Doctor Who: More Tea, More Fisting

"Well, I was married to one, so—" The Doctor clapped his hands. "Vastra! Jenny! You're being horrible hosts! I just recalled a few wonderful things to perk a girl up after you've made a tent out of her... yes. A spot of tea, I should think, some chocolates, most definitely, and maybe a good bath to soak in. I doubt she'll be able to sit or walk for a good deal of time." He sat down beside Clara, heedless of her nudity or the strong stench of sex, and patted her coiled hand. "Don't you worry, Clara, we'll have you back on your feet in no time, and stretched no more than usual. You can keep your chin up till then, right?"

Clara mumbled a vague assent, though all she could feel in her numb body was the fiery embarrassment of being observed this way by three people she was close to. She was absolutely humiliated. She loved it.

The Doctor saw her dopey smile. "There's a good girl!" he cheered.

At the sound of his praise, a rumble of diminished power but no less destructiveness hit her, like an aftershock after an earthquake. The climax it engendered knocked Clara completely out, leaving her cross-eyed before her eyes shut to leave her with no greater sign of life than her senseless grin.

The Doctor looked wide-eyed to Jenny and Madame Vastra.

"You and your big mouth," Vastra said condemningly.