New Earth Excitement

cassandra goes much further

The shock was a cold, wet slap, followed by a dizzying whirl of sensation. Rose Tyler’s consciousness, a faint, muffled scream, was shoved into a tiny corner. In its place, Cassandra stretched, a luxuriant, full-body yawn within new skin. She stumbled to a polished steel bulkhead, her—no, Rose’s—heart hammering a triumphant rhythm against ribs that felt deliciously real.
Oh, you delicious little thing.
The reflection was a prize. Not just the youthful glow, the artfully messy blonde hair, or the pink, full lips. It was the substance. The gentle swell of breasts held snug in a simple cotton vest, the dip of a waist she could actually grip. But her gaze, greedy and possessive, slid lower, over the curve of hips, down to…
That bum.
It was perfect. Round, firm, a sublime peach of flesh that filled the denim of Rose’s jeans with a promise that made Cassandra’s new blood heat. She turned, craning to see over her shoulder. The fabric pulled taut. A shudder of pure, unadulterated lust rocked through her. All mine. This wasn’t just a body; it was a weapon of pleasure, and she knew exactly who she wanted to test it on.
In Rose’s cramped wardrobe, she found treasures. A scrap of black lace, barely a thong. A matching bra, cups sheer. She dressed the stolen form with ritualistic slowness, tracing every new contour. The lace itched against skin that was hypersensitive, every nerve ending singing a song of possession. She pulled Rose’s regular clothes back on—the jeans, a soft grey jumper—feeling the secret lingerie beneath like a live wire. The knowledge was intoxicating.
She found him in the console room, bent over the time rotor with a sonic screwdriver, muttering about temporal drift. The Doctor. Her old adversary, now her ultimate conquest.
“Doctor?”
He straightened, turning. His face, usually so open and bright, showed a flicker of… something. Concern? “Rose? You alright? You look a bit… flushed.”
Cassandra-Rose leaned against the coral strut, one hand casually resting on her hip, accentuating the curve. “Just felt a bit cooped up. Thought maybe you could… distract me.”
She saw him pause. He was perceptive, this Time Lord. But he was also a man, and the body she wore was one he cared for deeply. She let a smile play on Rose’s lips, a smile that was slower, more knowing than Rose’s ever was. She walked towards him, each step a deliberate sway she felt deep in that magnificent, pilfered backside.
“What did you have in mind?” he asked, his voice dropping slightly.
“Oh, I’m full of ideas,” she purred, closing the distance until she was inches from him. She took his free hand, the one not holding the screwdriver. “You’re always tinkering. Don’t you ever just want to… feel?”
She guided his hand. Not to her breast, not yet. She guided it around, to the small of her back, then lower, pressing his palm firmly against the denim-clad swell of her bum. His breath hitched. The screwdriver clattered to the grating.
“Rose…” It was a warning, but it was weak, frayed at the edges by a thick pulse of desire.
“Ssh,” she murmured, rising on her toes to brush her lips against his jaw. “Just feel what’s in front of you.”
That was his cue. His other hand came up, sliding up her outer thigh, under the hem of her jumper, and then, with a boldness that sent a jolt of victory through Cassandra, under her skirt. His fingers, cool and clever, traced the line of her hip, then dipped inward, finding the taut band of the lace thong. A low groan escaped him as he felt the flimsy barrier.
“What’s this?” he whispered roughly into her hair.
“A surprise,” she breathed back, grinding herself against the hand on her bum, against the growing hardness she could feel pressing into her stomach. “Do you like surprises, Doctor?”
In answer, his fingers pushed the lace aside. The direct touch of his skin to hers—to Rose’s—was an electric shock. Cassandra gasped, a real, unforced sound. The sensation was immense. It wasn’t just physical; it was the thrill of the deception, the raw power of having him so desperately aroused by her trick. She fumbled with his trousers, freeing him, her stolen hands trembling with need.
“Now,” she commanded, her voice husky with Rose’s accent but laced with Cassandra’s imperious hunger. “I need you. Now.”
He lifted her, his strength surprising, turning and bending her over the cool, hexagonal surface of the console. The metal bit into her palms. He shoved the skirt up around her waist, exposing the black lace and the pale skin beneath. He didn’t remove the thong, just tore the flimsy fabric aside with a rough, urgent tug.
And then he was there, pushing into her, and the universe exploded into feeling.
Oh. Oh, yes.
This was different from anything Cassandra had ever known in her dried, papery existence. This was wetness, and heat, and a stretching fullness that made her see stars behind her closed eyelids. Each thrust was a claim, a piston-stroke of pleasure that radiated from her core out to her fingertips, to the soles of her feet. She pushed back against him, meeting him stroke for stroke, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the vast room.
He leaned over her, one hand splayed on the console beside her head, the other gripping her hip, fingers digging into the flesh of that glorious bum. Her bum. His thrusts grew harder, deeper, losing rhythm to sheer, driving need.
“Rose… god, Rose…” he chanted, lost in the illusion.
Cassandra reveled in it. This was the pinnacle. The stolen body was convulsing around him, a tide of pleasure building from the very marrow of Rose’s bones. She focused everything—her will, her stolen consciousness, every ounce of her cunning—on that peak. This wasn’t just about climax. This was about fusion. The ultimate, permanent theft.
The orgasm began as a low thrum, a vibration deep in her stolen womb. It gathered, swelling, blotting out every thought that wasn’t him, this, mine. She screamed, a raw, ragged sound as it tore through her. And in that perfect, shattering second of absolute vulnerability and peak sensation, she pushed. She didn’t just ride the wave; she welded herself to its crest, sealing every mental synapse, grafting her essence into the very pathways of Rose’s pleasure-racked nervous system.
The body was hers. Truly, completely hers.
Panting, she felt him shudder above her. His rhythm broke, became frantic, final.
“Inside,” she moaned, clenching around him, milking him, anchoring herself with his pleasure. “I need to feel you claim me. Claim this body.”
He obeyed with a final, deep thrust, a shout torn from his throat as he spilled into her. The hot, pulsing rush was the final lock, the seal on her new home. She felt it, a branding heat that settled deep, a permanent mark of his passion in hervessel.
He collapsed over her, his weight delicious and real. They stayed there, bent over the time rotor, gasping. The air smelled of sex and ozone. Cassandra-Rose smiled, a slow, secret, triumphant smile against the cold console.
The Doctor nuzzled her neck, his voice drowsy with spent passion. “Rose… that was…”