Clara's Poolside Exposure

She recognised this as the TARDIS' swimming pool. It was a large, rounded room to whose shape the pool itself conformed. The ceiling was an artificial sky, stars twinkling softly and reflecting miniscule points of light off the water's surface. Support columns held it all up, their exteriors made from glass (or a glass-like substance, she supposed) and offering a view of the cool blue neon pillars within. Clara herself was standing poolside, wearing a scandalously undersized yellow bikini, accented with yellow polka dots all over, her hair a beautiful brown tumble of waves trailing down her back. That was less than ideal, what was worse was that she wasn't alone. At the sound of a polite cough, Clara looked up to find herself face-to-face with The Doctor.

But it wasn't just one.

The poolside was lined with The Doctor; the one she knew and loved was there, but so too were the others. She knew each of them by sight alone, the hazy, inconsistent memories of her echoes' escapades across his timeline, as well as that incident with the Zygons and the painting of Gallifrey had made sure of that. They stood all in a row, all of them staring at her, arranged from left to right as followed; The old man with the monocle, the stout one with the flute, the dapper sophisticate with his ruffled shirts and cunning expression, the strange, wild-eyed wanderer with the scarf, the straight-laced celery-stick, the foppish clown, the enigmatic professor, the windswept romantic, the weary soldier with the sad, sunken eyes, the veteran with the shorn head, all raw nerves and leather jacket, and the motor-mouthed rogue in the pinstripe suit. They were all loitering by the pool, watching. Clara exhaled sharply, and began fidgeting with her itsy-bitsy-teeny-weeny yellow polka dot bikini, horrifyingly aware of the way it was struggling to hold in all her assets. Try as she might, her breasts muffin-topped out from the sides of her bikini top, the nipples tantalising dark spots under the flimsy fabric, and her bikini bottoms remained vaccuum-sealed to her kitty, closely enveloping the puffy white lips. "Oh, this isn't fair! This isn't fair! Come on...come on, please!" she hissed, trying to strike a careful balance between quickness and roughness—too much of either and she risked compromising the only clothes she had.

The more she struggled with them, the worse things seemed to get. The bikini somehow became incrementally smaller as the seconds went by, the pressure on her breasts and pussy becoming more intense the more fervently she attempted to relieve it. "Do you need help?" One of them offered, but when she glanced back up at she couldn't tell which one. All of them were looking at her, eyes boring into the eeny-weeny bikini. It wasn't getting any better, she was making a fool of herself every instant she stayed here! Panic rose, clawing pressingly at her throat. She minced backwards, looking over her shoulder. The water! The water's safe! If she jumped in, the bikini and by extension the parts of her body it was failing to adequately contain would be hidden. Good thinking! She turned around and hopped down into the pool, landing in it with a splash. The Doctors drew closer to the edge of the pool, still observing her as she floated out into the water. "Ha!" she exclaimed, triumphantly. "I'm one step ahead this time!"
"Are you?" The weary soldier replied. He didn't say it in a nasty way, he sounded genuinely sorry for her, so much so that it gave her pause. "What? What's that supposed to mean? Of course I—" she was cut off by the sound of something shifting behind her, she turned to get a look. "What was...?" There it was again, a ripple in the water, but from what she could see there was nothing that could be causing it. "What's...?" She whirled round to confront The Doctors. "Who's doing that? Which of you's trying to scare me over there?"
"It's not us," insisted the veteran. "We're just observers, enjoying the view, mostly."
Clara scowled at him. "If it's not you, then who is it?!"
"Not who," the soldier spoke up a second time, "what."
There was a splash as the ripple reoccurred, now sounding much, much closer. She flinched and let out an involuntary gasp, and for a single instant, sensed an ummistakable presence coming right for her. She made a move to dodge out of the way, but something sharp and hard grazed her side, snipping cleanly through the string ties of her bikini bottoms. "No!" she squealed, but the invisible **** dragged the strings in its wake, and Clara was no match for its strength. She watched, powerless, as, despite her tightest grip, the bikini bottoms slipped sharply through her fingers, and Clara was left standing quite bottomless and quite humiliated in the middle of the pool, her pussy hidden by nothing but a few litres of chlorinated water. She laced her fingers together and wedged them firmly between her thighs, her breath coming in trembling puffs. "I-it...it took my..." she looked at her bottom half and cringed. "Oh no...no...no, this isn't happening, it's just..." it was becoming so familiar, now, the whole sordid routine. Always naked, always scarlet-cheeked and hiding the intimate, soft bits, the ones that curved and tapered, the ones that were full and fat, supple and nubile, the ones that were pretty and perky and sweet; it was maddening!

