All right my friends, this is the thrilling, f***ed-up conclusion of "Used." But don't worry, you'll enjoy the ending.

Speaking of enjoying, it should go without saying, this is sooooo NSFW. One reviewer called this story "decadent." Well, I would say that this chapter is the most "decadent" of them all!

In Chapter 3, we learned that on Day 7, the Doctor and Martha were both feeling immensely guilty for what they had done to one another, and had decided separately to confess their sins. But the Doctor, unable to say what he felt he needed to say, decided to use the Herb, the coercion ritual and Light of Recall to make Martha remember everything, and he made love to her. This way, he thought, he won't be able to dodge her questions. Martha, however, as you recall from how all this intrigue began, was never under the influence of the Herb or the ritual. She had just been enjoying the sex, and pretending she couldn't remember.

We also learned that on day 11, the two of them get involved in an unfortunate situation on the planet Hypotasso, involving a geyser that could not blow, because of blockage, which meant disaster for the planet. For some reason, all the talk of pent-up heat, building tension, and release of steam made Martha quite agitated. This ended with her storming off to calm down, and the Doctor punishing her for this, by making her "wait an extra night."

What does this mean? How did we get from the remorse on day 7 to the cryptic bizarreness, and smug behavior on the part of the Doctor, on Day 11? Shall we find out?

PART 4

DAY 8

Sleep cocooned her, keeping her temporarily safe.

Safe from what? The light? The truth? Her own conscience? His wrath? Heartbreak? Loneliness? A ferocious, crippling regret?

Yes, all of that.

But none of that was occurring to her just now, because she was dreaming of a cornfield. The Doctor was in it somewhere, she knew, as was the TARDIS. But the field was vast, the corn was high and dense, and she was only five-foot-two. If she were to find either one of them, it would be just dumb luck. The thought of this was quite discouraging.

Suddenly, in the dream, she realised she was famished. And so, she stopped walking, and broke one ear of corn off its stalk. She held it in her hand with the distinct feeling that she really shouldn't have it. It didn't belong to her. Nevertheless, she peeled back the first layer of the green casing.

As she did, she heard herself groan, and she suddenly felt a little cold.

Then, she pulled back another layer of green, and the coldness persisted, and all at once, she realised she was nude. How curious. How did she become nude in this cornfield?

She pulled back another layer, and then another, and another. She became aware that not only was she cold and naked, but she was also feeling that telltale slickness between her thighs. Oh my God – in a cornfield? What the hell is happening? She tried to run, but her feet became entangled in something, and when she looked down, she saw that it was blankets. She fell – and she seemed to fall for a long time, in extreme slow-motion, still peeling layers away from the cob of corn in her hand, down to the silk – and when she hit the ground, she heard him groan, rather than herself.

"Doctor?" she said, looking around for him.

"Mm?" he groaned back, having registered her voice, but not seeming to care very much. She heard him, but couldn't yet see him.

She was still cold. And exposed.

And then the light in the sky became blindingly bright.

Oh, I see. I'm waking up.

And just like that, she unwrapped herself from slumber, had unpeeled the layers, and became slowly cognizant of the world around her…

She was naked, cold and in bed with her feet tangled in the sheets. Her body felt sore in key places, and also stretched, strained, and slippery in key places. There was a dry, groggy exhaustion that hung over her head – and inside her head – like a deeply frozen fog.

The signs were all there: she'd had an eventful night. There had been a shag in her immediate past, and that was the only thing that was currently clear. She could only hope it had been good, and that she hadn't been drunk, or something… although that would have been very unlike her.

She disengaged her feet from the blanket, and pulled it up to cover herself against the cold. She then sat up, looked about. She felt a bit disoriented, though the room she was in was familiar. And then she saw the candle on the nightstand.

The Light of Recall.

He wants me to remember.

And she did remember now. It all came flooding back in. This was her bedroom, in the TARDIS. There had been the Crux Herb, and she had done a reprehensible thing. She had orchestrated three nights of what turned out to be rough, frenzied, blistering-hot, teeth-clenching, fingernail-splitting, shameless, reckless sex. After that, it had all culminated last night in something… quite new.

She looked to her left. There he was, lying on his side, facing away from her, the bottom half of him draped with a sheet.

"Doctor?" she said, just like in her dream.

"Mm?" he responded, again, just like in her dream. Though he did not speak any words, nor physically stir. It seemed to Martha that he must be just on the cusp of consciousness, perhaps climbing through the layers as she had…

But for the next few moments, it looked as though she had a rare head-start on him. She had a minute or two to assess her options, and decide how to proceed.

She lay back down now, to think.

After the terrifying business of the Doctor's near-confession the night before, and her total paralysis in the face of it, she now knew more plainly than ever that she could not allow him to go through the agony of a confession. She would not be able to bear the shame and pain in his eyes as he admitted to repeatedly violating her. It would destroy him to do it, and she couldn't watch. She had to act first.

