Dr. Who: Older Men & Younger Urges

It was an odd thought for a girl who had traveled the universe, gone through space and time, but the engagement party of Clara's friend, clearing out the local pub and filling it with music and shouted conversation, was proving too lively for her. She thought to go outside to clear her head, but first she ducked into the bathroom.

There was a grimy feel to the inebriated air and pounding music, enough to make Clara sweat, and she wanted to quickly wash up before she stepped outside. God forbid the Doctor should see her looking like she felt, even if he was now an old man, not...

Clara touched up her make-up, but typically, the bathroom was out of paper towels. She went into one of the stalls to use toilet paper to blot, when she heard the door open and two of her friends, their high heels distinctively ticking, came in. Clara decided to keep the stall door closed and wait until they'd left to go herself. She didn't want to get dragged back into the elongated conversation of the party.

"Yeah, Sabrina, it was so neat!" one of them was saying. Clara recognized Betsy's voice. "Freddy unloaded at least a quart, right up my ass! Ooooh, I came at the same time! It was like he was shooting right through me!"

Sabrina laughed. "Oldest method of birth control known to woman! That and blowjobs! Are you going back up to the room with him now?"

"You know it, babe!"

The door closed and Clara was alone in the bathroom. She sighed and waited until she was sure the pair would be away from the door, then she slipped out of the pub.

Walking along the metal railing overlooking the village where she lived, the pub being erected on a hill overlooking it, Clara felt as small as one of the pinpoints of light in the sky overhead. Her friend was getting married, and she was still going off to have some fun before her vows. Clara didn't know if she envied her or pitied her. Either way, she couldn't do the same. Not that way.

"What's the matter, Clara?" a husky female voice asked.

Turning, Clara saw Justine and Mr. Snart walking arm and arm toward her. Mr. Snart was thin and aging, a biology prof at the school where she herself worked, while Justine was a former student of his.

Wonder if he's gonna fuck her on the grass or back in the room? Clara wondered to herself bitterly. In the mouth, the cunt, or the ass - or all three?

Clara shook her head, as if to clear it of such filthy thoughts and language. "Nothing. I just always cry at wedding and, well, this is almost a wedding."

"That it is," Mr. Snart agreed, nearly oblivious to Justine tugging on his sleeve.

"Honey, you go on ahead," she said. "I need a word with Clara."

"Jolly good," he replied, and headed on up. So, it was to be in the room.

"I know what it is," Justine said, once they were alone. "You haven't dated in forever, Betsy's getting married—it's okay to be jealous. That's practically required!"

"I'm not jealous!" Clara protested. Although she had to admit, it hardly seemed fair that her Doctor was now an old man, while Betsy's fiancé—and her lover—were strapping young men.

Justine took her by the arm and led her back towards, oh no, the pub. A dance was starting in the lounge, she could hear the band tuning up, and she thought, desperately, that perhaps she could dance some of her cares away. She was a great dancer and she loved to lose herself in the pounding beat, the way she lost herself in the Doctor and his adventuring when they traveled together.

"Either way, you need to get laid. And this is a party and you do look like the Queen of Sheba in that outfit."

I met her, actually, and I actually don't have nearly enough mandibles to be a lookalike. "I don't need to get laid," Clara said.

Justine pushed through into the pub, and gestured widely at the various party-goers. "Look around! There are a ton of handsome guys, even some from out of town! Not saying you're going to marry any of them, but even a quick shag would be more of a date than you've been on. It's all about shaking the rust off, you know."

"I don't... have rust. And anyway, they're not my type anymore."

"What is your type?" Justine insisted.

***

It happened a few weeks ago. Clara had just been dropped off by the TARDIS and discovered that one of the problems of time travel was that if you lost your keys, there was literally no way to retrace your steps. For all Clara knew, she'd misplaced them in the future, then gone back to lift them from fifteen minutes ago, thus screwing over the her in between.

As if being locked out of her house wasn't enough, it began to rain. Not an uncommon occurrence in England, but this was an uncommonly heavy downpour. She huddled in her doorway, wishing desperately that the Doctor would open her front door from the inside as his younger, older incarnation had once done, when she noticed headlights on the dirt road leading to her cottage.

