The Jailhouse Scene 4: Testing
The Doctor awoke to find himself in a cell, lying on pink satin sheets. His head hurt where he’d been hit twice now. Carefully, he sat up and began to study the situation.
He had nothing but his pants and shirt; even his belt and shoes had been taken. Camille had all his gadgets. He hoped she’d made it to safety, but he didn’t dare to think she’d come back for him. He had to find a way out on his own.
But as he explored the room, his hopes began to sink. There was absolutely nothing he could use here. No eating utensils, no parts that would come off the furniture or the walls or even the privy; the curtain was hung by loops of fabric, not metal rings, and the rod seemed to be fused to the wall. Without the sonic screwdriver, he couldn’t access the computer…
He was still racking his brain for ideas when Tirlene entered.
“Hello, again, Doctor,” she purred, sauntering toward him with a gleam in her eyes. “Here’s how this works: you will serve me now, and then you’ll be available to one lucky customer a day, starting tomorrow.” She sat next to him and leaned in close, whispering in his ear. “Usually, I call all the shots, but just this once, I’m going to offer you a choice. If you’ll give yourself to me willingly, I’ll only hurt you a little.” Then she bit his earlobe.
“Ow!” he yelled, cupping his hand over it. After a few breaths, he added, “That’s never going to happen.”
“In that case,” she smirked, leaning back and crossing her arms, “I am really going to enjoy breaking you. Vertical restraints, activate!”
The frame began to hum, and the manacles were pulled toward it. He tried to resist, but little by little it drew him closer, until finally his strength gave out. Then the manacles clicked into place, holding him in the frame.“You are stronger than you look,” she nodded, eyes sparkling with excitement. “It wasn’t just agility that kept you out of the guards’ grasps. I’ve never seen anyone resist so long.” She sidled up to him, then tucked a finger into the neckline of his shirt. On her left pinky was a ring like a long, sharp claw, and she used it to cut off the fabric.
“Not bad at all,” she observed, running her hand across his chest.
“I’m not what you think I am,” he said. “You can’t do this to me.”
She simply laughed. “Do you think a man can’t be forced? You’re wrong. I’ve been running this facility for three years, and not one man has been able to hold me off.” Then she grabbed his jaw and pressed her fingers into the joint, forcing it open. “The fortunate ones have allowed themselves to enjoy it.” She brought her mouth to his, gently at first, then thrust her tongue inside, almost gagging him.
The contact was too much; she invaded his awareness. It was a side-effect of being mildly telepathic, as all Time Lords were. He could not share his body without also sharing his mind… and sensing hers. Not thoughts – that required active concentration – but emotions and intentions. This was what he feared. Instead of the planet racing along its orbit, he felt her cruelty, soaking into him like filthy ice water. He couldn’t pull away; she had too tight a grip. For an eternity, she simply stood there, kissing him. Her passion was real – she truly wanted him – and that only made it worse. When she let him go at last, he tried to spit out the taste of her, but his mouth was too dry. She laughed at his effort, tracing a finger down his chest.
“Oh, you are something special,” she smiled. “You act so tough, but I can taste your fear. Literally taste it.”
Too dry to spit, but not to talk. It was his best remaining defense. He began to rail into her about tyranny and injustice, about the rights of the people even when incarcerated. He went on at great length about noblesse oblige, the responsibility of those in power to protect the people they rule, not exploit them. He was nearly shouting when he got to the value of life in all its forms, and the respect every being deserves. All the while she was caressing his body, and laughing at his words.
“It won’t work, you know,” she said at last. “I’m not listening to your tirade, and you can only distract yourself for so long. I will arouse you, and I will have you.”
She was half right; he was beginning to lose his train of thought. He moaned as she clamped her mouth to his throat, running her hands down his back, brushing up against him. He tried to tell himself that the body and mind are one, that she could not force him to comply if his mind would not, but unfortunately, the body was winning.
And then she went too far: she slipped her hand down his pants.
“Great Mother of Death!” she hissed, snatching it back as if burned. “What is that, a tentacle?”
“Certainly not!” he barked. “What do you think I am, a squid?”
Now that contact was broken, he could feel the planet again, circling around its sun, and he drew new strength from it. He could feel time and space, and he latched onto them. They were his lifeline.
But a show of defiance was exactly the wrong move; it gave her the focus to compose herself. “I think you’re a man,” she breathed. “And no man has ever been able to resist me.” Laughing maliciously, she unbuttoned his pants, pushed them down, and crouched on the floor to take them off, carefully releasing one leg restraint at a time. Then she rose to her knees to examine him closely. She took her time, murmuring to herself as if she were conducting a scientific investigation and recording notes.
“Internal gonads,” she observed, “which means either you’re sterile, or your body can make sperm at a higher temperature than everyone else’s.” Slowly, gently, she began to stroke his flesh, watching how it reacted. Though the sensation was strong, the contact was minimal, and he was able to keep most of his attention elsewhere. “No, not a tentacle,” she went on, “in fact very much like a normal man’s on the outside… but the internal structure is significantly different. I can feel it reacting, and yet it remains flexible. A bit like a tongue actually. Can you control it the same way?”
“None of your business,” he snapped.
“Now, now,” she chided. “It is precisely my business. I have to know what I’m selling.”
“You’re selling nothing! You have no right to do this, not to anyone! You are vile; rude and malicious and absolutely vile, and if I…”
“You flatter me,” she cut in before he could say what if. “A good thing to do, when you are entirely at my mercy.”
“You have no mercy,” he scoffed.
“Perhaps not,” she shrugged. “Then let’s say, you are entirely within my power.” She stood tall, staring him down.
“I am not,” he intoned, returning her stare with the full eternity of time and space behind him. She was just one woman, and he was the universe. For a moment, she shied away.
“Do you think you’re unique?” she asked, looking at her own hands as she rubbed them together. Her voice wavered as she tried to collect her nerve. “Do you think you are the only man in the universe whom I can’t have?”
“I know I’m unique,” he said glibly. “You can’t even imagine.”
“How dare you?” she roared, whirling to face him again. “How dare you?”
“I dare,” he said, “because I am the Doctor.”
Scene Selection
1. Delavega 5. Break-in 2. Room Twelve 6. Rescue 3. Sentencing 7. Escape 4. Testing Commentary