Hayley Atwell

"Hel-lo." the new Doctor purred, drinking herself in, as well as she was able to in the cracked reflection of a mirror in the console room, destroyed by the **** of her recent regeneration.

Regeneration, it was often remarked, was a game of chance. One could never reliably know how the process would turn out, the number of arms or heads, whether one's new self would be fast or strong, wise or angry.

But this, the Doctor knew her first foray into a female body of her own had been quite the stroke of luck. A veritable jackpot.

"Especially the tits." she couldn't help but remark, aloud. "Hmm. New voice... British. Posh. Heavens, I'm just a plummy little posh girl with a cracking pair of tits, aren't I?" the Doctor remarked, a light hop making them bounce.

She had to admit to a certain twinge of relief with the way she sounded. With such a drastic physical departure, sounding much like previous incarnations helped to centre her. She would've accepted a Scottish accent, of course. Anything but American, really. The number of school friends she'd seen go Brooklynite...

Supressing a shudder, the Doctor decided to turn her thoughts to more pleasant matters... namely herself. She was brunette, with gorgeous glossy hair past her elegant shoulders. And soulful brown eyes. In short... in a past life, a girl like this would've been total companion material. The Doctor would've had herself whisked off, full of wonder, and giving himself a titjob on some alien beach within days.

The thought of that, taking a nice, big juicy cock between her breasts. Stroking it, squeezing it, finding a man big enough that she could suck on his tip as it erupted up her décolletage...

The Doctor steadied herself on the TARDIS console with one hand, the other working her brand new and sopping cunt, two fingers, then three.

Even as thoughts of men, of chiseled gladiators and 52nd Century stellar playboys invaded her mind, the Doctor knew it had happened. Her... preferences had remained static through so many regenerations, she almost expected it to never come up, but it had.

Grappling with the fact that after hundreds of years of living, she was likely bisexual now would have to wait. As would her frantic self-pleasuring, she was rather more disappointed to realise.

"Remember where I left off, eh old girl?" the Doctor said, wiping her hand off on the TARDIS console, her tone that of a chummy schoolfriend. "I'm freezing. Don't want to catch a cold before I've even got through my regeneration sickness."

No doubt the adrenaline of her... discovery would soon wear off, and the usual stresses of the change would begin to present themselves. She hoped she could at least dress herself before that happened. And dusty leather and worn boots simply wouldn't cut it any more. No, she'd find the right ensemble to augment her natural beauty...

"Don't move anything." the Doctor imperiously told the TARDIS, wagging a finger at the console. "When I come back, I'm going to give this whole room... a woman's touch."