Coal Hill School, 1969
Martha walked through the deserted school, not entirely sure she was going in the right direction. The lab the Doctor was teaching in was apparently room fourteen, but the numbering followed some arcane system that she just didn't have the inclination to figure out after a long day selling cigarettes to people she could all too easily imagine meeting in the cancer wards four decades hence.
Still, she thought as she reached a landing in the staircase, this looked like it might be the right floor. What windows there were round here tended to be quite old and distorted but the one at the top of the stairs seemed quite new, as though it had been repaired within the last few years, and through it she could clearly see an empty science lab.
She'd been surprised by how quickly the Doctor had settled into their new circumstances. He claimed that access to the school's equipment would be helpful for building his "timey wimey detector" that was apparently going to get them out of here, and that he'd gone "undercover" as a teacher before, but she could tell that on some level he actually enjoyed the teaching thing; he'd been really pleased when Ian, the Head of Science at Coal Hill and a "very old friend" according to the Doctor, had told him they needed someone to cover a long-term sickness absence. It made sense, she supposed: he loved imparting knowledge, even if his methods did tend to fluctuate between patronising statements of the obvious and maddening refusals to tell you the answer to the question he was asking no matter how many times you got it wrong.
Eventually, at the very far end of the corridor (of course), she found him. She slipped into the room with a big smile on her face.
"Hello, Martha," he said with an equally wide grin, and went back to what he was doing: drawing large diagrams of the male and female reproductive systems on the blackboard, employing several different colours of chalk. The close-packed diagonal lines he was using for shading were surprisingly fastidious for someone who could be such a whirlwind of energy. "Wasn't expecting to see you here."
"I left my key behind in the flat this morning."
"Well, that was silly," the Doctor said.
"Funnily enough, I was still half asleep. That's what happens when your shift starts at six in the morning. We don't all get to have cushy jobs like you. Anyway, I figured I'd come and get yours."
"Oh, well, I'm nearly done here; just preparing for tomorrow's first lesson. If you can wait a few minutes we can go home together."
Martha sat down on one of the stools at the table right in front of the teacher's desk: it was a familiar enough position from her school days. She stared absent-mindedly at the Doctor's arse as he continued working on the board. It was a good thing he was facing away from her, or the fact that he was wearing the glasses might have been just too much for her to take. This was also all far too familiar, having a crush on the teacher. Nothing ever really changed, it seemed. She decided to stop dwelling on things and engage him in conversation. "This is your lesson? Human reproduction?"
"Indeed," he said, still colour coding the prostate gland. "We did plants last week, rabbits yesterday, so ..."
"Aren't you ... well, dreading it a bit?"
The Doctor whirled round and faced her. "What? Why? Should I?"
"Well, you know," Martha said, "they might be a bit silly about it. The kids at my school certainly were."
"Well, I'm sure the teenagers of the nineteen sixties are much politer, or more repressed, or ... well, something, than those of the eighties."
"Oi! Nineties, thank you."
"Sorry," the Doctor said, then muttered something about margins of error under his breath.
He started writing labels. Despite the fussiness of his colouring, his handwriting was the same spidery mess it had always been. "Yeah, I could never read Mr Jenkins's handwriting either," Martha said.
"I thought it was traditional for doctors to have bad handwriting," the Doctor said over his shoulder.
"That's medical doctors, Doctor. I'm allowed, you're not."
He turned round. "Do you really think they might play up?" he asked, as though the idea had only really reached the front of his consciousness now.
Martha shot her hand into the air and waved it around. "Sir, sir, what's a blowjob? Sir, sir, what's bondage? Sir, sir, what are gay people? How do they have sex?"
The Doctor put the chalk down carefully and turned round. He counted off her questions on his fingers. "'Blowjob' is a slang term for fellatio; 'bondage' is where people tie each other up to enhance their pleasure; gay people are people who are attracted to members of their own gender rather than they opposite, though really the spectra of gender and sexuality are both far more complex and fluid than that rather short and incomplete answer allows; and they can have sex in a wide variety of ways, just as can heterosexuals."
