hadn’t desired this, yet as I looked into her cold dank eyes an unknown passion built inside of me telling me what I must do, so I obeyed.  It told me to slip my dress off onto the floor and remove my brassiere and panties, and I did so unquestioningly.  The cool air on my naked skin excited me; her lascivious eye, now fixed on my small breasts, both thrilled and scared me.  The wine glass I held slipped from my hand in fear, crashed to the floor and shattered, thick red liquid covering my bare legs.  Dark red wine mingled with deep thick blood as the shards of glass rent open my flesh.
 
“Renfield, tidy that mess up,” she ordered the meek servant who had been watching on in awe and amazement.  He scurried over, and like a rabid animal he began to lick the juice from off of me, slowly sucking the blood-wine from my toes and feet, slowly licking the blood-wine that had gathered in dropsand congealed on my leg.  His tongue slowly, but eagerly, embarked on its cleansing journey further upwards until instead of sticky wine I was drenched in his hot sticky saliva.  As his tongue caressed my inner thigh, creeping upwards to a place that had begun to drip a different kind of liquid, Carmilla ordered him to stop. “You have had your fun.  Your place is to watch, and perhaps if you behave like a good servant, as you should we shall have sport of you later.”
 
“I will do as you bid good lady,” he muttered deferentially and scurried back into the corner and continued to watch.
 
“Now my love, Clara; my lovely Clara,” her hand caressed my cheek as she whispered enticing promises of many pleasures in my gullible ear.  “Lay down darling, Clara lay down.  Close your eyes and lay back and I shall take you to places you never dreamed possible.  Lay down and feel Clara; feel me and die.  Die erotic death for me, Clara, and be reborn to my world of endless pleasure.”  I moaned softly as her delicate hands gently brushed over my naked tingling skin, taking in the feel of my neck, the soft round shape of my breasts, the curve on my hips and the moistness and depth of my willing pussy.  I was told to lay back, so I lay back, and I moaned gently as her finger slipped inside of me; my breath quickened, my pulse raced and my mind spun lightly round and round; round and round I span as her fingers worked round and round my hole, and with the spinning came pleasure and with pleasure came the light release of death.  And more pleasure, forever.  I was held fast in this world of blood-red pleasure and could not move to save myself from the end.  But I wanted the release her fingers were giving to me as they soaked up the juices from inside of my dripping cunt.  I wanted the release she would give me as she moved in close, sighed, whispered “I love you, Clara, I want you,” in my ear.  I wanted her too; I wanted the release found from the taste of the bloody wine on her feminine lips, the hot slime of her tongue and her cloudy breath on my neck.  I wanted the release from the prick of her teeth in my neck, the caress of her tongue as she eagerly sucked in the blood that spilled from the tiny gashes she created, the release from the intense orgasm  only pleasure mingled with sharp deathly pain can bestow.
 
I slid my hands over my naked dying body and moaned aloud in ecstasy.  Sticky blood-red spilled from the hole in my neck as sticky wet fingers slipped from the hole in my cunt and into my waiting mouth.  I sucked blood and pussy juice and I came.   I came, and I died; died to be reborn into a new pleasure.   

Clara’s Dream

Clara's Dream

Clara’s Dream

“How did I get here? I don’t know where I am.”

Clara closed her eyes and gently floated away into an uncertain alcoholic euphoria. She could just hear the gentle ticking of a windup clock marking out every single beat of time; marked out as every gentle beat of her heart marked out a beat of her pleasure; marked out every bead of sweat that gently formed and then trickled down her delicate naked back, down over her soft pleasant round buttocks and slowly dripped cool wet patches, unnoticed onto the floor.

Smells of Clara’s perfume and stale, long forgotten vodka hung in the air, mingling together eccentrically in Clara’s dark place, a sensuous chanel tinged opium. The hot, sweet sweat of sex consumed her, leading her ever onwards into heavier indulgence.

Clara closed her eyes; in the dark she could not see, just feel and drink and taste. Her tiny nude body, on its knees, straddled face down across a hard bed, held roughly round the hips by strong masculine hands, was dripping with thick honeyed oils. The man’s thick tool thrust violently inside of her in time to the gentle ticking of the clock and the warm, pulsating beat of her heart. Ankles bound tight, hands cuffed firmly behind her back Clara could not move but for the sharp thud of her body smacking into the firm bed, and the thrusting of her tight oily glistening ass backwards and upwards into the air.

Clara felt helpless, and her thoughts, thoughts of how she got there, thoughts of where she was going to, drifted ever upwards into a cloudy, constricted helpless dream.

