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Inside the Master’s TARDIS, the air was tense but calm, the hum of the engines a quiet backdrop to their conversation. Master reclined in a chair, a faint, knowing smile on his lips, eyes glinting with amusement.
Rani sat opposite him, her sharp features lit with satisfaction as she described her latest experiments with humans. She spoke matter-of-factly, detailing how she had taken them and the ways she had tested them, her eyes bright with intellectual excitement rather than cruelty.
“And it’s fascinating,” Rani said, leaning forward slightly, “to see how people react under pressure. Fear and hope together produce the most revealing results.”
Master’s voice was smooth, careful not to give too much away.
“And as for our dear Doctor,” he said, the hint of a smile playing at his lips, “I’ve had such… entertaining moments with him. Watching him struggle, trying to navigate his little moral quandaries…it’s quite delightful.”
Fed up with the Doctor constantly foiling their plans, the Master and the Rani had joined forces, luring him into a trap and taking him prisoner. Not only him, but his precious companion, Mel, as well. Now, whatever the Master and the Rani demanded, the Doctor had no choice, but to comply, because if he didn’t, Mel would die.
The Rani had no demands of her old friend beyond one simple condition: that he cease interfering with her experiments.
The Master, on the other hand, had far more… ambitious expectations. Every command, every whim he wished the Doctor to obey, piled up like an invisible chain around him. And so, in his own TARDIS, with its strange, shifting corridors and humming engines, he kept both the Doctor and Mel under his control.
At that moment, the Doctor entered the room, carrying a tray with deliberate care. Two cups of steaming tea and a small assortment of sweets balanced precariously upon it. Each step was measured, slow, almost laborious, as though the very act of walking demanded his full attention.
But it was not his careful gait that immediately captured the Rani’s attention. No, her sharp eyes were drawn to something far more… incongruous. The Doctor wore nothing but a single, brightly coloured kitchen apron, hanging comically from his shoulders. Beneath it, only a plain white pair of underpants.
He wore special man-cuffs on his hands, their other ends connected to the collar around his neck. Additional straps ran from the collar down to his back, from his feet to his hands, and from his hands back again, all converging at a single point—the upper end of the anal hook protruding from the back of his underwear. The other end of the heavy iron hook was anchored inside him.
Every movement—whether of his hands, neck or body—caused the hook to shift, delivering sharp pain and intense internal stimulation in equal measure. The sensations were inescapable; the combination of discomfort and the precise, intimate contact left him semi-rigid despite his shame.
Every step the Doctor took, every slight shift of his hands or neck, sent a jolt of sharp pain radiating through him. Yet alongside the agony came a disconcerting, intimate pressure that he could not ignore. His body betrayed him in ways his mind struggled to control.
He moved carefully, deliberately, each gesture an effort to manage both the tray he carried and the sensations that pulsed within him. Beads of sweat gathered at his temple, and a faint flush crept across his cheeks. Shame and involuntary arousal intertwined, leaving him painfully aware of every inch of the iron hook inside him.
Even as he forced his chin high and tried to maintain the dignity of his Doctor persona, the physical reality of his restraint made it impossible. A shudder ran through him when the hook shifted against a sensitive spot.
He was trapped, bound not only by metal and leather but by the cruel ingenuity of the Master. Every motion reminded him that resistance carried consequences, and that even the simplest movement was a perilous negotiation between discomfort and forbidden stimulation. A gag restrained his mouth, silencing his protests. Only occasional whimpers escaped, muffled and ragged, and a thin line of saliva traced the corners of his lips.
The Rani’s eyebrows arched in brief, silent surprise, though her expression quickly smoothed into something resembling her usual composed curiosity. Her mind, ever analytical, immediately catalogued this absurdity, perhaps even amused at the sheer audacity of it.
Master, seated across the room, leaned forward, steepling his fingers and letting a thin, wicked smile curl across his lips. His eyes danced with amusement.
“Ah,” he murmured, voice silky and deliberate, “the Doctor, in his infinite wisdom, has graced us with a new… uniform.” There was a gleam of mischief in his gaze, relishing the Doctor’s precarious dignity in such an undignified state.