Again, she ran through scenarios of what she could say that didn't sound completely daft, especially as an opening line. Fortunately, the Doctor, in his trepidation, had set up this morning-after situation, which neither of them would be able to sweep under the rug.

And then, before she was ready (though she reckoned she would never be ready), he turned over and looked at her.

For a long moment, they just stared at one another, blinking, wondering, minds racing.

"Good morning," he decided to say, at last. His voice and face were impassive. There was no smile, no frown, no inflection.

"Good morning," she replied, with some relief.

Another long moment passed, and their eyes never left one another.

Again, he broke the silence. "How'd you sleep?"

"Well. Deeply," she answered. "The sleep of the sated."

He did give a little smile this time. "Glad to hear it."

"So… you're here," Martha began. It was a tentative way to open the door to the conversation they needed to have.

"I'm here," he sighed. "Is that okay?"

She took in a long breath of air, then let out a long exhale. This is it. Moment of truth. No going back now.

She let the words escape before she could change her mind.

"Of course it's okay. I'm just wondering why you decided to stay until morning this time."

He frowned. "What?"

"What made you spend the night this time? You could have gone. It would have been okay."

"Wait, wait, wait," he said, sitting up. "This time?"

"Yeah," she answered, following suit, sitting up, clutching the sheet to her chest.

He continued to frown at her, in confusion. "This time?" After a long pause, he asked, "So, from your point of view, this has happened before? I mean, not this, this… this morning-after thing, but…"

"Actually having the sex that leads up to this morning-after thing? Yeah, last night was not the first time." She was impressed (and a little frightened) by her own calmness.

He blinked. "Not the first time. You do mean, that last night was not the first time with me, right? For us. For you and me together."

"Right."

His jaw dropped, and he studied her with dread and worry all over his face.

"You know?" he whispered, at last, his voice breaking.

"Yes, but Doctor, listen…"

"You… know?"

"Doctor…"

"No, wait. Do you know, or do you remember?"

"Pardon?"

"I mean, do you know what I did because… I dunno, because you found the herb or something, or because one of the priests of Dimin got in touch with you? Or do you know because you remember it?"

"I remember," she confessed, looking down at her lap.

"Everything?"

"Everything."

"So, the details. Exactly what we did."

"Yes. It's all quite vivid."

He put both hands in his hair in total despair, and tears filled his eyes. "Oh, my God! How… what… I'm so… Martha, oh my God…"

Watching him fumble for what to say next, whether to ask how the hell it happened, or whether first to offer a lame apology, she realised that she was, essentially, doing what she promised herself she wouldn't: allowing him to wade through the confession first. Though, she had tried to stop him talking a couple of times, and he had interrupted.

Before she could put a lid on him, though, he began to speak in the machine-gun-like way that he does. "Look, Martha… whoa, you've got me completely blindsided. I mean, you've probably worked out already, I was planning to tell you this morning… actually, I was planning to tell you last night, and I sort of had a plan and a speech prepared, but now that I know you already know, I have no idea what to say."

"You don't have to say anything, Doctor, because…"

"Having you know was one thing," he continued, getting up out of bed. He went on talking as he walked about and located his clothing and pulled on his pants, pyjama bottoms, and t-shirt. "But talking to you like this, looking you in the eye – even though I'm not looking you in the eye just now – and having you remember how… just, depraved it was, and how… ugh, the things that came out of me… well, not literally what came out of me... No, I mean, the desires that came out of my head, out of my mouth! Now you know the things I want. You know what I do and say and take when I think no-one will know! And I know what I do and say when I think no-one will know!"

"Please stop…"

"Blimey, am I really that guy? Am I really the sort of bloke, underneath it all, who orders you to your knees and then…"

He looked at her, now clothed, panting, with total panic in on his face. She knew what he was thinking about and remembering, and momentarily, she was paralysed because she was remembering it too. She briefly relived the few moments, night before last, when he'd shoved his cock down her throat over and over again, with no regard for how it might be received, and how her eyes had watered and nearly rolled back in her head, and she'd moaned with the sheer wantonness, the deliciousness of it…

Again, he buried both hands in his hair, and cried, "Ugh! No!"

"What?"

"I'm remembering it," he told her, shouting. "And Rassilon help me, I like the memory! It gets me all… you know. And even more disgustingly, I know, as I look at you, that you remember it too!"

"Yeah, but…"

"I mean, not that that is the worst part of all this, the worst part, of course, is what I've done to you," he said, now rather softly, standing at the side of the bed, looking defeated. "What I've put you through. Martha, I drugged you, and used, well, basically magic on you. I used... you."

"No…"

"I had sex with you while you were compliant to the magic, thinking you would never know. And it wasn't just sex, but, like… I worked out desires and fantasies on you that I barely knew I had. I had no idea I was so… domineering. Well, I guess it makes a kind of sense if you think about what my life's been like but… wait, this isn't about me. It's about you, and what you had to endure."

