Nope, And Now There's Only One Thing For It...A Soujorn To The Ood Sphere! (DREAM CLARA WETS HERSELF)

"You mean it's ruined?!" Clara put her face in her hands, despondent. The Doctor rounded on her, furious. "Well, I'm sorry Clara! I wasn't expecting you to interface with the telepathic circuits quite so directly! If I'd known I might have put down a sheet for you!" He'd ushered Marilyn and Sigmund away into some corner of the TARDIS out of sight. 'Go check out the swimming pool, it's as long as the Empire State Building is tall...sometimes!' Leaving him to deal with the mess Clara had made of the telepathic circuits. "That's not fair! I didn't mean it, it just...it just happened!" She retorted.
"It just happened?" He went back to dabbing at the section of console she'd been sat on with a sponge, soapy water running down his arm and wetting his rolled-up sleeves. "The Big Bang just happened, the Medusa Cascade just happened! You!" he pointed an accusing finger at her. "Stripped off and sat on my...on my..." he trailed off, covering his eyes with his hand. "I thought it would be enough," he continued, after a pause, "down there, in that place beneath our feet, I thought it would be enough, but you're insatiable..." he turned back to her. "Why? Hm? What is it, what is it that's hitched a ride in your head? What do you suppose it is that's so powerful that you can't even control yourself?" He grabbed Clara's wrist,, she didn't even try to struggle. "You're hurting me," she said, pointedly.
"Maybe that's not my primary concern any more." He had a steely, unwavering look about him. "Now, what happened? From the beginning." Clara stared down at the floor, her face a heady red. "I was in my room, alone, trying to...meditate. Then there was this—this voice. Like someone else's thoughts in my head, ordering me what to do."
"And you obeyed?"
"I didn't do anything, it's like I told you it just happened. My body just started doing its own thing."
"Its own thing being coming here and...interfering with the telepathic circuits. Unorthodox, but effective."
"You think it was deliberate?"
"Oh, I know it was deliberate. A concentrated act of sabotage, who or whatever's causing this using you as their instrument." He seemed to remember something, patting her on the shoulder. "How do you feel, by the way? I should have asked sooner."
Clara swallowed. "I...I'm...not great, honestly. I just want it to stop, Doctor. I...I don't want to keep ending up...naked." She hugged herself protectively, unsettled at the mere thought. The Doctor let his anger sit for a minute, waiting for it to simmer down, his expression softening gradually as it did. He set down the sponge. "I'm...sorry," he said, "it's not your fault." He patted her on the shoulder, unsure of what to do next. Luckily, the answer didn't wait long to present itself to him, this time in the form of sudden, insistent beep from one of the monitors. "What?" He grabbed hold of it and inspected it intently. "What? No, oh...yes, but thats...ha!"
"What is it?" Clara leaned over to try and see what was so interesting, but to her the monitor was just contextless images and alien symbols. "Doctor!" She tugged his sleeve. "What?" The Doctor broke away from the monitor. "Oh, right, Clara! Hello! Yes, sorry...that was the trace."
"The trace? The psychic trace you just said was ruined?"
"Um, yes..." he trailed off, looking sheepish. "I may have been a tad premature with that statement; as far as I can tell it's less ruined and more..."
"More?" Clara prompted.
"More..." he screwed his mouth up, like he was sucking on a lemon, "...tainted."
"So, it's salvageable?"
"Not by me alone." The Doctor tousled his own hair meditatively. "We'll need some help. I could...we could...but it would be...hrm," he set down the sponge on one of the circuits' gills. "Ood Sphere," he concluded, grimly.
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
"The Ood themselves are perfectly pleasant, it's just the getting there that might be tricky."
"Back up," Clara raised her head and put her palms together. "Who are the Ood?"
"Psychic Squid-Faced Time-Sensitive Hippies, if we're being reductive. Beautiful creatures attuned to the music of the spheres and emancipated from slavery by their own boundless ingenuity and compassion, if we're not."
"Slavery?" Clara raised an eyebrow.
