A Quic Stop for Tea and Fisting

"Doctor?" Clara said by rote. "Why are we at 13 Paternoster Row in 1893?"

The Doctor looked up from a read-out on the TARDIS's console that did not do much more, in point of fact, but play Flappy Bird. "Now, that's hardly fair. When we weren't here ten minutes ago, you didn't ask why we

weren't

at 13 Paternoster Row in 1893."

"It's just that we seem to check in with those three an awful lot. Can't you just add them on Facebook so we aren't running back here every week to see if everyone's okay? It's starting to feel like we're on a TV show."

"Oh, no, I've never go into television. They'd probably change my character into a woman or some such." The Doctor shivered, which Clara thought was going a bit overboard. "But yes, in point of fact, if you must know, for your information—"

"Done making up a lie yet?"

"There is an island—"

Clara got an early start on rolling her eyes.

"—and in this island is a yellow light, which is very important. Very, very important indeed. So important I can't even tell you how important it is. That's how important it would be if I could tell you how important it is. And this island is also a prison for being of ultimate evil, only kept in check by the island's protector, who is also in charge of protecting the yellow light. Only we need a new protector, because the old protector is going to let himself die, so out of a hundred or so very special people who all happen to be destined to get onto one plane due to fate and free will, I'll just see who survives the crash of that plane, the complete lack of modern resources, the hostile natives, and this arbitrary monster, and whoever survives will end up being the protector. But in a nice way."

Clara shook her head. "God help if anyone ever has to sort out all your excuses."

"Also, no one on the island can get pregnant. That's very important—or not important at all—one of the two." Springing down to the walkway, the Doctor barreled out the door. "Anyway, while I deal with that, you stay with our good friends Vastra and Jenny!"

Perhaps they had visited Paternoster Row a few too many times. The TARDIS had materialized atop an ungardened spot inside the house's courtyard, and Jenny was waiting with a tea tray.

"Hello, Doctor. Visiting long? Madame Vastra is waiting for you upstairs."

"Thank you, Jenny." He took a cup and wandered around with it, as if getting his sea legs on the posies. "See to Clara, would you, best if she sleeps away from the time vortex for a night or too."

"Something wrong with a time vortex?" Clara asked, leaning against the TARDIS's doorway, but in a slightly suspicious way.

"Not unless you're pregnant. Or are planning to get pregnant. Or were born from a pregnant woman."

***

"You'd better not tell me this has something to do with magical numbers that are very lucky but also kill you," Madame Vastra said in her sitting room.

She had a French armchair soaked in neoclassicism specifically for the Doctor to sprawl in sideways, back against one armrest and knees clipped over the other. "No, no—I'll be honest. Mostly honest. It's Clara. She seems like she's in a bit of a

funk

lately."

Vastra jotted down a line in her letter to Mr. Doyle. Although she implicitly trusted his authorial vision once he'd been given a description of a case by Jenny, she did like to add a few insights for him to incorporate, giving the reader a look into the deductive process. "A funk? If

you

think she's depressed, it's a wonder she survived the suicide attempts."

"She's not depressed, not per se, but I do worry about her demeanor, her time with me. She'll leave one day, you know—people only travel until they get somewhere. And usually, it's because they find someone. But Clara doesn't seem to be meeting anyone. And it's an awfully big TARDIS. Awfully big..."

Vastra dipped her pen in an inkwell a few times before responding. "Seduced another one, have we?"

"

I am a married man!"

"You dress like a hipster and travel to the earliest bit of the 21

st

century. You should know this will end up a problem."

"I can't help it! I'm a sexy bitch, yes, admitted, but I'm not bad. I just regenerated that way." The Doctor gave up, slumping down until his back was on the floor and his feet up on the armrests. "You and Jenny, you've never ever fancied me. I don't know how you do it, but you have to share your secret with Clara."

Vastra blinked. "That might be a little difficult."

"Oh, come on. Not for Madame Vastra and Jenny Flint! Just take her on a girls' night out, show her the town, find her some cute Irish lad. Make sure he's good at running, though, if I take him along, he has to be good at running."

"Doctor, you do know I'm a lesbian, don't you?"

He looked at her strangely. "I thought you were a Silurian."

***

The next thing Clara knew, her bags were in the guest room and the Doctor was in a carriage topped by Strax, the horses stomping their hooves to go. "Just us guys, eh Strax? We'll just check the city for Daleks, Cybermen, what have you. Clara, you stay here, watch the TARDIS."