As Clara closed her eyes and drifted into that helpless dark she opened up her mouth and licked the cherry lips covered in vodka and lipstick. Alcohol tinged her breath, sugar sweetened her lips. She opened up her mouth wide and invited them to enter into her, even though bound and taken there was no other choice. Two impressive members belonging to two succulent young men were playing together and kissing one another in all imaginable places, taking lustful pleasure in one another’s erections, readying themselves for Clara’s taking. They lightly rubbed their cocks across one another’s and together they slid them into Clara’s beckoning hole.

Clara’s body trembled as her heart pounded faster and faster; and faster it beat as the thickness swelled and throbbed in her mouth, the thrusting in her dripping pussy about to erupt into thick sticky pleasures. The clock ticked faster, beads of sweat multiplied and flooded in cavalcades down her back, the rhythmic ache in her cunt intensified into a blistering heat. Clara’s petite frame tightened, clenched, and her alcoholic haze lifted her towards the heavens. The clock chimed the hour and two throbbing cocks together burst, releasing their heady substances into her waiting mouth. Clara clenched, choked, plunged forward; her heart stopped beating. Thick, sticky ooze formed inside of her two hot warm places. Drops of cum dripped slowly, unnoticed, out of her cunt and formed cool wet patches on the floor. Streams of liquid gushed down her throat, remaining there, the rest thickly coating the dual cocks that still slipped in and out of her mouth, searching for one last taste of Clara’s sweet sugar.

Cries and moans drowned out the sound of the clock. Clara’s faint heart beat again, slowly and irregularly, no longer marking the time as Clara’s sudden orgasms rushed her to another pleasureworld. Vodka, oil, sweat and sperm mingled together with Clara and her Chanel No.5. She moaned and lost her other senses.

“I don’t know where I am. I don’t know how I got here,” she muttered inaudibly, still sucking excitedly on the cum drenched cocks. “But I don’t think that I ever want to leave.” She closed her eyes again.

A Dark and Lusty Knight – Being a Clara Brooks Procrastination

Author’s Note As a writer occasionally you just want to write something, edit it lightly and share it with people.  It’s good for productivity.  I woke up this morning and realised that, whilst I have many Clara adventures in the works involving classic literature, it would also be awesome to be able to write the modern pop culture stuff.  It would be awesome if Clara met Batman.  I can’t possibly write and sell that without getting my ass sued and I don’t have that much time to spend in all these fabulous ideas.  So, I wrote this in a few hours of fun, and will write part two when I next have a rampant lusting after a few hours of fun.  Enjoy, in all its first – and possibly, but hopefully not the only – drafted glory.

A Dark and Lusty Knight – 
Being a Clara Brooks Procrastination

Part One

“This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.””
– Polonius, Hamlet.

Clara lay on her back, on her boyfriend’s bed, uniquely dissatisfied.

“No girl was ever less satisfied than I,” she lamented.

As Clara lay demurely on her back, her boyfriend pounded into her with all the grace of a troop of horny monkeys.  Clara was reminded of the monkeys who had been set the task to write the complete works of Shakespeare.  If one randomly pushes Clara Brooks’ buttons in whatever manner one chooses enough times and for an infinite length of time, perhaps one day you will be lucky enough to create an orgasm.  The monkeys hardly cared at all whether they accidentally stumbled across the First Folio edition of Hamlet any more than her boyfriend seemed to care about the script for Clara Brooks sensual pleasure.  In both cases fun was being had pushing buttons regardless of the outcome, so long as – she supposed – there was some kind of innate physical response happening.

She closed her eyes and attempted to imagine an orgasm into existence.  It was awfully difficult to do as much whilst a man is gnawing at your breasts as if they were an overdone piece of  steak, ramming into you so hard and inelegantly, in a seemingly desperate attempt to find the back wall of your vagina, perhaps hoping that by doing so the seemingly elusive g-spot will make its first time appearance.

“Oh me, oh my!” She internalised.  “My dashing Romeo has turned out to have all the grace and passion of a Jeremy Clarkson.  Although I’m sure he, at least, could work through my gears a little more smoothly.  Externally, she breathed with a heavier, steady rhythm and began to moan, “yes darling, yes, just like that baby.  Oh, fuck yeah don’t stop, don’t ever stop!”

Please, for God’s sake let it be over with.  Just fucking cum already,”  her inner demon scowled..

“That’s a bit harsh,” the daintier Clara replied, a little shocked by her other self’s attitude.

