Psychic Interference, Or: The Tardis Eats Out Clara

"Your pleasure centre was being overloaded," he said, without looking up. A spasm of awkardness lanced through her, for a moment she couldn't speak. Did he mean...? "While you were asleep," he added, as if sensing that she'd misunderstood. "The inducement process let you dream longer, go...further than before, but it almost burned you out. Few seconds more and you'd have lost control."
"Of...of what?"
Their gazes met. "Everything. Now, come here." He said it like an order, not a request. She obeyed, seeing no reason not to and being wholly unsure if she'd have been able to find it in herself to resist even if she wanted to. Tentative steps took her to his side, where he was standing over the machine he'd hooked her up to. "See these readings?" He jabbed a finger at the curved plasti-glass screen. "Your brain on whatever's causing these dreams. Fearsome technology, if it is technology."
"What do you..." she swallowed. "What do you mean by that?"
"The effect this is having on you, the persistence of it and the lack of any perceivable additions to or implants in your body implies—"
"How do you know what is and isn't in my body?" she interrupted. He stared. She pondered his words, then realised, letting out a disgusted sound. "You mean you weren't just..." Of course. Everything had a double-meaning to it with him, every act was performed with a view to another angle. The way he'd touched her, the way he'd made her feel down there...he'd been checking her at the same time, performing a clinical inspection even while he was groping her. "We're not going to talk about things that didn't happen," he said, firmly. Clara's eyes narrowed. He'd never allow it out in the open, even when it was just them—well, them and the TARDIS—he'd always pretend he'd simply hugged and reassured her in a moment of need. It wad the only way he could carry on, keep running and whirling about, not addressing the elephant in the room. "You're unbeliev—" she stopped. There was no point, she'd say it and he'd drag her into an argument and nothing would be said and nothing would be learned, and at the end of it all they'd be no closer to having gotten to the bottom of this. "Never mind." She folded her arms, leaning in to inspect the screen. "You were saying?" The Doctor nodded, eyes flicking back onto the screen. "The lack of any perceivable additions to or implants in your body implies it's being achieved without the aid of technology. What does that leave us with? Well, narrowing it down we end up with two distinct, yet potentially overlapping possibilities." He leaned to the right to grasp at one of the monitors attached to the console and swivelled it round to join the machine. "Biological..." he tapped a section of the monitor that showed a readout of what Clara recognised as her own vital signs, pulsing rhythmically with strange, unnatural ultraviolet light. "...and psychic." The screen changed to show a digitised cross-section of a brain, the pleasure centre pulsing with a similar light. "I know psychic interference, Time-Lords can taste it, like a coat of rust on metal. Permeates everything, sinks into the flesh, soaks into the cells."
"And?"
He leaned in closer to her and sniffed her hair. She sighed, and ran a hand through it. She wished he wouldn't do things like that, it confused her, caused her stomach turn somersaults and made her inner thighs slick with moisture. "You stink of it," he commented. "I don't mean that disparagingly but it's the truth, it's like you've been marinating in it. Like someone's reached out and," he clenched his fist. "Wrapped their hand around your mind. Rubbed their psychic residue all over you."
Clara coughed politely.
"Anyway," he stepped away. "That's the long and short of it.
"Should I be worried?"