"Watch the impenetrable time-fortress that is already hidden in the home of two samurai?"

The Doctor nodded. "If anyone comes near it, just go 'oy, wot d'ya think you're doin'?' They'll probably go. If they stay, just stare at them until things get really awkward. Then—oh, you'll think of something. Strax, let's go!"

The carriage clattered off over the cobblestones, leaving Clara watching it still in a state of disbelief. "Man-cave the size of Scotland and he still needs to have a lads' night."

It wasn't that she didn't like Jenny and Vastra, but, well... they were married and they still kept up this

thing

of Jenny dressing up like a maid and letting Vastra order her around. Clara didn't really approve of such kinkery during the work week. Save that for the weekend.

Jenny was there to see the carriage off, and seeing Clara in a state, she took the young woman's arm. "There now, it's not so bad, miss. There's plenty to do on our lonesome."

"It's Victorian England. That precludes one thing I'd really like to do." She watched the carriage turn a corner in the distant.

As well as

who I'd like to do it with.

Jenny colored. "Well, miss, we do have books of poetry. Vastra has a voice made for recitals. You should listen, it's a good bit of fun!"

Clara tried to be polite as she stepped back inside with Jenny, having had her fill of rude stares over her jeans and Rolling Stones T-shirt. "And what's Plan B?"

"My mistress liberated a very advanced telescope from one of our antagonists. Hard to beat a quiet night of stargazing, eh?"

"I've seen stars up close. Almost got eaten by one, in fact. Sorry."

"Oh. Well then, there's always the opium."

***

Madame Vastra literally had an opium den. It was a small, closed-off room with a skylight and plenty of settees, the light from above shining on the opium lamp's filigree. It made quite an impression. Jenny stared at it every so often and laughed.

Vastra's opium was not even as good as the hash back home in the teacher's lounge, but then, Clara was sure teachers had the best marijuana around. But this gave her a deep-warm buzz, like she'd spent several hours soaking in a hot bath, and all she had to do was lay on her settee and take the toke when it was offered to her by Vastra.

"I do not fancy the Doctor," Clara said with the emphatic quality that came only with bullshit. "Can you imagine having sex with him? 'Oh Doctor, Doctor, Doctor!' Wouldn't know if I was coming or if my aunt'd had a heart attack." Crouching against Vastra's settee, Jenny's intermittent giggling erupted once more. "But he is possibly, potentially, my type."

"You know what a sailor would say? A sailor--!" Jenny broke off giggling, and Vastra fondly rubbed the nape of her neck until she'd calmed herself behind the cupped hands at her mouth. "A sailor would say you need a good rogering!" Jenny wailed with laughter and Vastra gave up on soothing her, merely supplying her with another taste of the pipe.

"I," Clara began daringly, "have been rogered plenty. I could just use a... 'roger' that knows what he's doing."

"Nine hundred years old," Vastra said musingly. Clara didn't think the opium affected her very strongly. "Bound to learn a thing or two." She took Clara's offended glare. "I was just referring to dancing, dear."

"You haven't been to the 21

st

century. You don't know what it's like. Everything is about knowing what you want, knowing what you like—I

know

what I want. I am a control

freak.

If I had a proper robot, I could tell him precisely how hard, how fast, how deep, and that'd be that. My love life, settled."

"Shame that Cyberman the Doctor carries around no longer has a body," Vastra mused again, setting Jenny to more giggling. They were holding hands now.

"But men,

men know what they're doing, they don't need help."

Clara set her hands on her hips and spoke in a deepish voice to complete her masculine impersonation. "Oooh! Sometimes I wish I could be like that Adler woman from all the sex tapes. Just slap 'em around, call 'em names, make 'em give me exactly what I want."

"Or just get rogered so hard you don't need to be in control, you just need to lie there and... well..." Jenny brushed her forehead against Vastra's leg, and Vastra petted her hand proudly.

"Oh, I know enough about

lying there.

I've faked enough orgasms to start a porno company... oy!" Clara sat up. "Why am I telling you all this?"

"Because I'm a lizard woman married to one of the lower classes."

"Yeah, that's the controversy there," Jenny piped up.

Vastra continued over her. "Of all the people who might possibly judge you, we do not number among their ranks. We're not even of the same millennium!"

"Yeah, but what if you wrote it all down? It'd survive to my time. What if my dad read it?" Clara asked, eyes wide with horror.