"What I had to endure? Doctor, do you hear yourself?"

He ignored her comment. "What did that spell do to you, like force you into submission and silence? Or else, why didn't you say anything to me? Or anyone else?"

"I'm glad you asked, that, Doctor. I've been trying to talk to you, so that I can say…"

"No, don't forgive me. Don't let me off," he demanded, in a mad pace about the room. "I'm a cad. No, I'm a criminal, that's what I am! I'm a… well, there's really only one word for it, isn't there? What I did without your consent, it makes me a…"

"Doctor! Stop!" she shouted. This time, it actually got his attention. "Don't you dare finish that sentence!"

He stopped, stood there, studying her quizzically, while she got out of bed herself now, and stalked about, looking for the night shirt he'd pulled off her and discarded. She found it, and put it on. She now stood, hands on hips, looking at him with exasperation.

"You talk too much, do you know that?" she asked him.

"It's been called to my attention."

She let a burst of air out through her lips, and then practically shouted, "I am trying to keep you from the guilt you're feeling, trying to make sure you don't have to go through the horror of telling me and apologizing and all that rubbish, but you did it anyway! My God, must you insist on soliloquising at every turn? Are you even listening to me?"

"I am now," he said, swallowing hard. "I'm sorry. Please, say what you need to say."

"What I wanted to say, like five minutes ago, is that this whole thing is my fault," she said. "And if you had let me speak first, before asking five hundred questions, you could have saved yourself a hell of a lot of time and angst!"

There was a silence that hung in the air of the bedroom, like an oppressive black smoke.

"How do you mean, it's your fault?" he asked.

She sighed. Her stomach did flips. She began to tremble a bit.

"Look in that closet," she instructed him, gesturing to the door, just to his right.

He opened the door.

"There's a loose panel in the back, behind my purple dress. Do you see it?

He disappeared into her closet, and said, "Yeah, I see it. Should I remove the panel?

"Yes. Look inside."

She heard rustling, and then the Doctor emerged with a pillowcase, with some leaves peeking out the top. "What is this?" he asked, very softly.

"You know what it is."

He crouched, and dumped a few of the Crux Herb leaves out of the pillowcase onto the floor, and examined them. "These are real."

She came round the bed slowly, and sat down on the edge of it, near him. Then she said, "Yes."

"How did you get these?"

"I switched them out for maple leaves when you weren't looking, and before you switched them out when you thought I wasn't looking."

He remained crouched, thinking about the logistics of it. "When we were in Alaska?"

"No, before that. Brewsdoon."

"Hm," he said, barely audibly. Then, a pause. "So, I've been trying to entrance you with… maple leaves?"

"Yeah. Sorry."

"And you've heard every word I've said to you, when I thought you were asleep, and I was doing my stupid ritual?"

"Yes."

He pulled his hand down over his face and swore. Then he stared off into space for just a moment, and sputtered, "So that… wait, so… if you've got the…" then he gave up, and sighed. When his voice came out this time, it was gravelly, and low. "Martha, you've just said this whole thing was your fault."

"I have."

"And I've just learned that you have a stash of Crux Herb in your closet."

"You have."

He stood up, and looked down on her, the frown having grown more profound. He retained the rumble in his voice, and asked, "Are you going to wait for me to ask all the questions, or are you going to explain yourself, Miss Jones, and tell me what I need to know?"

She forced herself to look up, and meet his eyes. "It was our second day on Dimin. Remember? We went into covert ops with the Tesku King. I was injured and you insisted that I not continue."

"Yeah, I remember. It was less than a week ago."

"Well, I spent part of that day in the cloister with the priests, and one of them asked me if I'd like to learn more about the herb."

"And you learned about the Light of Recall that day, didn't you?"

"Yes," she confessed, now unable to meet the anger in his gaze. There was a long, long, tense interval during which his breathing was the only thing that could be heard in the room. His ragged, livid breathing… Martha felt he might spit fire, the next time he opened his mouth. She found that she didn't really have anything else to say. The way this had all transpired, the Doctor had put two and two together… what could she tell him that he hadn't worked out? So, she asked, "Do I really need to tell you what I've done? Is there anything I can say, other than, I'm sorry?"

Almost inaudibly, seething, he said, "You made me believe…"

"Ugh, I hate myself," she spat. "I was being self-centred and greedy. I had tunnel-vision. All I could think about at the time was how much I wanted…"

In the lull that followed, the Doctor asked, harshly, "What? Sex? Power? Vindication?"

"No," she snapped back, just as harshly. "I was thinking of how much I wanted you. I'd got tired of waiting. I'd got tired of you looking through me."

"I do not look through you," he whispered.

"Yeah, you do. And it hurts. Had enough of it," she pouted. Then she corrected herself. "But, I know it still doesn't excuse what I did."