"No, seriously, Doctor, what are you going to say?"
"You don't think that'll work? Blind them with honesty, embarrass them into silence?" The Doctor looked crestfallen. "I thought it was quite a good plan. And if they're asking the questions, they probably do want to know on some level ..."
"Doctor, no. You'll get sacked; Ian won't have any choice."
"Oh, fine then, if you really think so, I'll just be boring and tell them that we're only learning about procreative sex or something." He tutted slightly with disappointment, and turned back to the board, picking up his chalk again.
Martha waited a few moments and then called out, "Sir, sir, what does it feel like?"
The Doctor turned back round. "Well, er ... that's not really very relevant to what we're learning right now ..."
"What's anal sex, sir?"
The Doctor looked at her curiously for a moment. "Why are you doing this, Martha?"
"Because you really do need the practice, Doctor," she said, mustering all the seriousness she could. Then she smiled. "Also, I like making fun of you."
The Doctor rolled his eyes and went back once more to the board, allowing Martha to go back to admiring his arse.
In the blink of an eye, or perhaps as the culmination of months of frustration, an idea struck her. While the Doctor carried on scribbling with the chalk, she rearranged her hair into two large pigtails, removed her jacket and fiddled around with her blouse until it was tied in the approved Britney Spears fashion. It was only a pity she didn't have any gum to chew ostentatiously.
"Sir," she said, drawing the syllable out into a pleading whine, "sometimes, when I touch myself, it feels all nice. Is that normal?"
"I don't think that's something appropriate for us to discuss right now," the Doctor said without looking back. He'd clearly been thinking about a stock answer as well as writing things up, though she wasn't sure he was aware that it carried the unfortunate undertone that there was an appropriate time.
"But sir," she said, "when I touch myself I think about you."
The Doctor whirled round, letting a glint of anger show in his eyes as he leaned towards her. She knew this sort of mood, when he was dealing with ancient evils and unrepentant dictators and what have you; it was strange to see the attenuated version used for controlling recalcitrant pupils. "Jones, what is it going to take to stop you shouting out irrelevant rubbish and disrupting my lesson?"
"Your gorgeous cock filling my mouth," Martha said, "sir."
The Doctor dropped his chalk in surprise, then stood up straight and scratched his head in befuddlement. He looked at her over the rim of his specs. "Oh, come on, Martha, none of them are going to say anything like that."
She rolled her eyes. "No, Doctor, that was me trying to seduce you."
"Oh," the Doctor said. "Ohhh. You like the whole teacher thing, do you?"
"I like you, Doctor." As well you know, she didn't add. She did say, "Though, yes, that was quite sexy when you were all stern."
"Er, well, yes, I think you're very attractive, too. You know that. And, well, you know, if you want to, I wouldn't be averse to ..."
Oh, god, this was going to take forever if he was going to be like this. She stood up, adjusting her posture to push her breasts out, but looking demurely down at the ground. "I'm a good little girl, really, sir. I'll do anything the teacher asks. I'm sorry I misbehaved earlier. Do I need to be punished?"
"Well, let's not be hasty," the Doctor said. "If you can show me that you can follow instructions well, then I'm sure I can rely on you to be good in future."
Martha nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, I'll be very good in future, sir. I'll bring you an apple every day, or ... anything else you want."
"Good, good. Right, well, I think that idea of yours to keep you quiet is a good one. Get down on your knees."
Martha risked a glance up into his eyes, saw his seriousness, and complied. The Doctor unzipped his trousers, and pulled out his cock, which was not only just as gorgeous as she'd imagined, but already almost fully erect. Without waiting for further instructions, she wrapped her lips around the head, swirling her tongue around its sensitive underside. Then she slid her lips downwards until he really was filling her mouth, her tongue going slack to make room for him.