"Paranoia is a quality most unbecoming the enjoyment of snuff. Please, a little more to soothe your nerves?" Vastra offered up the pipe, and Clara took a desperately hard suck off it to clear her head. The warmth of her high smothered her and she laid back on her cushion, full of relief.

"I can hit a Slitheen over the head with a bowling ball, but I can't tell a boy that he's done about as much to get me off as a news report on Tony Blair. I don't even like seeing myself naked. Not when I'm having sex."

"What a shame," Vastra drawled. "I'd wager it's an enchanting sight."

"Eighth wonder of the world," Jenny chimed.

Clara blushed. "Nice innuendo. If you were blokes, you'd have me boffed for sure."

"Give it time."

Jenny, as was her wont, laughed it up. "So how d'ya get off, then, if the suspenders set isn't an option?"

"Well, I... promise you won't write this down and show it to my dad in a hundred-so years?"

Vastra crossed her heart, somewhere down beside her waist. "Pray tell."

"I... I have a lad over, right, and he does his thing—it's not

bad,

it's just not a hundred percent—mission accomplished, you know?" She gestured for the pipe and Vastra gave it to her forthwith. After blowing out a pall of smoke, Clara was ready to go on. "And I make like I've had a good one, as you do, and wish him a good night. Men like that about me, that I don't need a cuddle after. But once they're gone, I take a dildo—oh, you know what a dildo is, right?"

"Intimately!" Jenny laughed.

"Well, I take it, and I hold it between my thighs. I put on my panties over it, and my pajamas, and pull up my bed sheets. Then I roll over onto my stomach, and I close my eyes tight—sometimes I even bite my pillow—and I fuck myself so hard. It's like something out of a porno! I've been to bachelorette parties, mind, where the girls watch some smut and talk about how silly it is, a woman bashing away like that, but God, that's not the half of it! I am

rough

with my pussy. And my dildo, it's not one of those little things that you keep in your purse and set to vibrating like you've got your phone on silent. It's a big black thing! If a prowler came through the window, I could beat him to death with it. I can barely keep my legs shut around it. Oh, I do that too. I know. I have issues. But it really feels good."

For a long moment, there was silence. Even Jenny did nothing more but suck, slack-jawed, on the pipe. Then Vastra steepled her fingers together.

"Do you know what this calls for?"

"Shots?" Clara asked.

"Home movies."

"...fucking Victorian era."

***

Clara looked on in astonishment—in horror—in fascination—in excitement as she was penetrated by the strap-on dildo. Not her. The other her. The one being shown when she looked into the eyeholes of the Kinetoscope.

First, Vastra had sucked Jenny's strap-on, lubricating it. Then Jenny had sucked Vastra's strap-on. Then they both sucked each other's strap-on. (All the while, the other Clara was getting undressed. It took a while. Fucking Victorian era.) Now Jenny entered Clara.

Though there was no sound, it was obvious she was screaming in pleasure.

"The poor dear," Vastra said from behind Clara. "One of your incarnations. Came to us for help when she was a little snowed in. She was also woefully undersexed, so we dealt with the more pressing issue first. Barely took any convincing at all. The moment I got back from visiting the Doctor, she and Jenny were all over me. You humans. So affectionate."

She was no prude, but it had never occurred to Clara that the device Jenny and Vastra had ushered her to was a peepshow—or whatever this was. The other her (the governess, Clara recalled from her dreams) looked so young, so innocent, nervous even. It made Clara actually feel guilty to watch.

But although Clara had never been much for pornography—the hardcore stuff was too obscene and the softcore was just silly—this was... something else. Porn didn't work for her, but seeing

herself

experience the kind of pleasure she'd never had before—that was obviously an orgasm the governess had just had, not an ounce of fakery—well, it... it...

Clara wondered if she could take the Kinetoscope back home with her.

Then Jenny pulled to a stop. The governess begged for her to continue, put her hands together and pleaded. But Jenny was resolute, as Vastra came from behind, the only thing she wore the sleek phallus strapped to her crotch, still slick from her maid's oral attentions. It also appeared to be covered with metal studs. Clara wondered if that was meant to represent a Silurian male's... maleness.

What followed made Clara wince. You wouldn't know it from the governess's reaction—not an ounce of fakery there either—but that had to have hurt.

Then she heard the rustle of clothes from either side of her. Jenny and Madame Vastra. Unrecorded.