He stuffed the herbs back into the pillow case, then tossed the whole bundle back into the closet. He then kicked the door shut, hard enough that it hurt Martha's ears.

"All that stuff you said to me, about having done things without consent," she said, soldiering on. "About being a criminal, about putting me through hell… all of that applies to me. I'm sorry I violated you… both your person and your trust. I imagine you feel very used and somewhat confused right now…"

Again, he cursed, this time loudly. Then, "You don't get it!" he practically screamed at her. "You're missing the bloody point!"

"Am I? Please tell me what I'm not seeing."

He walked to the end of the room and back. Then he stopped in front of her, hands on his hips. "Okay, so, yeah… you've been fancying me, apparently for some time, and frankly Martha, I've known it. I've known, and I'm sorry if I've not been the quickest to address it, or come round to it, but you know what? I've got a few things on my mind. Not to mention, I'm raw, I'm hurting, I'm a bloody emotional battering ram! So sue me, I've got baggage. So, you get sick of waiting, and lay the whammy on me so I'll give you what you want. Express shagging – no waiting."

"Yeah."

"I get it. I mean, it's still kind of evil, but I get it. And this, I could live with, all right?" he said. "I could deal with just being roofied and taken-advantage-of. Honestly, it's not the first time."

"Oh."

His voice was forceful, mounting. "What I cannot understand, Martha, what I cannot fathom is this: why did you let me think it was me all along? Why not just have your way with me, and let the amnesiac affect take over? Why not do to me what I thought I was doing to you? Why make me believe that I'd violated you in the worst way a person can, and let me feel the entire violent hurricane of remorse that comes with it? Why give me the self-hatred? Do you not think I've got enough goddamn guilt in my life as it is?"

By the end of this, he was properly shouting, and his face was very near hers.

"No, I think you've got enough guilt to bring down the cosmos."

"Then why, Martha?"

She looked up at him. "I guess… I wanted you to want me. All the time. Not just at night when you've lost resolve, and you're five seconds away from fucking me. I wanted you to look at me in the morning, and be absolutely consumed with thoughts of me… moaning, writhing, begging you to…" she stopped short, because she could see the look on his face had changed. And like before, she knew without asking that the two of them were both re-experiencing an episode from their depraved time together. "It was selfish, I know, considering the by-product of all of that."

She spoke steadily, but the memories flooding her were vivid and luscious and made her throb.

He actually closed his eyes for a few moments, gritted his teeth, and breathed steadily, as though trying (and perhaps failing) to get control. She wondered at precisely which naughty episode was currently playing behind his eyelids.

He swallowed hard, and then opened his eyes. With some of the anger having left his voice, he said, "Well, I'll say this for you: you are inventive. And savage."

"Mm?"

"The things you had me doing…" he said, barely moving his lips.

"Oh, erm, actually, that bit wasn't me. In my incantation, I instructed you to awaken any dormant lusts, and fill your senses with me, and only me. I told you..." she gulped. "...I loved you, and needed to be yours. I gave you a semi-erotic dream..."

"Oh, yeah, that..."

"But as for what to do with me… that was all you."

His eyebrows raised, skeptically. "Really? That really was me?"

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes, Doctor."

"All of it? Even the chair? Your sore arm?"

"Even that."

There was another long silence while he took it in.

Something seemed to change in him then. His face went from a hit of disbelief to confusion, to anger, to knowing… cunning.

Uh-oh.

His eyes slid toward hers, and he said, some of the hardness back in his voice, "I'm a bit addled by this news."

"I see that."

"But don't think I'm through with you yet."

She gulped. "All right."

"You brought out some of the worst in me, Martha."

"I know. That was the point," she told him, meekly.

He chuckled bitterly. "And you loved it, didn't you? The worst in me... you absolutely reveled in it."

"Yes. I did."

"Stand up," he ordered her.

She obeyed.

He moved in very close – so close that she could feel the fabric of his tee-shirt brushing lightly against her arms.

In a hushed tone, he said to her, "You made me call up some nasty desires from the very depths of my subconscious. I was rough with you, selfish, totally inconsiderate. I ordered you around and treated you like a sex slave. I even hurt you a few times. Some of that should have scared you, Martha Jones."

She nodded in agreement. "Maybe so."

"But it didn't," he continued, still hushed, hissing like a snake. He leaned to one side and placed his lips just millimetres from her ear, and said, "It made you wet."

This statement shocked her, with its lasciviousness, its callback to the very acts that had caused the conflict here. A few moments ago he was red with anger. He still was, presumably, but now…

With his naughty words, he reached out and very lightly touched her fingertips with his.

"Yes," she whispered in response to his declaration, practically choking on the word.

He smiled. "Yes. It made you wet, and slick like silk, and made you spread your legs and beg."

"Yes."

"Yes," he echoed, still smiling wantonly. "And the harder I fucked you, the more you begged. The rougher it got, the harder you got off on it."