The Doctor typed idly on the keyboard set into the console. "Without me? Immensely. With me? Moderately to severely."
"What's the next step, then? Because I...I don't think I can take much more of this."
"The residue leaves a trail, a trail leads back to its origin point. We use the telepathic circuits, plug you into the TARDIS and let it take us backwards along the trail. We reach the end, we find the source, we stop it. No more bad dreams." He clapped his hands for effect. Clara regarded him dubiously. "Just like that?"
"No, not just like that. I imagine there'll be many complications, we'll be taken prisoner once or twice, have to run away from people with weapons, talk whoever they are out of killing us—the usual stuff. After all that, if we're very lucky and especially clever...then it potentially, likely, oh-so-maybe probably might be a bit like that...if you turn your head and squint."
He brought her around to the far side of the console, where the telepathic circuits waited. They gazed out with a dozen rainbow-coloured eyes from their outlet in the console's face, shifting and burbling to themselves as Clara and The Doctor approached. "It looks...alive," she said, in a hushed voice. The Doctor smirked. "It's part of the TARDIS, so strictly speaking...it is."
"How does it work?"
"You get in close, clear your mind and...interface with it."
Clara quirked an eyebrow. "Interface, what, uh...what do we mean by 'interface'?"
"Give me your hand." The Doctor held out his palm. Clara stared at it reluctantly. He snapped a finger impatiently. "Trust me."
Clara gulped. "I want to..."
"So do it," he flashed her a smile. "It's easy if you try." He was right, she couldn't find it in herself not to. The Doctor had that way about him, he held out his hand and you'd want to put yours in it. "Alright." Her fingers met his palm, and with careful, practiced movements, he guided her up to the circuits. "It'll feel a little...strange," he warned. "Brace yourself." She hadn't the faintest idea of how to do that, but she made a go of it all the same. It was warm, gooey, alive with raw, psychic energy, sculpting itself around her fingers, sucking lightly at their tips like eager, toothless mouths. Clara exhaled sharply."It feels...it feels..."
"I know. Just let it do its work."
When that bizarre experience was done, he sat her down on the chair next to the console. "What happens now?"
"Usually, the telepathic circuits work straight away," he pondered the console, intrigued. "Seems like whatever's in your head is interfering with them, making the process of tracing the source an uphill climb."
"So, uh... how long will it take?"
"Not sure. Anywhere from a few hours to half a day."
"Half a day?" Clara raised her eyebrows. "But that's...what are we supposed to do in the meantime?"
"Relax, meditate, sleep."
"Can't we..." she hesitated. "Can't we go somewhere else for a bit? That resort planet, what was it called? Deva Loka? That was nice, can't we have a getaway there while we wait?"
The Doctor shook his head. "Active navigation interferes with the circuits, she has to divide her attention between two different things, like rubbing your tummy and patting your head at the same time. We can do it, but it'll take longer and she'll make more mistakes along the way."
Clara sighed wistfully. "Right, no Deva Loka then."
The Doctor smiled thinly. "Maybe next time, if you're good."
She looked up at that, but he'd already stepped away. Tease. "I'd recommend getting some rest," he said, loudly from the other side of the console. "Not sleep, obviously, just sit on your bed and meditate, like I said!"
"I don't know how to meditate!" she called back, rising up out of her seat.
"I dunno, then...improvise!"
Improvise. Easier said than done. She waited, thinking in silence for a long moment before she left the room, returning to her own.