She scrambled out to her front gate and saw, luckily, that it was Simon LeMarch, one of her neighbors. He was a skinny, elderly man who always reminded Clara of a sea captain, with his thick white beard and crinkled eyes, his serious but not unfriendly visage topping a stout, muscular body. He only had a few inches on her own sprightly height, but he was thicker and more robust, a bit of a fireplug.

"Miss Oswald!" Simon said with surprise, once he'd rolled down the window on his truck. "What are you doing out here in the rain?"

"I locked myself out," Clara told him. Then, for no reason she could fathom, she leaned closer to the truck. Her dress was loose, and thin underneath the coat she wore—it gave him plenty to look at it. She wasn't wearing a bra and her large breasts nearly fell out of her top.

She remembered all of the times she'd caught him looking at her and she knew what he'd been thinking. It was what he was thinking now. If he wasn't a dirty old man, he wasn't a clean one either.

Simon coughed and tried to look away, but couldn't. His eyes were practically bulging right out of his head. He shifted his position behind the wheel, indelicately reaching for the lock control and fumbling it until he finally got the passenger door unlocked.

"Well, get in here," Simon said, staring straight ahead. "You can stay at my place for the duration—dry off. Once the rain dies down, we'll call you a locksmith. Sound good?"

"Sounds great," Clara agreed. She slid beside him, intentionally letting her dress slide halfway up her thighs. Simon took one long look and coughed. "I really appreciate this, Mr. Lemarch. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come along."

The cottages in this row were spaced out, but still it didn't take long for him to park the truck and for them to hurry into his small, comfortable-looking home. It was small, but Simon had no family and didn't need a big place. With Clara dripping all over the floor, he lit a fire in the fireplace, already prepared with dry logs and wadded up newspaper for when he got back from his trip.

"Mmmmm," Clara moaned, warming herself. "This feels good. I didn't even realize how cold I was."

"Good thing I had that ready to go," Simon said. "You might think about getting out of those wet things."

Clara turned her head toward him and saw the glint of lust in his eyes, even if he tried to hide it. There was never going to be a better time than this moment.

"Alright," she said, and took off her coat.

It had been a heavy, even leaden Burberry thing, navy-blue with big black buttons. Coupled with her frilly white dress, it gave her an adorable mien, like something a teddy bear would wear. But when she took it off, she was only in her gown, and it was soaked through, the flooded white showing her black panties and hints of her full breasts where the garment slicked against them.

She knew that with her youthful enthusiasm, her unabashedly feminine mannerisms, and her preferences in clothes and make-up, that it was easy for men to see her as a little girl, a kid sister. She was sure that was how the Doctor had thought of her, at least on occasion. But she also knew that her frank sexuality and ripe body, when she chose to share them, mind-blowingly contradicted that impression of her.

Simon was still half-seeing her as some young innocent, until she stripped her dress over her head in one quick motion. Now she wore nothing but her flimsy panties. Simon nearly choked as he stared at her large breasts, flat belly, and creamy thighs.

And while Clara saw little wrong with being childish—she traveled with the Doctor, after all—there was plenty adult about her. Like the garters and stockings that she thought very well complimented her classical looks. The effect would've been completed if her hair had stayed in the forties-ish curls she'd had them in last, but she thought wet hair running down and over her face was just as appealing to a man.

"I guess I should get out of these too," she said, fingering the waistband of her panties—showing him the little toothy imprints the elastic had made in her skin.

"You shouldn't," Simon said quickly.

"You don't want me to?"

"It's not right!" Simon insisted.

"Do you think it's better for me to stand here and catch cold?" she asked.

"Of course not!"

"Then I'll take them off."

He was red-faced and confused as she pushed her wet panties down her shapely legs. When she was completely naked, she thought Simon's eyes wouldn't ever fully get back in his head.

"Maybe you should undress too," she suggested.

"In front of you?"

"Why not? It's only fair."

He trembled and Clara knew she'd have to help, so she moved across the room to him. For some reason she heard the patter of rain on the roof much louder where he was.

She took his hand and placed it on one of her round breasts. She heard him gasp as his fingers tighten. She hadn't known his touch would turn her on, but she immediately felt her nipple stiffen. Then the other one.

God, he was old enough to be her father—old enough to be the Doctor...

She started to unbutton his shirt and he actually quivered. "What are you doing, Miss Oswald?" Simon asked.

