Doctor Who Its Short For Mistress

It was five shopping days until Christmas and Clara had decided to get herself a present.

Danny had been gone for months and the Doctor almost as long; she knew nothing could fill the void in her heart that Danny had left, but there were other voids. Her vibrator had been good for them, but one overnight trip in the TARDIS and the Doctor had cannibalized it to build a Zygon detector. She needed a new one and it was time for her to stop feeling sorry for herself, go out, pick one up, and fuck herself silly.

In Clara's experience, when it came to sex shops, there was a spectrum between scummy and militaristically political. She preferred the political ones, even if they spent way too much time trying to draw her into lectures about the exact differences between bisexuality and pansexuality, and so went to the same place she and Danny had frequented. She resolved not to feel any shame. She was a normal woman with a normal vagina and if she wanted to put a few things in it, that was her business.

She went through the door, reminding herself not to feel shame. The only thing to be ashamed about was feeling shame, and she didn't. She just walked in, looked to the counter, and saw Missy giving her a cheery wave.

"Hello dearie!" Missy called, doing a hate crime of a Southern accent. "We have a special going on anal beads, you know—how lovely. Or perhaps a nice knock-out beam?"

The next thing Clara knew, she was hitting the ground.

***

When she woke, she was tied, of course. Time Lords didn't do anything by half-measures. She was in a dungeon, stripped to her underwear, her body crisscrossed with cords to hold her in a suggestive position. If that didn't come as a shock to her, this surely did—tied up across from her was Amy Pond, four-time winner of the Universal Most Legs Award.

She was dressed, insofar as she was dressed, in something a die-hard Fifty Shades of Gray fan might wear to a midnight premiere. A leather bodice with built-in corset, the thong riding high between her thighs (really, her labia—shaven, naturally), the bust low-cut but connecting to a choker around her neck. Opera gloves and thigh-high boots, made of the same shiny black leather, completed the picture.

"Okay, I'm really not too sure about any of this, but isn't the dominatrix supposed to be the one who isn't tied up?" Clara asked.

"That's the issue you wanna take with this?" Amy asked. God, her accent put Clara's to shame. Clara felt like Gwyneth Paltrow holding a conversation with Kate Beckinsale. "Amy, by the way."

"Yeah, of the Ponds. The Doctor talks about you all the time. Tidge annoying, kinda endearing."

"Him all over, yeah? And you must be this year's model."

"Clara Oswald," she said, trying to sound full of self-esteem. "The Impossible Girl."

"Girl Who Waited," Amy replied.

"Who'd keep you waiting?" Clara asked. Was she a natural redhead? Judging by what she could see of that very revealing bodice—yup. "That outfit is, well, completely catering to the male gaze and encouraging an unrealistic depiction of S&M, but you are

rocking

it."

"Thanks! You look good too."

"Oh, these old things?" Clara bit her lip as she looked down at her underwear. It didn't even match. "Can't believe I got snatched on laundry day."

"Yeah. Laundry day. No, don't listen to me, you're gorgeous. Your face is truly unfair."

"Oh, God, don't go complimenting me piecemeal when you're the complete package! I mean look at you! Is that a thong in the back?"

Amy looked over her shoulder. "Yup."

"I bet your ass looks great."

"It's okay."

"Oh, don't be modest. Do your thighs have any cellulite? I can't see any on them. I've seen aliens with more attainable physiques."

"Yeah, but what about your boobs? Sure, say you don't like your bra, but that just means those knockers are all you!"

"A leg man would definitely go for you."

"Who goes for legs anymore? It's all about tits these days! Sure, I'm a model, I'm all slender, but do you know what I'd give for curves like yours? I bet you've got a backside a black guy would go for."

"

Thank you,"

Clara said with a sniffle. Danny had always liked her butt. "Wait—how'd you get out of 1920s New York?"

"Twas I!" Missy said, coming down the stairs. She, thankfully, still dressed like a cabinet member of the Ministry of Magic, and not any kind of Torchwood person. "Amy, meet Clara, Clara, meet Amy. And you won't believe how I arranged myself this little tête-à-tête."

"Time-traveled somewhere else, then took a taxi?" Clara guessed.

"Exactly."

"Told him that would work!"

"So what's the game?" Amy demanded. "Hold us hostage,

lure

—" Clara loved the way she said 'lure', it was awesome, "the Doctor into a trap, take over the universe, blow up Vulcan...? Am I missing any of the Powerpoint slides here?"