While she was still processing the first loss, a second presented itself. The unseen presence circled back around, splashing loudly as it came back on her and temporarily reared up out of the pool, catching her in the face and taking her bikini top clean off with what felt like sharp talons. Clara reeled and fell back into the water, shrieking in shock and terror. My top! It took my top?! She touched her uncovered chest for confirmation, and shook her head furiously. Before she stood back up, she tried her utmost compose herself, which was becoming increasingly difficult, as she was was painfully cognisant of her toplessness and bottomlessness, and was being **** to endure the water lapping at the warm, private space between her legs while she covered the shapely twin teardrops of her breasts with her hands, hoping against hope that the water would keep doing the same for her bottom half.
The Doctors' gazes seared right through her. She waded a bit further away from them, stammering out admonishments and, eventually, pleas for them to stay away and that it really wasn't as embarrassing as it looked. "I'm—I'm not naked!" she insisted, desperately, in a way that did nothing but suggest she was perhaps more naked than she'd ever been, "I still have a b-bikini on, you just can't see—"
"Oh...I don't think that's true, is it Clara?" The pinstriped one said, drawing the syllables on certain words out mockingly. "Look at you, that blush on your cheeks, those hands on your chest...seems to me you're naked as the day you were born."
"Oh, my giddy aunt! I do believe he's right, my dear. All the signs point to you being in the altogether," the stout one agreed.
"There's no shame in it!" The scarfed one piped up, grinning smugly at her. "You've quite the magnificent set of curves, Ms. Oswald, not unlike one of the Greek Vases of antiquity!"
"You aren't wholly unpleasing to the eye...for a human," concurred the enigmatic professor, adjusting the brimmed hat he was wearing for effect.
"Stop! Stop things like that!" She stumbled in the water, having wandered too far into the deep end while not looking where she was going and losing her footing, caught so unawares by it that she went fully under. When she emerged, her hair was sopping wet and covering her face; with a sting of sickly surprise she realised that in her struggling to get back to the surface she'd risen too far up out of the water, flashing her arse to the assembled crowd of one. It was too late to prevent them from seeing, but hurriedly clapped her hands over it anyway, her palms making a wet slapping sound as they made contact with the glistening, freshly-washed peaches. "Stop looking!" she complained, "stop looking at me! This is my dream and I'm sick of being leered at! I'm sick of being naked!" Another moment too late, and she followed the dozen-ish gazes that were now laser-focused on her bare breasts, which both jiggled lightly whenever she so much as moved a muscle. Desperately, she thrust an arm across them and squirmed uncomfortably in the water, trying to make sure as much of her was hidden as possible. She hadn't the foggiest idea of what to do; The Doctor and Ood Sigma had said they'd be seeing this, she'd expected them to be here but was now caught between being in dire need of help and not wanting anyone else to see her like this! Certainly not anyone real! She fretted and dithered, growing more flustered the longer she stayed there, and becoming a more enticing target besides.
The invisible something worked its way around the length of the pool, working up the courage to have another go at her, or else just playing with its prey. Once it was good and ready, it surged onwards through the wayer and hit the unsuspecting Clara head on. She screamed girlishly, the impact causing her to sink under the water and sending her tumbling head over heels into the deepest part of it, disoriented and hopelessly embarrassed. She peered through the gloom, trying to catch a glimpse of it, but all she saw was the pool tiles wavering in the dark, and The Doctors straining to get a peek at her back topside. She waited, and a sound like the shriek of an angry chicken reverberated at her through the darkness. Was it...coming back? She let out a burst of air in surprise, and immediately turned tail and tried to swim up and away from it. Clara made it about three feet before the **** slammed into her again, and again she was sent tumbling away through the water. I can't do it, she thought, trying to **** her tired limbs to keep going. It's going to get me! It's going to get me! She heard it carving sharply through the water nearby, and was just about ready to resign herself to whatever fate was waiting for her when she felt something grab onto her ankle. Something that felt distinctly like...a hand. It tugged experimentally on her foot, then, wasting no time, yanked her harshly up out of the pool. Clara gasped as she surfaced and was lifted into the air to dangle upside-down next to the pool's edge. She swivelled her head around to get a look at her saviour, and was surprised to find herself face-to-face (or rather, foot-to-face) with The Doctor. Her Doctor. It was he who'd hauled her up out of the water and was now holding her above it—spluttering, drenched mess that she was. "Er...hello." The Doctor coughed, awkardly. Now that she was up close, she could tell there was something different about him this time. His eyes were warmer, more like usual, different from how he had been in the other dreams. Could he be...?
"I-is...is it...you?" she wheezed.
The Doctor nodded. "It is." He glanced over at the pool. "And that...was a Krafayis, if I'm not mistaken."
Clara was overcome by a most curious mixture of emotions, beginning with relief and quickly dominated by a great wave of embarrassment, which crashed over her with all the **** of a tropical storm. It was him, the real him. The real Doctor, holding her upside down and looking down at her, at everything; the cute pink folds of her nude kitty, the landing strip plastered to the little pale hill of her mound, her wet tits bobbing buoyantly up by her chin, her hair hanging in limp, saturated strands from her head, and a redness raging like a wildfire across her face while her mouth hung open in mortified shock. Everything. Clara moaned shamefully, and slid her fingers in-between her parted legs. "Don't—don't look!" she squeaked, but she knew he'd already seen too much.

[Author's Note: I always enjoy and appreciate feedback in terms of what's working and what isn't, so please feel free to like and/or leave comments!]