Why, he’s a monkey, you said as much yourself not one – orgasm free – minute ago.

“True, but just in bed.  Otherwise he’s sweet, isn’t he?  He bought me an ice-cream earlier while we walked around Hyde Park and then laughed as we watched the squirrels.  That was nice and I simply love ice-cream.   Earlier, while we were getting naked, he said that my nipples were like juicy little cherries.  He simply loves cherries”

Is that really it?”

“Kinda, yeah,” Clara felt glum.

He’s got nothing else going for him than buying you an ice-cream?”

“He’s absolutely atrocious in bed, Clara.  It’s terrible.  I can have more orgasms when I flick through the Next Directory.”

That’s not good Clara.  Not good at all.  Although, some of those catalogue models are pretty hot.”

“I’m glad we agree on something.”  She nodded to herself.

Clara realised that she’d been discussing things too intimately with her other half, and that she’d forgotten to continue the play.  “Oh, shove that huge dick in harder loverboy,” she screamed.  “Was loverboy too much?” She wondered.  Maybe it was the wrong word, perhaps it sounded fake.  Could the guy tell if she was faking?  Would he even care?  Her concern was wholly misplaced since her pert little fruit pastilles were currently being chewed out of existence by what could only be described as a rabid chihuahua, who yapped annoyingly as he did so. “Oh Clara baby, you’re so hot, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cuuuuuuum.  UHHHHHHH!”

“YES – go on baby, DO IT.  FUCKING DO IT MY DARLING!!”.  For the first time since they’d arrived back at her boyfriend’s apartment she’d spoken with an ounce of sincerety.  “C’mon my amazing Superman, give it to me good and hard.”  The mistake was made, the agony was about to be prolonged.

He stopped abruptly, completely destroying  the rhythm of the thing….

(Interjection) – “there was no rhythm Clara, no rhythm at all.  If you’re going to describe this gruesome ordeal in minute detail, then at least get it right.  I’ve had better rhythms listening to 5 hours worth of Dubstep.  And you know what dubstep does to your neural pathways.  It’s not an experience I’m anxious to repeat”

… he stopped abruptly.  Breaking the condom as he pulled out.

(Interjection) – “Please, I don’t intend to get pregnant, not from this bad sexual experience anyway.  I need something better to remember the baby by.  If there’s going to be any condom breaking accidents, let it be during an orgasmic epiphany, OK?”

…he stopped abruptly.  This did at least stall the pain that had slowly devoured her increasingly sore breasts for a few seconds.

“Don’t be stupid honey.  I’m totally not Superman.  Superman is a douche and a pansy.”

“Errrr what? ( did he really just say that?)  Never mind, carry on pet, carry on” (did I just say, pet?)

The boyfriend mercilessly continued. “There’s no internal drama going on with Superman.  It’s all boy scout save the world stuff, and Apple Pie Americana.”

“Ok, sure, now fuck me baby.  I am so fucking horny for you,” came out slightly more monotone than Clara’s intention.  Her pleas for sexual attention were, however, wasted.

“I’d even prefer Captain America to Superman.  At least Captain America can’t just do anything he wants.  Fly, shoot lasers from his eyes, superhuman strength.  No one can beat Superman ever.  That’s just not awesome.”

“Riiiight, Ok.  So anyway I was just thinking he probably had a huge superpowered dick that can give me a good time like you do.  I bet no-one fucks like Superman.  So show me a good time, big boy.”  She was scraping the barrel of her sexual vocabulary, but admittedly she was also truly beyond caring at this point.

“Don’t be an idiot.  Superman would be a terrible person to have sex with.  He’s too strong and too powerful.  Not human.  He’d just break anyone he tried to enter into, in two.  You don’t want Superman to fuck you, honestly.”

“OK.” Clara screamed, sorely running out of patience.  “Forget I said anything.  Can we PLEASE just get back to having sex like a normal couple and stop talking about Fucking Superman – you moron.

“If anything, I’m Batman.”  Was she even there, Clara wondered?  “Batman has deep emotions.  Batman is badass.  Batman understands the shit that goes down.”

Batman.

Clara lay back, ready to embrace yet more missionary position torture.  She was demure.  The warmth she felt as he held her before re-entry was a moment of calm and pleasure before the onslaught continued.  She reached out her arm sideways to grab some lube from the dresser in an attempt to stop her being sore in the morning, but instead her hands found one of the many Batman graphic novels that were strewn around the room.  She sighed, winced in pain, opened the book and looked at something that seemed to resemble Batman kicking Superman on the jaw.