"Space slavery, inflicted on an entire alien race by humanity. It's how you convinced yourselves it was alright this time, anyway that's all done and dusted now, at least from the perspective of my personal timeline."
"You freed them from slavery?" Clara pressed, genuinely curious.
"No, it's like I said, they freed themselves. I mean, I was there. Me and a good friend of mine...but we ended up being moral support, mostly. I'd have brought a nice banner with a Pro-Ood slogan on it if I'd known beforehand how that day was going to go," his voice took on a slightly faraway quality as he spoke, but he quickly snapped back to the present. "The Ood became aware of time a while after that, they could do all sorts of things only the Time Lords used to be capable of; up to and including sending and receiving psychic signals across the vastness of the time vortex." He beamed at Clara. "This is how we're going to do it. Psychic sabotage, meet the Ood."
"That's...I mean that's good, right? Why the long face before?"
The Doctor remembered, his face falling. "Ah, that. It's...tricky to explain. Shortly after I last met with them, the Ood Sphere became...difficult. As in, travelling there. The Ood's time sensitivity must have become so strong they were able to harness it to cocoon the sphere in a kind of temporal miasma. It's like...my people had this thing called a time lock, you activate it in a bubble around a specific segment of spacetime and it prevents time travel to and from it. If a time lock is a cruise missile, the Ood's miasma is a horse and buggy with dynamite strapped to it; it does a similar job if you turn your head and squint, but it's raw, unrefined. Now, a TARDIS is one hell of a piece of quantum engineering, but even she'd struggle to punch through something like that."
Clara processed it all, tucking a lock of hair behind an ear. "Struggle..."
"What?"
"Struggle. You said 'struggle'. 'Struggle' means she could do it, right? Technically?"
"Technically, but it'll take time and effort."
"How much time and effort?"
"If I locate the nearest dying star in an uninhabited solar system? If I really, really push her as far as she can stand to go?" The Doctor made a pained expression. "Twenty-four hours, give or take another four."
"That's..."
"A long time?"
Clara's stare was steely, determined. "Not as long as forever."
"Nothing ever is."

While The Doctor worked, Clara went off to find Sigmund and Marilyn. She'd always wanted to meet her! Sigmund was...also there, she supposed, and that was a nice bonus. For a few hours she splashed about in the pool, gave Sigmund a talking to, snogged Marilyn under the water, fondled Marilyn under the water, nibbled on Marilyn's neck under the water, cheekily slipped Marilyn's bikini bottoms off and tongued her kitty under the water. That was all a good bit of fun, but when, at Marilyn's insistence, they retired back to Clara's room for some out-of-the-water fun, Clara just couldn't manage to keep her eyes open. Don't fall asleep, she kept thinking. Don't fall asleep! Right up until the instant she fell asleep.

Clara was furious. He'd stolen her bodysuit! Like an idiot, she'd taken it off and just left it there on the floor, and then she'd been nude and blushing, but for all the wrong reasons. She couldn't quite recall how, but their little escapade in the drawing room had come to an end with him absconding behind her back, leaving her without a stitch of clothing to cover herself with while pursuing him. Her arms covered her breasts as she walked, and nothing covered her pussy (it was too sensitive and sticky, whenever she tried her fingers came away coated in The Doctor's cum and her own supply lubricant).
Strange too was the way the TARDIS seemed to morph almost imperceptibly into the wide, bright hallways of Coal Hill, so gradually she'd scarcely even noticed it until she'd looked down and realised she was walking on the grey, slightly sticky linoleum floor she'd come to know so well since she'd started working there. The realisation that she was all but naked at work had made her tummy flutter, but at the absolute least she didn't have to risk being seen like this, as the school was mercifully empty. There was no sign of anyone, least of all The Doctor. He'd fled with her lingerie and left not a hint of his whereabouts. Why had he done this? What was he playing at?