"Yes," she agreed again, now unable to breathe, and unsure how to proceed.

"Mm," he moaned, then took a step closer. To her surprise, she could now feel that his cock was hard, and pressing against her. He took hold of her bum with one hand, and squeezed, rather violently. She squeaked with the mild pain. "You liked it when I hurt you."

"Yes," she croaked, helplessly.

"You liked it when I used you."

"Yes."

His voice became almost undetectable now, and again his lips were millimetres from her ear. "I ordered you to pleasure me… ordered you like a bloody servant, to literally bend to my whim, just so that I could shoot off inside you, fill up your cunt or your throat. And you, Martha Jones, you came like a teapot boiling over. Hot and wet and bursting all over."

She could not respond, but to close her eyes, and steady her breathing.

"Isn't that so, Martha? Tell the truth."

"Yes," she confessed. "All of it."

"Well, not anymore," he told her, slightly louder, but still quite smoky.

"I understand."

"Turn around and put your hands on the bed."

"I'm sorry?"

"You heard me," he said to her, with venom in his voice, extracting his cock from underneath his waistband.

Confused, she turned around, and did as he had instructed.

"Better start thinking about something very unsexy, Miss Jones," he said, before proceeding.

DAY 10

Martha was still doing penance for her transgression. Though tonight, thank Heaven, was the final night. She was a bundle of nerves almost all the time now – especially at this time of day. But she consoled herself tonight with the knowledge that tomorrow, it would all come crashing down, and she could be free again. She could breathe again, feel like herself again, if she could just get through tonight.

She was not permitted to be alone, except when she needed the toilet – even in the shower, which was a special kind of torture. And so, she was not, indeed, alone. She and the Doctor stood side-by-side at the double vanity sinks attached to his bedroom, and they brushed their teeth like civilised individuals, about to retire to bed for the night.

And why not? It had been a relatively normal day… why wouldn't they engage in a relatively normal night-time ritual? They chatted about the systematic deletion of "outer space spam" they were now receiving, and the Doctor mused over whether he could design some software to weed out the unneeded rubbish coming in.

"Well, if your average human computer nerd can figure it out, then you certainly can," she said, just after spitting toothpaste into the sink.

"Not that simple," he said, splashing cold water on his face. He wiped it with a towel. "It's not e-mails landing in an inbox. It's communication of all sorts, myriad formats, firing across us, from literally all over the universe. I mean, it could be done, but it would be nothing like the sort of thing that your company's IT guy might do on Earth."

"You'll work it out if you need to," she said, with an assured smile.

"Yeah," he said, absently. Then he focused on her. "Well, ready for bed?"

Her whole body tensed, and her blood ran both hot and cold at the same time. "Always ready," she said, with fake enthusiasm. "You know I am."

"Not too ready, I hope," he teased.

"I hope so too," she muttered, sighing with resignation.

"Why don't you go in there, take off your robe, stand next to the bed, and wait for me?"

"I thought…"

"I know," he said, smugly. "You won't be alone long enough to accomplish anything."

"Fine," she said flatly, doing as he asked.

She walked into the very large bedroom and shrugged off her terrycloth bathrobe, which left her completely naked. She she laid it over the back of a chic, boxy black armchair.

A few moments later, the Doctor switched off the vanity lights, and entered the room, still wearing his robe. The lights were dim and perfect, there was tension in the air…

…and Martha cursed. She didn't know if she relished in this, or fucking hated it.

A bit of both, of course.

He walked toward her, and took one of her cheeks in his hand, spreading his fingers over her neck. As he did this, he looked her over hungrily, then kissed her heartily, plunging his tongue into her mouth as though he owned it.

"You are gorgeous. Absolutely mouthwatering, do you know that?" he said to her, pulling away.

She didn't answer.

He fell to his knees in front of her and licked her navel, and she took in a sharp breath, and held it. He took her bum in both hands, squeezed hard enough to hurt, and began licking, kissing and biting his way across her silky brown abdomen.

The pain and the waiting made her want. It made her prickle all over, and want to fall on the bed behind her and writhe like a daemon…

His mouth is two inches away from my clit. God, I hope he doesn't lick it. Please don't, please don't, please don't…

But he did. Just once. And then he chuckled wickedly.

A bolt of lightning seemed to surge through her, and she clenched her teeth, closed her eyes, and tried to think of the day when her neighbourhood girls' football league lost the local tournament, when she was eight. She thought of the names of the two girls who had scored goals, and of the five who had attempted to do so, unsuccessfully. She tried to remember what each girl's mum tended to bring for snack, when it was their turn.

"How does that feel?" he asked her, with a husky voice.

"Fuck off," she answered.

He chuckled again, and pressed two fingers into the swollen, slippery folds between her thighs, and felt everything about her hunger… the hot fluid, the desperate pulsating, the clit as hard as a pebble.