Meditation was a bust, despite her best efforts. After that, she'd changed into a fresh white nightie
and started work on the improvising. In this case, improvising ended up taking the form of her staring up at the ceiling from the floor. She started thinking of the recipe, the recipe. Mum's. She often used it as a way of calming herself down. Something about the specificity, the precision of it, it helped ground her. It had always been easy, the ingredients and measurements coming to her almost automatically. This time, however, something was different.

Halfway through, somewhere around the chilling of the batter, the details of the recipe were interrupted by a voice, one that sounded like hers but...not. It's time.
"What's time?" she muttered, patting her stomach nervously.
It's time. Get up.
It was the strangest thing. She was quite sure she needed to get up.
Now, go to the circuits.
"The...circuits?"
The mind of the machine, go to the circuits where it sits and connect with them.
"But...why?"
Because we will it.
And because the voice willed it, Clara did too.

The TARDIS had many hallways, all of them ever-shifting into new configurations. She was a restless ship, given to changing the locations of and distances between rooms for no reason other than her own amusement. Right now, however, the way to Clara's destination was clear. The candle cast a nervous, flickering light down the hall in front of her. It sent strange shadows fluttering up the walls and onto the ceiling as she walked, behind which deep, ominous noises sounded up from the bowels of the ship. Ordinarily, it might have unnerved her, but right now, Clara wasn't herself. Her eyes glinted glassily with faint, pinkish light, as if lit up from within. She stared straight ahead, her mind blank except for a single, overriding command...
The console room glowed with that same pale blue light, it seemer cavernous in the absence of any occupants. The Doctor was elsewhere, she knew this but did not know how; the information was simply there. Inexplicably and suddenly present without her having needed to learn it. All that mattered was that he was gone for the time being, for long enough that she could do what needed to be done without interruption, hopefully. Clara looked around, making absolutely sure the console room was empty. Satisfied, she walked up the aft staircase and onto the console's platform, setting the candle down on one of the barer panels and circling round it to reach the telepathic circuits. There they were, still blinking away. Still teeming with psychic potential. Yes, this will do nicely, she thought. She wasn't really thinking it at all, of course; like the certainty that The Doctor was absent, it was simply there as if planted in her mind by someone else's hand. But that wasn't her concern, her only concern was the circuits, and what needed to be done. Clara looked down at herself, at the translucent white nightie, at the supple young body beneath it. Supple, she thought, and this time the thought was hers. Good word, not one I'd really use, but still good. Another thought that wasn't hers scolded her for the interruption. It made her realise that it simply wouldn't do to intrude on the task at hand with her simple, human thoughts. Now take off your clothes, it thought for her, and so she did.
She pulled the nightie off, letting it fall to the floor in front of the console. The effort freed her breasts; the firm, tantalising ones with the sugary brown nipples and the teardrop shape that begged to be cupped and licked and glazed with something unmentionable and sticky, her bum—the full, rounded one with the tight, mountainous cheeks and the trouser-tightening bounce that begged to be pinched and smacked and drilled with something long and hard and pulsing; and her pussy—the milky, pink-tongued one with the full lips and the neverending wetness that begged to be stroked and teased and eaten with something soft and smooth and tender. Taking a long, lingering breath, Clara turned around and hopped backwards up onto the console, then scooted into position so that she was sitting directly on top of the telepathic circuits. Her body was already trembling with anticipation, as the heat from the circuits wafted up to steam like warm breath over her pussy. Touch them, it will do the rest. Clara did as the alien thought commanded, lowering her hand into the section of circuit next to her and prodding it with her thumb. The circuits hummed, their multi-coloured light intensifying. Something was coming, something—
"Oh! Oh, wooooow..." Her eyes rolled back in her head as the circuits' gooey innards shifted beneath her, reaching tenderly up to glue themselves to her tingling kitty. At first, it felt like a handful of clay smeared all over it, but soon the tiny, keen chorus of semi-solid 'mouths' returned, and in moments they were licking her to lunacy. "Hnh!" Clara's forehead quickly took on a sheen, sweat forming on her brow. The TARDIS was good to her, the circuits lapping at her like they were dying of thirst. For several minutes the circuits licked and licked and licked, her sweat and the steady flow of watery cum mingling and soaking directly into them. She thought that was as good as it could possibly get, but it turned out she was wrong. Without warning, she felt a sudden pressure on her spot; a thin tendril of clay-like psychic matter had navigated up past her labia and was now shivering warmly up against her clit, thumping faintly as if it had a heartbeat."Ohhh..." she sighed, leaning forward to grip the edges of the console, her hair falling down over her breasts. Another thought that was actually her own bubbled up from out of her subconscious."M-m-mummy!" Instantly, Clara couldn't help but feel dirty for having said it. Mum didn't deserve that, to be mentioned or even thought of at a time like this. The shame threatened to spill over her and ruin the pleasure of the moment, but the outside voice rang out in her head, and with it the shame dissipated completely. Focus, let it consume you. Let it taste you, pretty girl. Clara nodded, and for good messure began pressing herself further into the grill-like structure of the circuits, their hard edges biting into the juicy, tender flesh of her arse as she pushed her pussy deeper into the goo. There was something big and wet down there, like a tongue, a big flat tongue running itself back and forth along her kitty lips. Again, the shame reared up inside. Disgusting...such a...such a...perv..." remorse was pooling in her stomach, what was she doing? What was she doing? But her train of thought was again interrupted as warmth flooded her nether regions, the tendrils suckling greedily at her sweetest, most sensitive treasure, that inescapable wetness running right into the console, splashing and staining over the panels—in short, getting just about everywhere. It was around then that Clara found herself too busy squealing to worry about anything so trivial as shame.