“C’mon baby, she muttered with a good deal less enthusiasm than before.  The difference it made was untraceable  “Fire that me that great big load inside of me.  Mmmm wow you turn me on so much, honey.”

*

“Oh wow.  This is the best sex I’ve ever had.  Truly”

Clara Brooks, you’re a filthy, dirty lying whore.  Why tell stories?  Why don’t you tell him the truth?  He’s a fucking terrible lover.

“I don’t know.  It’s easier.  It’s just easier.  Better.  I like stories.  He won’t get hurt this way.  Nobody will get hurt.  Stories are good.”

You’re going to hell Clara Brooks.  

No, shut the fuck up.  That’s a lie.  There’s no hell.  It makes no difference.

Lie back and dream Clara.  Take it like a woman.  Lie back and take it.  Be the girl you were born to be.

No, be the dream you were born to be, Clara.  The monkeys didn’t write Hamlet just by pressing buttons.  The monkeys will never write Hamlet.  You really can’t write a great play that way.  You don’t just press the buttons, you have to press them in the right order.

“To sleep, perchance to dream”

I’m Batman, I’m Batman, I’m Batman.  

“Why does he always get to be Batman?”

*

The ordeal was finally over.  Thick night had long since descended across North London, a dark squalid haze of pollution depressing the spirits of all but the night-owls, the lifeblood of the City;  aspirational bourgeois socialites who had partied hard, played hard and would soon go home to fuck hard; the petit bourgeois who deplored the stale heat of the working day and their calculated little lives run on schedule, preferring the fetid stink of manufactured fun, the ambiguous cocktail of sweat, stale vomit and casual sex.  The witching hour was about to come, the last tube home would be leaving imminently and woe betide any who should miss it, left out on the streets with the sneering homeless, the murderously insane, the troubled whores, and the hopelessly lost.   Clara, a conventionally pretty 20 year old medical student at UCL, wondered if she, too, was destined to be hopelessly lost, shrouded in bourgeois darkness with no escape save the Asylum.  Would anyone rescue her from this darkness?

 She had better leave her partner now and get the last tube back home to Claraland; if she missed it, how long before the next one?

 “If you’re Batman then who am I?” She asked as she quickly dressed.

“What do you mean?  You’re Clara.”

“I mean, If you’re Batman I could be your Catwoman, or Poison Ivy or something like that.  Catwoman is pretty hot, right.  Surely you want a Catwoman?”

He laughed sourly.  “Don’t be silly Clara.  Matilda is more of a Catwoman.  She has this sexy, sultry slutty, purry thing going on”

“My best friend Matilda.  You think she’s a purry slut?”

“No, not at all.  I just mean she’s probably a lot wilder in bed.  Into kinky shit.  You’re a little demure, and proper.”

“I am? Demure?”

“Sure.”

“I want to be Catwoman.  I want to be sexy.  I could be kinky.” Clara protested, but wondered why she bothered.

“Well, you’re not Catwoman.  I just don’t see you that way.”

“Who am I then?  Dark Phoenix, Wonder Woman, Black Widow?”

“Nobody, you’re none of those, you’re just Clara OK?”

“Is that who you want me to be?  Just Clara.”

“Sure. Just Clara.”

“Demure and proper Clara?”

“You can’t very well have a relationship with a slut, can you?  Good for one night stands, I bet Matilda is amazing in bed, but just not dependable.  Not like you are.  You’re lovely, Clara.  I know you’ll always be there for me.  You put up with my shit.”  He laughed and Clara was unsure whether it was at himself or her.

Dependable Clara.
Demure Clara.
Proper Clara.
Lovely Clara.

Just Clara.

Are you not wild, Clara?
Can you never be a slut, Clara?
Do you not fake your orgasms well enough for him, Clara?

Do you not fake life well enough Clara?

“Hey, there’s an RSC production of Hamlet on next week,” the thought just occurred to her.  “You wanna go?  I really love Hamlet.”  Why did she bother to ask, she wondered.

“No, I can’t, I’ve got an exam and I’ve already promised Vicky I’d go round hers and help her with Ophthalmology”

“Sight – that’s King Lear.”

“What?”

“Oh Nothing.  Vicky huh?  OK, whatever, it doesn’t matter” she sighed. “Look, can I borrow this Batman comic?”

She didn’t want to know any more about Vicky.  Vicky was a leggy blonde who had been receiving a lot of help on medical topics recently.  She pulled on her thick cloak and flew out into the night, ready to stalk the streets of London.