She kept walking, passing lines of lockers and closed classrooms, through which the frosted silhouettes of students sat in rapt attention as one teacher or another droned away the contents of their lesson. Turning a corner, she came to an open foyer crowned by a staircase. She stood dead-centre, glancing around in fear of being seen by someone, but the foyer and its surrounding halls remained empty. She breathed out, and something told her to look up. She raised her head, eyes widening in surprise to see The Doctor standing there. His face was...wrong somehow, the expression flat, the eyes dead and cold, like it was just a mask concealing someone else entirely. "D-doctor?" Clara fidgeted on the spot. "Why...why did you take my...my lingerie?"
"I like you better naked," he said, like he was explaining the obvious, "I might even give it back if you do something for me."
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "What kind of something?" In answer, he tossed the sonic down to her. It landed at her feet with a loud clatter. "Use it," he commanded. Clara blinked. "Use it on what?"
His eyes gleamed. "Yourself."
"My...self?" For a moment she was confused, and then it hit her. She shrank back. "Oh, oh god no! Not in a million years!" He wanted her to...pleasure herself? With the sonic? Was he insane?!
"Do it," he insisted, calmly. "Or else."
"Or else what?" Clara found a bit of her usual bravado, raising her voice in a show of assertiveness. The Doctor smirked. "Or...I cut class short, and the whole school sees you. Stark. Naked." He produced a second sonic from his pocket, this one smaller, the frame silver and cream, the light on the end a deep blue. Raising it, he pointed it in the direction of the nearest school bell. "Wait!" Clara yelped. If he used that on the bell, the whole school...coming out of class at once. Converging on her. He couldn't! "I'll do anything! Anything but that! I'll..." she blushed. "I'll suck you off! I'll...I'll let you cum all over my boobs!"
"Tempting," The Doctor mused, "but my demands are the same. Pick up the sonic and use it until you're done."
Clara's face fell. She stared down at the sonic anxiously. "What if I don't want to?"
The Doctor scoffed. "So what? You're dreaming this, but that doesn't make it your dream."
Clara's gaze snapped back up to him. "What did you say?"
"I said: you may be feeling cringe, but that doesn't mean you can give in."
He was lying. That wasn't he'd said, he'd said...oh, why couldn't she remember? He'd said something strange, something that didn't make any sense, but the instant he'd said it she'd forgotten. "I can't do this!" she insisted.
"You can, you just don't want to."
"Why do you want me to do it anyway? What do you even get out of it?"
"The sonic is mine, maybe there's a subtle psychic link between it and I that'll make it feel like I'm fucking you with a trillion times more sensitivity," the smirk reappeared. "Or maybe I just like to see you humiliate yourself. Who can say?"
Clara groaned inwardly, glancing back and forth between him and the sonic on the floor. There was nothing else for it; if she refused, he'd ring the bell and expose her in front of the entire school. It would be spine-tinglingly embarrassing, but impaling herself on the sonic was the only way. Giving him what he wanted was the only way. Tentatively, she grasped the hinged bottom of the sonic and lifted it up to her eye level, flipped it up in the air and caught it deftly in the other hand. It had a good weight balance. She wasn't sure why she was fixating on that, maybe it was just an excuse not to think about where she'd be shoving it in just a few short seconds. She angled the bottom toward him. "This end?"
The Doctor gave her a withering look. "The head, Clara. The head."
Clara grimaced. "Why? Why does it matter?"
"Because you need to use it on yourself."
"Like..."
"Point, and think."
She couldn't even fathom it. The thing she'd seen him do to a hundred locked doors, secure computer systems, high-tech panels. It would always light up that warm green colour and buzz away the problem. Now, it would buzz her, now the problem was her clit. "But...but I don't want to sonic my pussy..." Clara whinged. God, what a ridiculous sentence. "Think of it this way," The Doctor replied, mockingly, "at least you'll feel good in the moment."
