hunt down the Doctor, and tell him how I feel.
Again, I cry out. Again, there’s no answer.
I pull the hooded man and his wonderful mouth, attached to an unknown face, hidden so deep within that fucking hood, I pull him further into me with my leg. I can’t help it. I am beginning to shake; the pressure is building, the confusing summary of emotions and sensations condensing down to a single, glowing point, embedded deep in the straining muscles just above my pussy. I am so, so close, and a faraway part of me knows that this will all be easier, that it will all seem less urgent, less impossible, once this hooded angel grants me release and I can come...
He stands up, and steps away.
The whiplash is physical. My muscles begin to cramp. It takes my brain longer to catch up.
“Confess to what you want, Claire!” the Doctor’s voice rings out.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I scream.
The hooded man seems to pause. I take the opportunity to hook my leg back around his waist, and do my best to draw him to me, though now he resists.
“I can’t tell him,” I whisper, and am surprised to find a tear roll down my cheek. I suppose I have to confess to someone. “I can’t tell him, or he’ll never want me again.”
The hooded man pauses, and then dips his head into my chest. His grip on my ass tightens, and I can feel his body go stiff.
“Tell him what?”
The Doctor’s voice echoes softly through out. I can’t bear it any longer. I just can’t.
“Tell him that I love him,” I shout, knowing he can hear me.
The hooded man doesn’t move, his head still bowed. Then he reaches one hand behind his back, and with an iron grip unwinds my leg and pulls away from me. I want to wail; I want to just completely lose it; I’m sure this is it, that I’ll be asked to leave, that I crossed too many boundaries. I might as well go out honest.
“I know about your wife!” I yell into the silence. “I read your letters. I’m...I am so sorry. I still want...”
But I can’t finish. Nothing I can say will make up for it.
Nothing moves. There is an awkward cough somewhere in the audience, a general uncertainty in the air. And then the speakers boom.
“Everyone out!” the Doctor commands. I can’t tell if his voice cracks, or if it’s the speakers crackling. There’s a hurried scramble while however many men push their chairs away and put unfinished drinks on tables as they rush out of a loudly creaking door. The hooded man, however, stands motionless in front of me.
And then the light goes out.
I hang there, naked, listening to the sound of my own breathing, willing my eyes to adjust. The hooded man makes no sound, offers no comfort.
I don’t even hear him approach. I only know that one moment I’m alone, and the next I feel his breath on my cheek. The first sound I hear is that of a zipper. The second is his quick inhalation; the third the sound of the chair tipping over as he reaches behind me, grips me by the ass, and lifts me up. I pull on the cord above me, arching my back, my body reaching for him in any way it can. I’m completely in his power.
As, I’m starting to suspect, he’s in mine.
Slowly, he begins to lower me down. I feel the head of his cock press against my wet folds, and together we shudder. He stops, pulling away slightly – another tease. I wrap my legs around his torso, my hamstrings straining to pull him closer, to pull him into me. He doesn’t relent. Instead he lifts me further away from his dick, as if to remind me of how the game is played, of who, exactly, is in control of this scene. I bow my head into his shoulder, and nuzzle his neck, his ear, ignoring the rasp of the coarse hood, feeling for what I know I’ll eventually find pressed against my cheek – a wireless headset, hooked into his ear.
The Doctor, hidden behind a hood.
He doesn’t move, holding me in the air as though I were weightless. All I want is to crush him to me, to feel him inside me, to make him
Again, I cry out. Again, there’s no answer.
I pull the hooded man and his wonderful mouth, attached to an unknown face, hidden so deep within that fucking hood, I pull him further into me with my leg. I can’t help it. I am beginning to shake; the pressure is building, the confusing summary of emotions and sensations condensing down to a single, glowing point, embedded deep in the straining muscles just above my pussy. I am so, so close, and a faraway part of me knows that this will all be easier, that it will all seem less urgent, less impossible, once this hooded angel grants me release and I can come...
He stands up, and steps away.
The whiplash is physical. My muscles begin to cramp. It takes my brain longer to catch up.
“Confess to what you want, Claire!” the Doctor’s voice rings out.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I scream.
The hooded man seems to pause. I take the opportunity to hook my leg back around his waist, and do my best to draw him to me, though now he resists.
“I can’t tell him,” I whisper, and am surprised to find a tear roll down my cheek. I suppose I have to confess to someone. “I can’t tell him, or he’ll never want me again.”
The hooded man pauses, and then dips his head into my chest. His grip on my ass tightens, and I can feel his body go stiff.
“Tell him what?”
The Doctor’s voice echoes softly through out. I can’t bear it any longer. I just can’t.
“Tell him that I love him,” I shout, knowing he can hear me.
The hooded man doesn’t move, his head still bowed. Then he reaches one hand behind his back, and with an iron grip unwinds my leg and pulls away from me. I want to wail; I want to just completely lose it; I’m sure this is it, that I’ll be asked to leave, that I crossed too many boundaries. I might as well go out honest.
“I know about your wife!” I yell into the silence. “I read your letters. I’m...I am so sorry. I still want...”
But I can’t finish. Nothing I can say will make up for it.
Nothing moves. There is an awkward cough somewhere in the audience, a general uncertainty in the air. And then the speakers boom.
“Everyone out!” the Doctor commands. I can’t tell if his voice cracks, or if it’s the speakers crackling. There’s a hurried scramble while however many men push their chairs away and put unfinished drinks on tables as they rush out of a loudly creaking door. The hooded man, however, stands motionless in front of me.
And then the light goes out.
I hang there, naked, listening to the sound of my own breathing, willing my eyes to adjust. The hooded man makes no sound, offers no comfort.
I don’t even hear him approach. I only know that one moment I’m alone, and the next I feel his breath on my cheek. The first sound I hear is that of a zipper. The second is his quick inhalation; the third the sound of the chair tipping over as he reaches behind me, grips me by the ass, and lifts me up. I pull on the cord above me, arching my back, my body reaching for him in any way it can. I’m completely in his power.
As, I’m starting to suspect, he’s in mine.
Slowly, he begins to lower me down. I feel the head of his cock press against my wet folds, and together we shudder. He stops, pulling away slightly – another tease. I wrap my legs around his torso, my hamstrings straining to pull him closer, to pull him into me. He doesn’t relent. Instead he lifts me further away from his dick, as if to remind me of how the game is played, of who, exactly, is in control of this scene. I bow my head into his shoulder, and nuzzle his neck, his ear, ignoring the rasp of the coarse hood, feeling for what I know I’ll eventually find pressed against my cheek – a wireless headset, hooked into his ear.
The Doctor, hidden behind a hood.
He doesn’t move, holding me in the air as though I were weightless. All I want is to crush him to me, to feel him inside me, to make him
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