"Helping you out of your clothes," she said. "You helped me, so shouldn't I help you?"

She had no problem taking off his shirt and undershirt, but he became hesitant when her fingers reached for his belt. He put his free hand over hers.

"We shouldn't do this," he said.

She could read his face—he wanted it worse than he'd ever wanted anything in his life, but he was scared of what people might say, scared that it was some form of trap. Clara, on the other hand, was no longer worried about anything.

"I'm just helping you," she said. "Aren't young people supposed to help the elderly?"

He no longer tried to stop her, but put his hands on her big tits and began to massage them. She felt her nipples tighten into hard, determined spikes as she hurriedly undid his belt and dropped his trousers.

She had no trouble making him kick off his trousers and boxers and his cock was half-hard as she gently lifted it with her fingers. She could feel the trembling excitement of his cock under her fingertips.

"Oh God," he groaned.

She was getting warm too and would soon need a big cock to fill her cunt, but first she wanted to thank him for rescuing her, quite apart from the fuck that would come after, and make them both feel good.

"Let me make you happy," Clara said as she slowly sank down to her knees and touched her lips to his cock.

"Jesus," he gasped. "What are you doing? Nobody's ever done that before. Jesus!"

She circled his cock with her fingers and began to jerk him off slowly. She felt his cock stiffen and saw the first few drops of his thick, white cum appear at the bulbous tip. She shivered as she placed her lips against it.

She loved the taste of cock. She loved the taste and feel of a man's cum. She loved pleasuring a man so much.

Clara felt his fingers in her hair as she began to lick all over his thick prick. She made his cock stiff and throbbing, then began to play with his heavy balls. She tasted more of his hot precum and knew that it was time to take his cock into her mouth.

"Oh Jesus," Simon groaned as she slipped his swollen prick between her lips.

At first she took only the sensitive crown into her mouth and began to use her teeth against the ridge. He groaned and tried to stab his cock deeper into her mouth, but she refused to take it. She wanted to take her own sweet time sucking his cock.

She slowly sucked his swollen prick into her mouth and drew it deep into her throat, so deep that she gagged. She forced herself to relax. She knew she was trying to prove herself, even if the Doctor wasn't here to see it.

She relaxed enough to suck his hot cock deeper, deeper, until it felt like it was going into her stomach. She felt his throbbing knob press against her gullet, the depths of her neck, and started using her tongue. She could feel him go crazy as his hips bucked and he pulled her thick hair.

"This is fantastic!" he moaned. "Oh God, this is crazy. Who does this? Who ever does this?"

He reached down and gripped her big tits. His fingers dug into her flesh almost painfully. She knew that he was very excited, more excited than he had ever been in his life. She moved her head back and forth, keeping her teeth against his skin to drive him crazy.

"Oh my, Miss Oswald," he groaned. "Oh my!"

She felt his cock swell against her tongue. He was too excited. She moved her head faster and felt the first hot spurt of jism against her throat.

"Shit, I'm coming!" Simon moaned. "I'm coming! Oh fuck, I'm going to shoot my cum in your mouth! You're going to have my cum in your mouth!"

He gave a groan and she suddenly felt all of his jism pump into her mouth. She swallowed quickly, almost hungrily. She moved her lips down the length of his thick prick until she had drained every drop.

"Oh Lord," Simon moaned. "Lord!"

He looked dazed when he fell back from her and she licked her lips like a kitten just finishing a bowl of milk. She sat back on the floor and spread her legs so he could see the pink lips of her cunt. She knew he would regain his interest in a short while.

"Did you like that?" she asked him.

"God," he answered. "I loved it! I wished I'd known about your talent a long time ago."

Clara put her hand on his thigh and moved her fingers up to caress his now-limp prick.

"Don't do that, Miss Oswald," he groaned. "You'll kill me."

"I won't kill you," she promised, "but I will make you happy."

She knew she had him wrapped around her little finger. He'd do anything for her, but all she wanted him to do was enjoy himself.

"Don't do that," he begged her, but her teasing fingers had already caused his prick to start stiffening again.

"Mmmm," Clara sighed. "And you'll make me happy..."

She put her face in his lap and began licking hungrily at his cock. She felt it grow harder, and at the same time felt shivers going through her body. She wanted to fuck. She wanted to feel his big cock inside her.