Clara let out a couple of impotent, empty sobs. She wasn't really crying, or truly sad as such, it was more of a bratty expression of contempt and shame. She took a deep, shuddering breath, and sat back into a kneeling position, legs folded, skin on soft, supple skin. The heels of her bare feet bit slightly into the full, fleshy fruits of her buttocks, her back was almost imperceptibly arched; her thighs framed her slit, the puffy lips of her outer lips, and the thin, pink protrusions beyond, all of it crowned by a landing strip of wiry brown pubic hair (it felt tender down by the strip, she wasn't quite sure why, though she got the feeling she'd known once and simply forgotten). Avoiding meeting his gaze, Clara brought the sonic's bulbous green head down to meet her labia, holding it one-handed while she parted them with the other. They were a pair of heavy, velvety curtains, suffused with an ocean's worth of wet. She shivered despite herself, but kept them held apart with index and middle finger while bringing the sonic up, up, up between them immersing it head-first in her warm, copious juices and the frisky little gossamer wings of the inner lips. It felt odd, but not so odd...closer to a vibrator than she would have liked, far, far closer. She pushed it in a tad deeper, wincing at the unyielding hardness of it. "Now, point and think," The Doctor ordered.
"Mm...mhm...point...and..." She thought of sitting on The Doctor's face, riding that mouth and nose and chin like one of those bucking broncos the bar owners kept trying to tempt her into braving on that Girls' Holiday to Spain back in 2010. The thought became an impulse, the impulse travelled down the length of her body and into the sonic. Buzz, it whispered, buzz, buzz, buzz. The sonic obeyed, buzzing loud and lighting her crotch up bright green. At first, she thought it wouldn't be so bad after all, but within moments the noise was accompanied by a towering, electric jolt of awful, pleasurable goodness. "D-doc-t-t-hnnh—" Clara gasped, twitching as the sonic sent waves of resonant sound and energy through her. "My...my place...it's buzzing my..." she moaned, plugging the warm, hard screwdriver deeper. "There's no shame in an orgasm, Clara. Of course, if you went further than that, if you...lost control..."
Clara mewled, arms shaking from the strain. What did he mean by that? What was losing control if not this? Her knee jogged beneath her, her upper body quaking enough for her breasts to wobble freely, nipples stiffening in response to the stimulation and coming to resemble chocolate-covered cherries in the process. A pressure was building behind her mound; she rubbed her landing strip openly, alternately flattening and raising the hairs with the flat of her palm, then brought the fingers she'd used to do it to her nose and inhaled her own musk. It was coming, and when it did, so would she. "Doc-doc-tur...it's making me..." another lucky rub of the strip-covered mound, another long sniff. She loved playing with her pubes, it was like having her hair pulled but more sensitive, more potent, more naughty. Every round of it combined with the sonic's endless buzzing to bring her that much closer, that much sooner. "Yes, yes, yes...." Come on, come on, come on!
"D-d-d-d-d—" she couldn't even get it out, she was so very nearly there. "Ho! Oooooh! Hnnnnnh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oooooooooooohhhhhhh!" Clara howled, her pitch almost as high as the sonic's. She twisted it subtly this way and that, while slowly pulling it backwards and forwards inside her. The pressure behind her mound reached peak intensity, and a note of shock reverberated through her as she felt it...pop? Powerless to stop it, Clara felt it start: a strong, insistent flow of liquid out of her privates, over the sonic, down her thighs, and onto the linoleum floor. The pleasure from the buzzing was too strong, she couldn't hold it back anymore! Her eyes were closed, but she heard it make a soft hiss as it trickled downwards, and quickly coalesced into a shallow puddle of warmth and wetness. For a solid minute it kept flowing, and she wondered briefly if there'd ever be an end to the release; eventually it did peter out, dying down to a steady drip, and Clara was **** to reckon with what had happened. She sniffed, trying to stifle her now-running nose, and opened her eyes. There it was. The puddle. It was big, bigger than she'd expected. The longer she looked at it, the less sure she was of what she was looking at. She flushed redder, hotter. The embarrassing part wasn't the puddle itself, the embarrassing part was that it was so large she couldn't be sure if this was just the result of her pussy working overtime to lubricate itself, an expected release of liquid cum, or if...if...

The very thought made her want to curl up and die.