The suckling continued.

Clara's back arched, her breath growing more and more laboured. She hugged herself, struggling to avoid the mounting sense of overstimulation that was building within. When would it stop? She should have gotten off by now, should have sprayed her way to the finish line, but it was like the finish line was only getting further away the longer she sat and let the TARDIS taste her. Why...why is it taking so—
It is not done, the other voice returned.
"When..." she panted. "...when will it be done?"
Later.
"When?" she pleaded, in a pathetic whine.
Later.
"BUT WHEN?!" she wailed, rubbing her voluptuous thighs to alleviate the increasingly strong chafing the hard metal panel was causing.
DO NOT QUESTION. SIT AND BE TASTED.
Clara gasped, blinking rapidly to push back tears. She was being used. How had she not seen it? But of course she hadn't seen it because she hadn't thought it, hadn't been able to think it, hadn't been allowed to. All of a sudden, she found she really did want it to stop. "No..." she croaked, her fingers scrabbling with the tendrils to get them off. "No, it's...this is bad, it's...it's n-naughteeeeeeeee!" her right leg jerked involuntarily. Rationally, she knew she had to stop this, but her body and a portion of her mind wasn't on the same page. She looked down to see the fingers she'd sent to remove the tendrils had gotten side-tracked, and instead started playing with the thin wisps of pubic hair in her itty bitty landing strip, alternating between twisting them around the pinky and teasingly tugging them until they were gently pulling at the skin of her mound, all of it sending tiny shocks of sensation to her pleasure centre. It was an odd, perverted little thing to do, but it made her feel good. "N-naughty..." she kept whispering, "naughty....nnnnaughty..." the blush rising steadily on her cheeks like the dawn breaking over a horizon. Why was this happening? Why was she doing this!? She tugged and tugged, fiddling idly with the strip while the circuits went on suckling. She was closer now than before, closer to the finish. As if playing the harp, she plucked insistently at her strip, fumbling and fondling the tiny hairs to add to the electric sensation fizzing away inside her skull. "Yes, yes...yees..." Almost there, almost there! Almost...wait, what was that? Chatter, footsteps and...the jingle of a key in the TARDIS door? Clara's eyes widened. On some level she knew it was too late for her to hop down and run away, but still the shame crashed over her, even before it happened. The doors swung open, a strong shaft of light streaming through them and cascading over her where she sat. She froze, looking up just in time to see The Doctor walking in, flanked by a familiar-looking blonde in a flowing white dress and an old, bespectacled gentleman in a tweed suit, chatting animatedly to the latter. "I know how precious you are about your theories, Sigmund, but I've always been of the belief that human psychology is significantly more diverse than you give it credit for! Now, if you could just step this way we can take a little jaunt to Luna University and put the whole thing to bed once and for all—" The Doctor turned, his smile faltering as he locked eyes with Clara. She whimpered, glancing down at the blinking lights of the telepathic circuits, which were currently decorating her pussy all the colours of the rainbow as she sat atop them, naked and sweating. She went to say something, but right as she opened her mouth the tendril in her pussy buzzed so loud and strong that it rang her clit like a bell. Instead of forming words, Clara dissolved into a mess of garbled moans and crossed-eyes, her calves digging into the underside of the console and her toes literally curling as she climaxed right there on the circuits. Both the shock of seeing him and the intensity of her finish caused her hand to jerk this time, unfortunately it was the one that had been fiddling with her landing strip, so when it did, it took a handful of the brunette short and curlies with it, which punctuated the whole scene with an offended, girlish yip from her. After that, she sat there, panting, beads of sweat streaming down her cute round face.

Nobody said anything.

The blonde was staring at her like she'd seen the most exciting show of her life, while Sigmund was stroking his impressive beard thoughtfully. He adjusted his glasses, walked up and tapped The Doctor on the shoulder. "Perhaps you would like to reconsider some of my theories after all, Doctor? Hm?" The Doctor didn't say anything, he just stared glumly between Clara's legs and groaned, "My TARDIS..."

[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!]