She widened her lips and took his cock into her mouth again. She swallowed his prick as deeply as she could and then savagely sucked on it. He was as stiff as he could be.

Suddenly she raised her head. A savage hunger was in her eyes as she looked at him.

"Do you want to fuck me now?" she asked.

"Oh God yes," Simon answered.

"Then what's stopping you? Why don't you fuck me? Put your big cock between my legs. I'll make you feel like you've never felt before. I promise you that!"

He cried out like an animal as he pushed her onto her back. She had barely spread her legs when he stabbed his cock at her. He missed and clumsily poked her a few times before she reached up.

"Slow down, love," she whispered. "We've got all night. Slow down."

She wrapped her fingers around his cock and slowly guided it to her cunt lips, then she felt her cunt lips give way to his probing prick. She lifted her ass from the floor and his cock slid all the way into her cunt.

"Ahhhhhh yessss," she sighed. "That's what I needed. That's what I like. A big cock in my cunt. I love it!"

"I can't believe it," he said. "I'm fucking you, Miss Oswald. I'm actually fucking you!"

"You sure are," she said sweetly. "You're fucking my ass off!"

She lifted her legs and wrapped them around his back, and his big cock slid into her cunt a little deeper. She giggled as she sensed how crazy he was becoming, driving his prick into her as quickly as he could.

She felt a growing warmth in her belly and knew it was going to happen again. There was nothing sweeter than being fucked. She loved the feel of a man splitting her in half with his cock, completely dominating her with his prick.

"You sweet little wonder," he moaned. "You absolute joy! Your pussy feels so good!"

"Fuck me good," she groaned. "Oh yes, fuck me good. Show me what you can do with your prick."

She was glad she had already sucked him dry. She knew he wouldn't have been able to last long if she hadn't. His prick felt like he hadn't used it in years, and perhaps he hadn't. It was a damned waste, especially when she knew there were so many girls like her who needed a good fuck.

She felt the first pleasurable spasm shoot up her back and began squeezing her inner muscles against his thrusting cock. She knew she was getting wetter with his every thrust.

"I'm going to come," she moaned. "Oh God, I'm going to come! I like your cock. I like your cock. I love your cock! AIEEEEEEEE!"

This climax was even better than the one she'd had with Agatha Christie. She felt as if her body were splitting in half. She wiggled her tits against him and more delicious spasms went through her.

"I love it," he moaned. "I love your pussy. I'm going to fucking come!"

He froze above her, stiff as a board all over, not moving except for a faint tremble seizing his body. His eyes stared blankly ahead, not seeing her, and his jaw dropped. For a moment, Clara thought he was having a heart attack. Then she felt his heated flood inside her and knew he'd just finished. It was quite a load, maybe even more than he'd put in her mouth. Perhaps it had been a while since he'd last had sex—and she'd drained him one ball at a time!

"Oh my God," Simon groaned. "You're amazing, Miss Oswald! I've never met anyone like you!"

"And you never will again," Clara told him.

***

Clara tightened her hand into a fist. More than remembering her time with Simon, she remembered how she'd slapped the Doctor, the look of rage he'd greeted her with after, like he might get rough with her. She would've liked that. Something like Simon, but with the Doctor's... she didn't know. His experience, his arrogance, his aggression, whatever it was. But she couldn't have it. Not in a million years.

The party died down, everyone trailing home one by one, but Clara stayed at the bar, tossing back drinks. She had a hollow leg when it came to them, so much so that when the bar closed, she barely felt tipsy. The barman was a tousled-looking elder, at least in his sixties, with rheumy eyes and a five o'clock shadow that seemed perpetual. His eyes were openly leering as he refilled her glass, and Clara couldn't blame him, dressed as she was in a leather jacket, a smart skirt that came down to mid-thigh, and a top that was low-cut enough to need the jacket to not be considered lingerie.

"Hope you're planning on settling your tab," he said in a rough Glaswegian accent. "You went off the open bar an hour ago. Them drinks are all you."

"I didn't bring my wallet," Clara said. "Perhaps there's another way I can pay?"

She leaned forward and her skirt slid higher up her creamy thighs, almost to her crotch. The barman glanced down like he wanted to rip the bar out of the way to get a look at her and she couldn't help giggling.