She bit her lip. What if it had been too much excitement? What if the sonic had made her lose control so completely that she'd...that she'd...
Mum's voice rang loud and clear in her head. Clara Oswald, what did I say about going in the toilet and not on the floor?
No. No, she hadn't wet herself; not like that. Not in front of him, and not in the middle of the school. It wasn't...
"Oh, dear." The Doctor leant forward on the balcony railing. "Did The Impossible Girl have herself an Impossible Accident? Well, that's no good, is it? How can I travel with someone who can't even control her—"
"No, no please...I didn't! I didn't!" Clara clamped her hands down over her dripping pussy, trying to shift herself forward to hide the obvious puddle. She kept moving her fingers, so that within moments the questionable liquid was dampening her landing strip, making the tiny hairs lay sodden and flat against her shining mound. "I came...I just...I just came! The sonic made me..." But her pleas fell on deaf ears.
"I don't think so, Clara. What did I say? What did I warn you about? No shame in an orgasm, Clara, but this..."
"It's not what it looks like!" she dropped the sonic right in the puddle, covering her soaked pussy, not wanting him to see.
"You pis—"
"Don't say it! I didn't!" Clara interrupted, hotly. "I just...the sonic made me..."
"Which is it? You didn't or the sonic made you?"
"I...I..." she couldn't think of anything to say, she'd gone full deer-in-headlights. The Doctor toyed with the blue sonic, muttering darkly to himself, before extending his arm. "I'm not angry, Clara, just...disappointed." With that, he aimed right for the bell and activated his sonic. It buzzed, glowing bright blue. Clara's mouth fell open, eyes all but popping out of her head in terror. "Doctor! Doctor, no! You promised! YOU PROMISED!" Already, it was too late. She could hear a great, muffled scraping as every class got up out of their chairs at once. They were coming! They were coming and there was no time to get out of sight before they arrived! They'd see her! See the puddle! What she'd done! "DOCTOR!" she implored.
"Say it!" he called back, playfully. "Admit what you did and I'll save you before anyone sees!"
Clara gulped. There was no time! "I...I did it! I...I peed myself!"
"Louder! Say your name! Say the whole thing!"
"I'M..." she hesitated, pouted so deeply it was almost cute, screwed her eyes shut. "I'M CLARA OSWALD AND...AND I PEED MYSELF!!!!" The bell stopped ringing, but it was replaced by footsteps. Dozens. Hundreds. All getting louder, all getting closer. The Doctor didn't lift a finger, he just laughed. Clara hugged herself pathetically and whimpered as they arrived. She didn't need to turn around to know that they were there; an endless tide of students, staring at her sat there on her haunches, that fantastic arse pushed out as she hovered naked over the puddle of her own...
"Tinkle!" A lone voice cried, "Miss Oswald's gone for a tinkle!" It sounded overcome with shock and amusement. "He's right!" shouted another. "Miss Oswald's—"
"—widdle? You called him widdle?" Two students were talking amongst themselves, one showing their phone to the other, seemingly oblivious to Clara's exposure. "He's a rescue dog, isn't he? Not a bloody kitten! And have you thought about puppy pads? Mine used to make a mess all around the house, every morning we'd wake up to find he'd—"
"Whizzed! I'm telling you, just like that! Right through my last test! It was like magic!" Said another, from among a small gaggle of students clutching sheets of paper in their hands. The rest of the crowd was giving her their perfect, undivided attention. There were snatches of laughter, then a small choir, quickly snowballing into a whole chorus. So much laughing...
Clara's face was burning. In a panic, she hunched forward and fumbled for the sonic. Maybe she could summon the TARDIS! Maybe she could do something with sound waves and air ripples, make herself invisible! Maybe...
She tried to get a grip on it, but by now both it and her fingers were so slippery that, try as she might, she just couldn't do it; instead, all she managed was a lethal, accidental buzz directly onto her clit. The jolt made her jump in surprise and let out a squeal, and left her powerless to prevent more tinkle squirting out of her and onto the floor.