"Good girl," he said, resting one hand loosely on the top of her head.
She'd imagined doing all sorts of things with the Doctor, including this, but when she'd thought about ways that they might actually get to the point of having sex for the first time, she'd never dared to contemplate anything so unbelievably hot as this. It was as though they'd short circuited weeks or months of getting to know each other in bed and gone straight to the core of her submissive fantasies. Was it because they already knew each other so well? Or was it part of his alienness, that he could read her like a book and know exactly what she wanted?
She shook the thoughts from her mind. Concentrate on the here and now, Martha. This moment, of all moments, was not one for indulging in her penchant for overanalysing. She began bobbing back and forth, letting the Doctor's cock slide almost completely out of her mouth before swallowing it back up again, playing with his sensitive spots with her tongue as she did so. As she felt him getting harder still, she reached up with one hand to fondle his balls. They grew soft and supple in her hands, then began to shrink again.
Just as she was sure the Doctor was going to come, he said hoarsely, "Stop."
She raised her head back up one more time. As his cock sprang free of her lips, she gave it a last little kiss. To her surprise, he stuffed it back inside his trousers and zipped them up. Obviously, he wanted to make things last longer.
He walked around until he was behind her. Martha didn't even think about turning round to follow his movements, just stayed looking straight ahead. "It's quite clear to me," he announced, voice coming from on high, "from that little display, that you already knew the answer to that first question you asked me. And I somewhat suspect we're going to discover the same is true of all the others. Hands behind your back." Martha put them together just above her bum, remembering with delicious anticipation that the next thing she'd asked about had been bondage.
There was a swishing sort of noise that she just knew was him taking his tie off, and then he was kneeling close, so close, behind her, and binding her wrists with it. "As I thought," he said. "You knew exactly where to put your hands." He came back round so that he was standing in front of her. She looked up at him this time. He gave her a wolfish but ultimately reassuring smile, then said, "And then you were asking about gay people. It's not uncommon for young women of your age to have lesbian fantasies, or even experiences. Is that the case for you?"
She would have made it up to please him in a heartbeat, but she didn't have to. "My friend Julia and I, we used to fool around sometimes. Before she got engaged."
"And what did you do, exactly, in this 'fooling around'?"
"We would ... touch each other." More detail, Martha thought. "Stroke each other. Julia's nimble fingers rubbing my clit. Me sliding my fingers inside her to find her G-spot. And licking. Lots of licking. I used to love 69ing with her. We used to have races, see who could make the other come first." Martha realised distantly that she was becoming very wet as the memories blossomed in her mind.
"And you tended to win these races, didn't you? With that devilish tongue that you've just demonstrated to me. On me ..."
"No," Martha said, shaking her head imperceptibly. She maintained eye contact with him as she explained, staring into his pupils, magnified as they were by the glasses. "I would lose on purpose. The loser had to be the winner's sex slave for the rest of the night. I loved it when Julia spanked me, loved licking her feet, loved it when she tied me spread-eagled to the bed and teased me with her vibrator for hours on end ..."
The Doctor gasped momentarily; clearly the description was having exactly the intended effect. He regained control of himself. "So, you do know how people have sex with people of the same sex. Another question you didn't need to ask, and thus I conclude another question you only raised to disrupt my lesson."
"I won't do it again, sir. I understand now. You're in control."
"That's right, I am." He sounded slightly surprised by this, as though he'd only just discovered it to be true. "Now, your other questions. Stand up."
"Other questions, sir?"
"Stand up, Martha," he said. She did so, even as she desperately racked her brains to try to recall exactly how the later part of their conversation had played out.
"Walk over to my desk." It was slightly awkward with her wrists still tied behind her back, but it was such a short distance that it wasn't a problem. "Now bend over." She leaned down so that her torso was resting on the desk, thrusting her bound hands and her arse into the air.