"Not even close!" Missy cried with a derisive laugh. "No, no, I just noticed Clara here was looking a mite lonely since the Doctor left her high and dry, and her boy toy went and blew up—"

Clara's voice became all bitterness. "You killed him, you crazy—"

"

No,

I turned him into a robot, then he killed himself. Please, let's keep these things straight, time travel is confusing enough as it is. And Amy here I just felt sorry for, stuck in pre-war New York, probably couldn't find any nice dykes to explain the facts of life too. So I decided to bring you together for a little play date. I know, I know, it's silly—like some daft old lady marrying her cats. But I'm very bored and this beats killing another Osgood. Yeah, the bloom comes off

that

pretty quick."

"We're not going to shag each other just because you tell us too!" Clara cried, still incensed on Danny's behalf.

"We're not?" Amy asked. "We're not."

"Oh, are ye sure?" Missy asked, wagging her head with her fake accent. "The two of ye were getting along so famously, too. How about I promise to put Amy back with her husband just as soon as she makes you come? Would that help you with your decision-y-wision-y?"

Clara closed her eyes, trying to force down her rising gourd. "You swear? And no tricks? She goes back safe and completely satisfied with the deal?"

"Well, the satisfaction is up to you, my dear. You can probably sixty-nine if you like..."

"No, Clara," Amy said firmly. "You don't have to. We can just hold out, the Doctor will rescue us."

"Oh, dear me." Missy tapped her chin. "I wonder how many unfortunate souls have thought that to themselves before I killed them?"

"It'll be fine," Clara assured her fellow companion. "Just finger me, I promise I won't enjoy it. Or I will enjoy it, but not to an extent. A weird extent. I'll just be sort of okay with it, like I am with the X-Men movies."

"Well, that doesn't sound like it's keeping with the magic of the holidays!" Missy cried. "I think I'd best help you find your Christmas spirit."

She stripped out of her conservative blouse, stepped out of her skirt. Underneath, she wore a crimson babydoll, barely long enough to hit her upper thighs or high enough to cover her breasts, with white fur trim responsible for what censorship her crotch and nipples did receive. Black mesh stockings decorated her long, lush legs—they were patterned with reindeer and snowflakes—and spiked heels made her seem even taller and more impressive. As Clara watched, Missy popped a Santa cap onto her head. She looked like Mrs. Claus at a key party. More terrible than ever, yet more beautiful than Clara had ever realized. It hit her like a jolt, the damn gay feelings—Missy really was one good-looking woman.

"Now, what do you think? I know you're quite the whore," Missy said in the same friendly voice as ever, "so please let me know, in your professional opinion, if this is the sort of outfit a man would like to come all over. You would know, is what I'm getting at."

"You would want to know!" Clara retorted, and Amy let out a mocking, agreeing laugh.

"Well!" Missy said. "If that's the way you're going to be about it..."

She got another rope from what seemed like a rope closet. One end she fit in a loose loop to Clara's ankles, Clara desperately trying not to fear what was coming. Her feet were already tied together—what was the meaning of this? Then Missy tossed the rope up to the rafters, looping its free end around a ceiling beam.

Next, she went to a set of literal ball and chains. They were big ones, with forty-five pound weights the size of cannonballs. Missy manhandled the first to where the rope hung—tied the free end of the rope into a loop much like a noose—then lifted the weight up and attached the manacle to the length of rope.

Thanks to the improvised pulley of the rope hanging off the ceiling beam, the weight pulled Clara's feet

upward,

spilling her onto her ass with her ankles a few inches off the floor.

"Now now," Missy chided in a honeyed tone. "Let's get those sweet cheeks in sight!"

She attached another weight to the rope and Clara was pulled horizontal. Another and her feet were pulled upward at an angle. Clara couldn't help herself from moaning, aware that being hoisted up in this invisible hammock now had her ass in the air, fully displayed to both Missy and, embarrassingly, to Amy. She felt the scrutiny of her Doctor's first, perfect companion being able to see the most unflattering angle imaginable of her body—all the holiday weight she'd put on, every gram of it.

"Now there's a festive sight!" Missy enthused. "Though I am disappointed in you, Clara—I thought you'd put up more of a fight than this! As long as you're in a submissive mood, I'd best take advantage of the occasion!"

"Missy, please, no!" Clara screamed as Missy enthusiastically jerked her panties away from her buttocks.