The Doctor, despite himself, maintained a rigid posture, balancing the tray with painstaking care, his chin lifted as if defying the ridiculousness of the situation. Even in such a farcical guise, there was a stubborn thread of his usual authority, a stubborn insistence that he could not be entirely humiliated.
Finally, the Doctor placed the tray on the table before them. Every bend, every rise, every tiny movement felt like an insurmountable effort, sweat streaming down his face in rivers of sheer exhaustion.
Seeing him like this brought the Master an indescribable delight, a twisted satisfaction that made his thin smile widen ever so slightly.
As if the humiliation and torment were not enough, the Master added yet another cruelty:
“A hundred squats, Doctor,” he commanded, his voice silky and precise. Even the Rani’s eyebrows shot up in startled surprise at the audacity of the order.
The Doctor’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, his pride battered, but there was no room for protest. Gagged and restrained, he could only let out muffled whimpers as he began. Knees bending, rising painfully, each motion sending jolts through the iron hook inside him. The straps pulling at his hands, neck, and feet made every squat an ordeal, a precise negotiation between agony, involuntary stimulation, and the humiliating awareness of being watched.
The gag muffled the occasional strained sound, saliva gleaming at the corners of his lips. Sweat dripped down his temple, his chest heaving with the effort, and yet he persevered, moving with painstaking care to keep the tray steady.
Master’s eyes sparkled with cruel delight.
“Careful now, my dear,” he teased, voice smooth and deliberate. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
And so the Doctor continued, each rise and fall a battle against the physical torment, the gagged suppression, and the sharp, knowing eyes of his captors. Every squat left him trembling, every breath heavy, yet the cruelly imposed exercise showed no mercy. In that tense, oppressive room, humiliation and control danced together, leaving the Doctor acutely aware of his vulnerability and Master savoring every agonized motion.
The Doctor’s vision blurred slightly at the edges, his breath coming in shallow gasps. His knees shook violently as he lowered himself again, tray held as steadily as he could manage, the gag preventing any protest, any plea. The hook inside him pulsed mercilessly, alternating between sharp pain and intimate stimulation, forcing him to suppress a groan that threatened to escape into the gag.
Master’s thin smile deepened, a gleam of triumph in his eyes.
“Ah, the Doctor, so stubborn, so very… enduring. And yet so exquisitely constrained.” He let the words hang in the air, every syllable designed to press on the Doctor’s mind as much as his body.
The Doctor was trembling by the time he reached the fiftieth repetition. His breath came in ragged gasps, sweat soaking through the thin fabric clinging to his skin. Each movement had become agony; every muscle in his body cried out in protest. His knees buckled, the tray slipped from his grasp, and the sharp clatter of metal on the floor echoed through the TARDIS chamber.
For a moment, silence followed. Then the Doctor collapsed beside the fallen tray, body shuddering in exhaustion. The Doctor came hard in his underwear. His mind swam in a blur of pain and humiliation, the world spinning around him like a vortex he could no longer control. He tried to rise, but his limbs refused to obey. Every tremor that passed through him sent another wave of discomfort rippling through his body, each one a cruel reminder of his captivity.
“I can’t watch this any longer,” Rani said sharply, her expression tightening with distaste. She folded her arms, one brow arching in that familiar look of superior disdain. “I have far more important matters to attend to than your little games. Do enjoy your entertainment…” she paused, her lips curling into a cold, warning smile, “but be careful, Master. Don’t let him steal your mind away.”
With that, she turned on her heel, her robes swirling as she strode out of the TARDIS, leaving the echo of her warning hanging in the air.
The Master, however, merely smiled a slow, self-satisfied curl of his lips. He watched the Doctor on the floor with a predator’s calm, delighting in the fragile, trembling figure before him.
The Doctor lay still, eyes half open, breath shallow and uneven. He was caught somewhere between defiance and despair, his mind flickering like a dying star. Every faint movement drew a tremor, every tremor a reminder that he was still alive and that survival, for now, was the only victory left to him.