Her vision blurred.

Fiona Winterman scored the first goal that day…

He pushed the two fingers properly inside of her, and lazily moved them in and out.

Gemma Chowdhury scored the second. Or was it Rachel Bingham?

The Doctor moaned a bit as he felt how ready she was, and whispered, "Good girl. Haven't lost you yet."

"I'm not lost…" she whispered.

"Good. Because I need you on your hands and knees," he commanded. Then he got to his feet, and leaned so close she could feel the heat from his skin, and growled, "You're going to make me come in your mouth."

The words made her flush all over…

It was definitely Gemma Chowdhury – I remember her father congratulating her later on, with that accent of his.

"How does that strike you, Miss Jones?" he asked, after she didn't react for a few moments.

"Fine," she answered, flatly, struggling to keep her voice, and her desire, even. "It strikes me fine."

He shed his robe, took her hand and led her over to the bed, then lay down with his head on a pillow.

She fixed her eyes on the long, hard, purple-tipped rod jutting up from his body, and licked her lips. She positioned herself on her hands and knees beside him, grasped the base of his shaft with one hand, and then engulfed his cock with her whole mouth. He moaned with total abandon, as did she, when she felt his distended, pulsating flesh hit the back of her throat, and a frisson of pure primal voracity came over her… before she remembered herself.

Damn it! Sarah Okubo took a shot at the goal. Maybe even two or three.

And she set herself to sucking him off. She would have liked to give herself over to the act, the sensations, the sound and throbbing of his body in pleasure. But she couldn't. It would mean disaster.

And so, she would have liked to completely vacate herself, and think only of that football match, but she couldn't quite do it. The taste and feel of him sliding in and out of her mouth was too demanding. The way he thrust his hips up and down while he moaned her name, and a few delectable obscenities… it forced her to pay attention.

"Your mouth is like an inferno... seems made for doing this," he managed, in the throes of pleasure. Then he moaned, "I could stay buried in it forever…"

Maisie Fitzwilliam tried for a goal, but missed it by a mile… ohhh, it hurts so good when he tangles his fingers in my hair and pulls hard…

Her head bobbed on his cock, her mouth tightened and loosened, her tongue swirled around the head, and every now and then, he took in a hiss of air and let it out with an expletive.

"Jesus, you're good at this," he croaked, holding her head in place for a moment while he rubbed the head of his cock against the opening of her throat. "You suck like you love it. Do you love it, Martha?"

He spoke breathlessly, with his teeth clenched… depravity in his eyes and voice.

Her eyes jetted up, and found his looking back at her with penetrating lust. He let the pressure off her head, and she scraped her teeth against his shaft on the way back up, just enough to make him groan hard, and nearly hit the ceiling.

I love him, I love this, I love this goddamn punishment, I love knowing he's going to shoot into my mouth any moment now… damn it! I think Charlotte Halsey tried a couple of times to score, and got really close once.

His breathing, and his thrusts between her lips became concentrated and rhythmic. His right hand gripped her head tight, and he began to warn her (threaten her?) that he was going to come hard, and she'd better be ready to swallow it all…

…and in his zeal, in his passion and haste and blinded filthiness, his left hand found its way between her legs once again.

She could feel him on the home stretch, as they say, using her mouth, grinding with his pelvis, his groans becoming urgent. But she could now also feel three of his fingers buried inside of her, and his palm pressed against her clit.

Shit! I am never going to survive this…

Her hips lurched forward, to engage with his hand…

No! Vicki Winn was the girl who pretty much did score, but her goal was disqualified because of unsportsmanlike behaviour, and I'm just going to grind on his hand, let those fingers fuck me and ride this thing into oblivion… I've literally never wanted anything this badly in my life.

Annie Baxter's mum was the one who used to bring the bloody carrot sticks. Everyone dreaded that.

Martha heard a loud groan, felt a painful tightening of the hair on the back of her head, and within a split second, her mouth was filled with a salty, creamy fluid, accompanied by wonderful, life-blood pulses from his spurting cock. She moaned with the decadent blast of pure lust it gave her, and fought hard not to let her pelvis surge forward into defeat.

She moaned even louder when the second shot of come hit her tongue, and the Doctor's groan was even more tense, and his fingers plunged tighter and deeper into her opening.

No-one liked when my mum brought orange slices either, though.

When the third wave arrived, she was barely ready for it, but swallowed what he gave her, with total greed. Finally, he grunted, pulled his fingers out of her, and put them in his mouth for a few moments to suck. At this, he moaned as well…

Our favourite snack, of course, was ice cream, which came with those little wooden paddles that functioned as spoons.

The Doctor panted, and again, complimented her skill. She looked at him with venom in her eyes, as her body shook all over. She lay down next to him, and listened to his satisfied breathing, which made her tremble even harder, and want to scream bloody murder.