She felt the Doctor's hand on her backside, cupping it proprietarily. Then, all business, no preamble, he pushed up her skirt and pulled down her knickers. She felt a welter of sensation: she was exposed, she was horny, her horniness was exposed, her exposure was making her horny. She was submitting to the Doctor, and the Doctor was dominating her, and it was everything she'd ever dreamed of and more.
"Step out of them," the Doctor said, "and spread your legs." She did as she was told, having to shake her knickers free when they caught on the heel of her left shoe. "Good."
She heard him unzip himself, and this time his trousers went to the floor. She thought about what he must look like, even though she couldn't see him. She imagined his trousers around his ankles. She imagined his cock poking out from beneath the shirt he was still wearing. She remembered that he wasn't wearing a tie, because it was wrapped around her wrists.
And then, suddenly, he was thrusting inside her, and she wasn't thinking about anything but the sensation of his cock filling her up, satisfying her aching hunger.
The Doctor gripped her hips and thrust, hard, several times, then came to a rest deep inside her. "Now, Martha," he said, "do you remember what you asked?"
"No, sir," she answered, honestly. She couldn't really remember anything right now.
"You asked what it felt like. So, Martha, tell me, what does it feel like?" And as he finished speaking, he began thrusting again.
Martha had to concentrate hard to be able to form any words at all. "It feels so good, sir. You're so big and hard. It's like you're filling every part of me, taking me, making me yours."
"Yes, yes, I am. How does that feel, Martha?"
Why did he have to ask that, now, when they were both carried away in the heat of the passion of what was, in the end, their very first fuck? If she said the wrong thing, would it all end before it had barely even started? What was he wanting to hear? Did he really know what he was saying, or would he be all ashamed and weird about it afterwards?
"Martha," he said sternly, "tell me how it feels to be mine."
Stop worrying. Trust your instincts.
"It's amazing," she said. "Here I am, bound and bent over for your pleasure and only yours, and every time you thrust inside me it makes me more and more completely yours. I'm your sex toy, your teacher's pet, and I'll do whatever you want me to." As she spoke, the thrusting she was talking about became wilder, less controlled. She no longer cared if she was saying the right thing for their long term relationship, she was saying exactly what he needed to hear right now.
"But, sir," she said, after a moment's silence, "I still don't know how it feels for the man?"
The Doctor took his cue flawlessly. "It's incredible," he said. "You're so hot and wet and tight all around me." Martha groaned as another gush of wetness deep inside her pussy made his statement even more true. "And I love knowing how you're mine, how you'll do anything for me, how you trust me completely. You do trust me, don't you, Martha?"
She nodded eagerly, with relief as well as agreement. "Completely and utterly, Doctor."
"Good," the Doctor said.
And suddenly, he was no longer inside her. She was empty, the hunger she had thought she had before he started nothing to the cravings she felt now to be filled up by him once again, to have him continue until he came inside her, a great hot spurt making her irrevocably his.
Somehow, he knew what she was thinking. "Trust me," he said.
And then, unbelievably, he walked away. Martha stayed exactly where she was, face down on the desk, not even contemplating moving.
The Doctor returned an unknowable time later. "Do you remember your last question, Martha?"
Literally, in fact.
"I asked about anal sex, sir," she said, in a small voice.
And then, there was something slimy but warm at her arsehole, and it was the Doctor's finger, or something on the Doctor's finger, and she didn't really want to know what he'd managed to find in a school science lab to serve as lube, but maybe that had just been a bit of showmanship and he always kept some in those weird pockets of his just in case. Stranger things had happened, after all. And above all she knew she trusted him, and relaxed, letting him lubricate her, ready to answer the final question.
She heard slapping sounds that must have been him applying the last of the lube to his cock, and then he said, "Are you ready, Martha?"
She nodded once. "Yes, sir."