With a theatrical flourish, the Master rose from his chair and crossed the room to where the Doctor lay. His movements were deliberate, almost graceful, as though performing for an unseen audience. He brushed aside the damp, curling strands of hair clinging to the Doctor’s forehead, his gloved fingers lingering for a moment. Then he cupped the Doctor’s face, thumb tracing the path of a tear before it could fall.
Slowly, with a kind of mock tenderness, the Master reached for the ties of the apron and loosened them. The faint rustle of fabric filled the silence as he drew it away. Even that slight motion made the Doctor flinch; a low sound escaped him, half gasp, half groan, born of pain and humiliation.
Then the Master pulled the Doctor’s underwear down slightly and saw that he had come.
“Bad boy. Not only did you fail to obey my command, but you came without my permission as well. I will need to discipline you further,” the Master said, shaking his head.
The Doctor stared at the Master, eyes filled with fear and anger. The Master grasped his arm and hauled him to his feet with effort. As he rose, the hook shifted deeper, pressing against the Doctor’s sensitive spot once more. A low groan escaped him, and he almost lost his balance again, but the Master steadied him.
Together, the Master held his arm, guiding him forward, and they made their way to the Master’s bedroom. Each step was a tormenting blend of pain and reluctant sensation for the Doctor. The Master’s presence beside him supporting, commanding, and controlling was impossible to resist and by the time they reached the room, the Doctor was becoming hard once again.
“Where were we? I think it was fifty-two,” the Master said, his voice smooth and commanding as he reclined across his bed, one arm draped lazily over the edge. “Go on.”
The Doctor froze, eyes wide with horror. His body trembled, every movement a battle against the relentless pressure of the hook inside him. One more step or even the tiniest adjustment and he feared he might collapse entirely.
The Master’s gaze swept over him, sharp and unrelenting, a glint of cruel amusement in his eyes. “Are you objecting, Doctor?” he asked softly, though each word carried a weight of threat. “I have yet to correct your… disobedience. The sooner you comply, the better…before my patience runs out.”
The Doctor’s lips twitched beneath the gag, a silent whimper escaping, his knees quivering. Every tremor of his body made the restraints press harder, each step a torment he could neither ignore nor resist. And yet, even in his humiliation, he knew there was no alternative: obedience was the only path to survival, however unbearable it might be.
The Master leaned back, eyes glinting, savoring the Doctor’s fragile endurance.
“Yes… just like that,” he murmured, voice a soft purr of satisfaction. “You’ll learn your place, Doctor. Slowly, painfully, but you will learn.”
The Doctor began to squat and rise. With every movement, he moaned involuntarily, pain and lust coursing through his entire body, seeping into every cell. His legs trembled, every muscle tightening, while the hook inside him added weight, stimulating him further.
The Doctor was fully erect, and pre-cum slowly flowed from the tip of his cock. His eyes were beginning to cloud over. He wanted to scream, to plead, to curse, but all he could manage was a moan.
“Good boy. Keep up the good work.” The Master stretched out on the bed, watching him with pleasure.
After the thirtieth repetition, the Doctor could no longer endure it and collapsed onto his arm, curling into an almost fetal position. The movement stretched the hook inside him even further, amplifying the pain. Overwhelmed, Doctor began to cum, crying out in pain, consumed entirely by shame, agony and uncontrollable sensation.
The Master, taking his time with deliberate ease, rose from his chair and approached him.
“Alright. Alright, just let go… relax. I’ll permit it this time,” he said, gently stroking the Doctor’s head.
Even though the Doctor was still trembling from the aftershocks, the Master carefully lifted him and laid him upon the bed.
The emptiness after release, the sensation of his body unable to endure any more tension, the comfort of the bed, and the Master’s attention all combined to lull the Doctor into a deep sleep.
The Master laughed quietly at his stupor. This Doctor had climaxed twice at his command, without a single touch from him and from the simplest of movements.
As the Doctor slept, he remained unaware of how carefully the Master had tended to him: unfastening his muffs, collar, and gag; gently removing the hook; cleaning him; applying cream to his reddened, sensitive back passage and then tucking him carefully under the covers.
But even in sleep, his mind wandered to Koschei. He and Koschei ran across endless deserts, laughing freely.