The indignity of feeling her panties removed, not by herself, but by Missy's capable hands, was overwhelming. There was no way for Clara to adequately conceptualize the total humiliation—it seemed to blank out her mind, only rearing its head when she tried to force her mind away from the feeling of embarrassment. To be completely bared before Amy, by Missy no less—she wanted to shrivel up and sink through the floor. At least then her plump buttocks wouldn't be so obscenely visible.

She tried to hold herself still, but she couldn't refrain from tensing up, knowing with prophetic certainty that she was about to absorb Missy's red hot punishment.

"You don't have to hurt me, I'll do any—"

It was too late. Missy cackled with glee, lashing out with open palm time and time again to paddle Clara's bottom. She didn't even give Clara the dignity of fully removing her panties, but left them awkwardly wedged underneath her protruding buttocks as if to draw even more attention to her pinkening ass.

Clara writhed in mid-air, her embarrassment outweighing her agony as Missy slapped her jiggling ass. Worse yet, the spanking rolled through her body to her full breasts, making them bounce and leap with the force of her punishment. Missy even carefully stood out of the way so that Amy could see every iota of their struggles to escape the insufficient confines of her brassiere.

"Missy! Please stop!" Clara cried, begging as if she were a child being bullied at school. "Please don't hurt me! I'll do what you want!"

She still couldn't believe it had happened. Her tender, untouched bottom, which had never known such violence, was now receiving a baptism by fire. Missy's palm felt as if it were traveling a hundred miles an hour, completely flattening her cheeks with every deafening swat. She couldn't be a heroine about it. She screamed and kicked her legs, but it just made her jiggle even more, exposed her cunt as well as her ass.

Missy circled her victim like a hungry tigress, lashing slap after slap at Clara's helpless form. She was becoming aroused as she turned Clara's bottom from pale to wine-stain red, getting wetter than she had in years. She thrilled at the thought of turning this girl from Companion to personal slave and bitch, to a pet, really. An obedient little pet.

Clara squealed with pain, thrashing in hopeless, despairing shame. Her full buttocks burned and stung and hissed with a heat that was compounded by every fresh smack and its attending wave of anguish. She cried salty tears that blinded her vision and overheated her cheeks. Her pride totally vacating her, she begged like a miserable child to be spared just the smallest moment of her ongoing punishment.

"Why are you doing this to me?" she moaned. "I can't stand it! I'll do anything! Only please, please stop!" In her hysteria, she imagined Amy watching, smirking and giggling and enjoying herself like some bitch from secondary school.

"Anything?" Missy asked. She'd stopped to rip Clara's panties away, tucking them into her askew Santa cap as a souvenir. They smelled of wet cunt.

Clara's bottom was a sheet of flame that stoked the pain and exhaustion and humiliation in the rest of her body, leaving her breathless and sobbing hard. "Please... please..."

"I think you know what I want!" Missy said with a keening laugh, lifting the hem of her babydoll away from her bare, glistening cunt. "So what is it you want, baby bird, cheep cheep cheep..."

"I'll eat your pussy," Clara sighed, overcome with the relief of the pain being on hold, almost luxuriating in the lingering burning that served as proof Missy was no longer spanking her. It wasn't hard at all for her to look up at the imposing Missy with adoring, pleading eyes. "I'm good with my tongue, Missy! Really! You can ask anyone! If you let me eat your pussy—it's such a pretty pussy, really it is—I'll make you feel so good!"

"Clara, no!" Amy cried, but Missy silenced her with a look.

"Oh my!" she said, turning back around. "What an amusing thing to say!" She laughed, once, at the shattered woman's pitiful begging. "And here I thought you were so classy. I mean, they let you teach children. But really, you're not just a slut, you're a lesbian! As! Well!" She punctuated her last few words with a series of back and forth slaps to Clara's still raised buttocks, leaving her unprepared body in even more pain than before.

Clara cried and shuddered, but that only excited Missy more, and she grabbed a girthy handful of Clara's red buttocks. "Tell me more, slut! Tell me why I should let your dirty human tongue touch my brand new pussy."

"Because I belong to you!" Clara gasped, painfully aware of every inch of her sweaty body—all of it defenseless before Missy. "You own me! My tits, my pussy, my mouth, they're all yours! Just tell me what to do! Please tell me what to do! I'll do anything!"

Missy stared at Clara's body, displayed and made vulnerable by the pose she was in. Clara's eyes were alight with pain, submission, lust. She let down the rope with a simple snap of her fingers, dropping Clara on her ass. Before Clara could even start to moan, Missy had straddled her pained face.

Clara had been in such pain, and such arousal, that the stop-start of the spanking and the release of her suspension had brought her to the brink of orgasm. Then she felt the wetness and warmth of Missy's cunt smearing itself all over her face.