And then, he was in her. If she had felt filled up by him before, then this was something completely other. It was tight and more than slightly uncomfortable, but it felt so amazing to have him inside her like this. He rested for a while, just letting her get used to it, and she realised vaguely that this astonishing sensation was only coming from the first couple of inches of his cock, and she wondered with both trepidation and delight what it would feel like when he was fully inside her, fucking her hard like this.
He slid slightly further inside, and stopped again, once more giving her time to accommodate his girth. Martha's breath was coming in shallow gasps now, and she was aware of virtually nothing except the feeling of him. Even the cries of her ridiculously aroused cunt for release were like a distant echo, which she answered purely instinctively by occasionally grinding her clit against the desk.
Eventually, he was all the way inside her, and then he was fucking her, and all the clichés were true: it hurt, but it felt so good, and she didn't want him to stop, and he didn't stop, but time did, the progression of moment to moment collapsing into just an endless, eternal now of being fucked by the Doctor. Was that a Time Lord thing? Or was it just that it was that good?
Time resumed when she felt the bonds around her wrists slip away, the tie coming undone with an almost casual tug. Then he bent down to whisper in her ear, which had the rather delicious side-effect of thrusting him even further into her. "I want you to touch yourself, Martha. Just like you told me you do when you're thinking of me."
He stood up straight again, and she set to work following his instructions, her right hand snaking down, bucking up her hips for a moment to allow it to nestle under the desk and find her cunt. Suddenly, her sex came alive again, and she was aware now of two centres of pleasure, competing with each other to scream the loudest about how turned on she was: the Doctor's cock in her arse and her own fingers in her snatch.
"I'm close, Martha," the Doctor warned. Then he turned it into less of a warning and more of an encouragement. "I'm not going to stop now, Martha, I'm going to keep fucking your arse until I come deep inside you. And I want you to come at the same time."
Martha thought that her fingers were moving faster than they probably ever had before, frigging herself madly, desperate not to be left behind.
One final phrase of encouragement: "That's how I'll know your mine, when you come for me like that."
And then everything was happening at once. The Doctor grunted as his come flooded her arse, not just one great spurt but a whole series of them. Her cunt was squeezing her fingers tight as her whole body convulsed with orgasm, her hips riding high into the air, taking the Doctor's madly twitching cock with them, her breasts being driven into the hard surface of the table which rubbed against her hardened nipples. Her own scream, louder than she ever could have imagined, a primal yell of ultimate pleasure but also total surrender.
They rested, together, for a length of time that Martha couldn't measure, riding out the aftershocks and moaning and groaning with pleasure at each tiny movement. Eventually, the Doctor had softened enough to remove himself; wordlessly, he pulled his trousers back up and did up the belt.
Martha stood up. She had to put her hands on the side of the desk to steady herself at the sudden wooziness, but the headrush passed and she started to straighten her clothes, redoing her blouse in a more sensible fashion and rearranging her hair.
But when she reached for her knickers, the Doctor put his hand over hers. She pulled it away, and he took them, stuffing them into a pocket. "So ..." she said.
"So," he said, readjusting his glasses.
"If you're planning on keeping those, I assume you want to do this again."
The Doctor swallowed, hard, and she realised just how much he did. Realised that perhaps he'd been worried she wouldn't want to. "Well, we could be stuck here in 1969 for quite a while. We need to do something to pass the time. I was thinking of taking up trainspotting, but this might be more fun."
"Good, good," Martha said. "More fun than trainspotting. That's always a ringing endorsement."
"Don't be cheeky, Martha," the Doctor said in his stern voice, but there was an amused glint in his eye.
"Sorry, sir." She said it with heavy sarcasm this time, a world away from the impassioned submission of a few minutes earlier. "Is that what you want me to call you? I mean, I don't think I should just call you 'Doctor' when we're ... well, doing that. What about 'Master'?"
His eyes clouded, became unreadable. "No, no, don't call me that. Stick with 'sir', I think."
"OK, sir," Martha said, putting her arm in his and leaning on him as they walked out of the classroom. "Whatever you say."