She half-wished someone would tie her hands behind her back just now. She reckoned he might not mind it, if she asked nicely…

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Fuck off."

Again, he chuckled at this reaction. Then he said, "No really."

"How do you think I feel, you prat?"

"Okay, well… I might as well warn you now, I'm far from done with you, Miss Jones."

"Fantastic."

He turned over, dipped his head, and licked her distended nipple. "You're going to do all of that again in a bit."

"Again?"

"Yes," he said. "I'm definitely feeling worked-up tonight."

"Oh, God," she breathed, both relishing and dreading the prospect of having more of his cock in her mouth, listening to more of his moans, swallowing more of his come…

… but it's just for tonight. Tomorrow, I can stop holding back. Tomorrow, tomorrow…

DAY 12

The two of them lay panting, staring with blurred vision at the ceiling of the Doctor's bedroom.

They took a bit of time to catch their breath, and then, the Doctor finally asked, "So, how many was that?"

She laughed, partly at the question, and partly because of the reeling sensation she still felt, the upheaval of pleasure and emotion and purging he'd given her. "Six, I think. Though I don't know for sure… I kind of lost count after four. My brain was a bit addled."

"Hm, six," he said, and she couldn't see his face, but she was sure that she could hear the smirk. "And I wasn't even trying that hard."

"You didn't have to."

"And… how do you feel?" he asked, expecting, at last, an answer other than fuck off.

She took a while to answer this time, much to his surprise. "To be honest, part of me still hates your guts. But that's the id in me, who's still a bit traumatised."

"That's actually quite eloquent. Your id is traumatised."

"Of course it is. You forced me to keep it locked in a box for four days!"

"Well, your id had it coming."

"I suppose it did," she sighed. "It also liked being in the box, just a little."

"I suspected as much," he said, smugly.

A pause, then, "But that's my id. And you and I, we just went a long way toward its recovery. The rest of me feels tingly and sated, and is still hopelessly in love with you – frenzied and addicted.

"I see," he commented, almost in singsong fashion.

"You?"

"How do I feel? Much the same."

"Really?" she asked her heart beating a mile a minute.

"Yeah. Still holding on to a slight bit of trauma from thinking I'd been such a cad to you. But mostly, I feel… well, I'll use your words: frenzied and addicted."

"Wow," she said, thinking of the implications of this. She turned over on her side and rested her head in her hand. "So, then, would you really have left me if I'd broken the rules at some point over the past four days?"

He turned over on his side as well, and stroked her arm with two fingers as he asked, in low tones, "You mean, if you'd been so unscrupulous as to dare to allow yourself an orgasm?"

His touch and his words gave her a powerful frisson, and she didn't think it was possible, but she was actually feeling aroused again, even after the exhausting bout they'd just had.

"Yes," she answered, in equally honeyed tones. "If four nights of rough, demeaning, fantastic sex with you had done what it was supposed to do, and given me pleasure I couldn't contain?"

"Well, I think you almost did break the rules," he challenged. "Or am I imagining things?"

"Of course I almost did," she said. "Like a thousand times! A million times!"

"I just mean, yesterday afternoon, after the explosive adventure with the geyser," he said. "You stole a few minutes on your own, did you not?"

"I did not almost break the rules then."

"If you say so," he chuckled.

"I didn't! I went into the TARDIS to meditate."

"I know but it was, after a different fashion, a violation of the rules. You were not permitted to be alone. You could have used your fingers at any time, or perhaps just moved precisely the right way in your jeans…"

"I know why, Doctor," she told him. "I know why I needed constant supervision. If you wanted me to refrain from orgasm to punish me, you were right to do it. I'd have been a fiend in your absence. All that fucking, and no outlet… I wouldn't have been able to stop myself, if you'd left me to my own devices. Especially after that first night."

"The first night was the hardest?" he asked with a little smile.

"Yes."

"What about that morning, when you confessed what you'd done and I told you to put your hands on the bed and think unsexy thoughts?"

"I was stunned then," she explained, quietly. "Too confused to be in the moment. I could feel you inside me and behind me, pounding in and out. I heard you order me to keep myself in check, and I felt you come, but I didn't know what it meant. But that night… I knew the game. I rather liked the idea of the game, to be honest, but I hadn't learned how to quell the id yet."

"Not that you ever fully learned," he interrupted.

"No-one ever fully learns," she dismissed. "And then, you caught me off-guard, which I thought was exceedingly unfair!"

"I never said it would be fair," he said. "I watched you lean over the kitchen table to clear it, and I fancied a shag. It wasn't the first time I'd experienced that impulse, Martha, it was just the first time I'd had the chance to actually do it."

"Yeah, well… I hadn't had time to think, or to plan a strategy, or meditate, find my Zen or whatever. Suddenly, I'm just there, sitting on the table with my legs spread, and you're buried inside me, and the whole thing is hot as hell, and with every thrust, I have to figure out how to hold back! Every time you advance, I have to retreat, when all I want to do advance right along with you."