She watched the grainy video loop, the motion jerky, the picture flickering and dark. She knew the other women were undressing. Then she felt them start to undress her. She kept her eyes on the video, even as Vastra drew a cold claw down her shirt, slicing it in two so she didn't have to stop watching. Stop thinking about what she was seeing.

"Let's be frank, Clara," Vastra said in her ear as Jenny, ever the dutiful maid, helped her step out of her jeans. "You're here because you've been humping the Doctor's leg like a bitch in heat and it's unbecoming, even for a mammal. So we're to wean you off cock altogether."

A last gasp of propriety prompted Clara to straighten, even though she was in her underwear, and look Vastra dead in the eye. "And why would I consent to that?"

"Jenny, be a dear and bend over?" Vastra called.

Jenny did as ordered. Then Vastra's tongue flicked out.

Never an ounce of fakery.

"Okay, I'm in," said Clara.

***

Clara really wanted the Miley Cyrus thing from Vastra before her control freak tendencies came back to the fore and screwed up a good thing, but Jenny was convinced that she had to be warmed up first—

unfastened,

she put it. And so, instead of the comforting ritual of having pajamas and panties and bed sheets and the artificiality of the organ itself between her and her needed release, Clara was naked, up against a wall, with a lizard-lady and a woman technically old enough to be her great-great-great-grandmother pressing in on her.

She let them kiss her, each in turn, passing her from lips to lips like they had done the opiate earlier. Vastra's body pressed against hers, cool and sleek, wrestling with the wonderfully warm contours of Jenny's body as they fought over Clara. Each wanted to get a thigh between her legs, to be her first. Clara spread her legs with, wishing she could have them both.

Then, by some unspoken marital bond, both left Clara's lips barren to instead suck on her neck, giving her identical hickeys on either side. Clara panted, running her hands over those deliciously contrasting bodies, down to either's sumptuous ass—a bit surprised to find no tail on Vastra. She'd always assumed—

Then Vastra sucked on her pulse point and it was all too much. "Please, no more! I can't take anymore!"

Vastra backed away, an implacable smile frozen on her face. "Oh, I have a feeling you can take an awful lot."

"Not this. I need—" Clara breathed deeply. This was the opposite problem she had with most men, but it was still a problem. Too much stimulation, and in the wrong places, instead of not enough. She had to say something. They'd seduced her, damnit. She was owed getting exactly what their innuendo had promised. "I need some fingers in my cunt, right now, or I'm going to do it myself. And that would mean I'd have to stop touching one of you, and I really don't want that."

"Nor us," Vastra said, with an amused look to Jenny. "You heard her, maid. Finger her cunt while I go get the bed." She smiled at Clara as if they shared a private joke. "I'd fuck you on the floor, but when you squirt, it'll be much easier to change the sheets than to mop the floor."

"Or get a stain out of the carpet, heaven forefend!" Jenny added, crossing herself.

Clara was more than a little confused when Vastra stepped away, headed for a wall. "I thought you'd go first—you being the mistress of the house and all..." She didn't know a lot about kinky fuckery, but that's what Christian Grey would do if she had a threesome with him and Anastasia Steele.

Not that she'd thought about that much, in her dark bedroom, sheets pulled up, dildo under her panties and pajamas...

Vastra pulled at a dangling cord Clara hadn't noticed and down came a fold-down bed. Clara wondered how many of those they had. It was a big house, and Vastra and Jenny didn't seem the types to wait until they'd gotten to the bedroom to use the marital bed.

"Oh, it'd be an honor..." she said. "But I think I'll wait to step in until Jenny needs to fetch the lubricating gel. Mustn't have the help getting ideas."

"Might not need it, mum. Look at 'er. She's juicing like a well-squeezed lemon!" Clara felt an irrational urge to cover herself with her hands, even as Jenny's finger ran briskly over her thigh and came up with some... juice. She sucked it off her finger. "Mm. 1989. Good year."

"How many time travelers has the Doctor brought here like intergalactic swingers?" Clara demanded, feeling an offense that somehow made the fire between her legs burn hotter.

"Oh, hardly any." Vastra sat on the bed, patting its mattress beside her. "Bring her here, Jenny. Let's find out if she's as loose as Donna."

Pulling her hand like a little kid, Jenny excitedly led Clara to the bed, then impishly shoved her onto it. Clara would've been upset, but Vastra rolled on top of her and gave her a kiss almost deep enough to distract her from Jenny padding over the mattress on all fours.