"Eat your dinner now, dearie," Missy moaned, rocking herself upon Clara's head as if it were a horse. "Clear your plate or you won't get any dessert!"

Clara didn't see that she had any choice—the persistent thought of 'dessert' hung in her mind, even over her trembling fear of more punishment. Missy had to be aware of how aroused she'd made Clara, just by driving her to such extremes of sensation and then leaving her aching on the precipice of more. The inescapable thought was that if she made Missy come, the Time Lady would reward her with the relief of orgasm.

She opened her mouth and tasted, more than anything else, just allowing Missy to grind down on her reluctantly extended tongue. She wasn't sure if she liked the taste as much as she did that of cock, but the sheer degradation of being made to eat out this mortal enemy of the Doctor's had her squirming with reawakened lust. Her body ached horribly, but the feelings being kindled in her swollen pussy overpowered her exhaustion and pain.

Missy moaned and slapped herself against Clara's trapped face, ecstatic just from the brushing of Clara's pitched breath against her cunt. Something about the fact that it was the Doctor's little helper monkey being broken to her will made Missy jerk and twist with pleasure. She loved having that pretty face all over her pussy.

Clara herself moaned with pain as Missy's womanly hips bucked against her face, turning her head into a basketball being dribbled against the stone floor. She slithered her tongue into that clutching, moistening pussy and Missy went even wilder, her liquid pleasure washing over Clara's mouth in a wave that seemed like it could drown her.

"Mmmm... time for dessert, I'd say. I get a little self-conscious when my little angels aren't enjoying themselves. Ginger, why don't you come over here and play with a normal-colored pussy for a change? My offer still stands. As soon as Clara comes—and I've gotten her all warmed up for you, too—you'll be back home."

Amy pulled her hands down from the bondage rack she'd been suspended on, surprised with her sudden freedom. She stared uncertainly at Missy's enthusiastic riding of Clara's face.

"How do I know you'll keep your word?"

"You don't. But either way, you'll have gotten to visit the Grand Canyon. That's not so bad, is it?"

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Clara wondered.

"She's not that loose," Amy said, going to Clara as she continued helplessly, almost wantonly licking and kissing Missy's pussy. Those gazelle legs of hers knelt down between Clara's spread thighs, Amy smiling nervously at Clara's flaming ass, and then she started on foreplay. Pulling and rubbing at Clara's pussy with one hand, surprised at how strongly it pulsed, how wet it had gotten.

As her own sex ran hot with excitement, Clara squirmed her face into Missy's frothing cunt. She fucked her tongue deep inside the humid depths of Missy, urged on by Amy's exploratory caresses as a stallion would be by a little clip of the spurs.

"Now

here's

a good little whore!" Missy gasped, practically bouncing atop Clara's face like a pogo stick. "Oh, I wonder if that's why the Doctor chooses you. It's like he's practically begging me to fuck you! You're making me come, puppy, you cute little baby Stick that tongue way up deep now! Lick my beautiful cunt! You wrecked your own, now try and wreck mine!"

"Hers isn't wrecked!" Amy insisted, "If it was, I'd be able to slip all four fingers in without a warm-up..." And Amy, attempting to demonstrate how Clara's sex would resist such an invasion, instead found herself fucking four fingers deep into Clara. "Oh. Oh, wow. Well, I bet I can't get past my wrist..."

Clara cried ecstasy and despair into the soaked recesses of Missy's cunt.

"Bloody hell," Amy swore, finding her forearm disappearing into Clara like it was a magic trick. She smiled, a bit embarrassed, a little impressed at the same time. "Goodness. You've had some fun there, haven't you?"

From solidly between Missy's legs, a chiding cry of "Amy!" could be partially made out, muffled as it was by Time Lady cunt.

"I'm not teasing!" Amy protested. "I'm... very in favor of women's lib and pro-sex and whatever else they call it in your time period. But it's just that

my goodness!

You know? River didn't even stretch me that much!"

"Well now!" Missy exclaimed. "You are a dark horse, aren't you Pond?"

"I meant giving birth to her, ya wanker."

Clara's flicking tongue found Missy's clit. She attacked it like it contained all her lust, all her need, like she could either dispel the hateful energy coursing through her or force it to completion. Missy bucked and twisted with lust, her enthusiastic swaying swinging the hem of her lingerie around like a pendulum, flashing her bare body underneath so that the garment resembled a cape more than any other garment.