"Well, that little tryst on the table didn't last very long, as I recall…"

"No, but it didn't matter! You know where I live now, Doctor. You ordered me up onto the table, basically ripped off my jeans and knickers without asking, then held my hands down while you gave me a quick, dirty shag that rattled the dishes and destabilized the table. You knew what that would do to me."

"I suppose I did," he said. "But to be honest, I wasn't thinking of you. That was the whole point. I wanted it, so I took it. It's not my fault that you and I both get off on the same thing."

"Hm," she sighed. "I suppose in the long run, it's a fortunate coincidence."

"In the long run, yes," he said. Then, his tone changed as he commented, "Funny, I'd have thought that the second night would have been the worst for you. And the best, in its way."

"Well, it was a bit of a relief that you chose not to put me through showering together, and a tumble later on."

"I can be an efficient man, at times."

"Truth be told, the shower tile was cold. Being pressed against it gave me something to think about, other than what nasty things you were doing to me. Though I thought about that plenty."

"I'll just bet you did."

"Thought about it later, too," she said. Then she shifted, as a wave of arousal overtook her again. "Thinking about it now."

"Ever so glad to hear it," he whispered, lightly brushing a strand of hair out of her face.

The juxtaposition of this gentleness, versus his coarseness in the memory currently playing in her mind was intoxicating.

And a bit bizarre, as well. She wondered, "What, did you just think, hey, we've got soap… why not?"

"Basically."

"I'll admit, that was a first for me," she said, sheepishly casting her eyes down to the sheet beneath her.

"I give people a lot of firsts," he quipped. "Though, usually, it has to do with teleportation, dimensional transcendence, and time travel."

She sighed heavily. "I'll agree, you'd given me a lot of firsts even before all this began. Including how I feel when I look at you."

He smiled. "Thank you."

"That was one thing that never changed throughout, though… generally speaking, when you've touched me innocuously before, I haven't wanted to explode for real. But, these past few days…"

"Frenzied and addicted," he finished, running his fingers lightly over her lips.

"Totally. It got to the point where every time you touched me, in fact, I almost…" She swallowed hard.

He ran his fingers gently over her collar bone, and then down her chest to cup her breast. "Came?" he asked, finishing her thought.

She nodded as he squeezed, and flames reappeared in her nether regions, with a vengeance.

"Mm. How about now?"

"As I said, my id is still not recovered entirely, from the raw treatment it received."

He slid his fingers down over her stomach, and fondled her navel. "Well, Martha, to answer your question… I might have left you, if you'd broken the rules. If you had allowed your id what it wanted, I'd have been cross with you."

"Yeah?" she breathed.

He slid his fingers between her legs, and felt not only her slippery fluids, but his own. It was a palpable reminder of the depravity of the past couple of weeks – both real and imagined, both consensual and not.

He loved it.

"Yeah," he echoed, now rubbing her clit. "But I'd never be able to keep away from you."

"You wouldn't?"

"Not a chance," he told her. "I've known it for quite some time. I knew it when I first realised that the magic had worn off, and all I wanted, still, was you. You, and the terrible, wonderful things that you crave. That we both crave."

"Oh…" she said, beginning to unravel… again.

"I even knew it last night when I was punishing you for taking those few minutes alone," he mused, watching her eyes slide shut, and her mouth go slack. "Even when I told you to wait another night before you could finally come, and you called me a bloody maggot… I loved the rancor in your voice."

"You laughed."

"I was drunk with power. A bit giddy. But I loved the strength in you, as well as the desire, the debauchery just beneath the surface, the reason why we were there at all, threatening to release itself… it was all so delicious.."

"Is that why you…" she panted, took a pause, swallowed, and then continued, "…tied me down?"

"Yes, indeed," he answered easily. "I knew you'd love it, and therefore hate it. I knew that under normal circumstances, you'd explode like that geyser we saw yesterday… but you didn't. You looked me in the eye and kept the eruption locked down, even while I was emptying myself inside you."

"You tested me."

"A hell of a lot, Martha," he confirmed. His voice dropped, and became intimate, his fingers now working quite fast on her clit. She was listening, though, in spite of the fact that her body was in overdrive. "But the point is, even if you'd failed the test, I still knew, every moment I was with you, that even if you couldn't follow the rules, I could never not be with you."

"You couldn't…"

"Best I could do would be to scare you for a while, but what would be the point? More fun to extend the punishment, eh?"

"Right, right…"

"But no punishment now, love," he lulled. "Give yourself over. Let me watch your face again, you amazing, insatiable creature."

And that was it. She gave a high grunt, and climaxed for the seventh time that night, pressing her hand against his, as she rode the throbs and the intoxication into total satisfaction.

Satisfaction… for now.

Don't be silent! Tell me your thoughts! And thank you so much for reading!