Title: Surrender
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/The Master
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: NC-17
Table: 50_smutlets
Prompt: 17, Kneeling
Warnings: non-con
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the Tenth Doctor or the Master. Please do not sue.


"You hate every moment of this, don't you, Doctor?" the Master inquired, his voice like the purr of a contented cat. "You hate knowing that I'm in control and that you have no choice but to obey me."

The Doctor didn't answer; he knew that the Master didn't require a reply. The other man already knew exactly how he felt, and was reveling in it. He was surprised that the Master didn't erupt into laughter that wouldn't stop.

Of all the times he'd ever faced off against the Master, this one was the most dire. He'd been in a bad position before when it came to this man, but this time .... he wasn't sure there was a way to get out of this with his sanity intact.

He'd never before feared that he would run as mad as the Master was; he'd always thought that he had more a grip on his emotions and his mind than the other man ever would. But now, he was fast losing that grip, and that knowledge was terrifying.

Was there a part of him that actually wanted this? He didn't want to believe that; he didn't want to take heed of the Master's whispered insinuations, his assurances that the Doctor did indeed want this, no matter what he might say to the contrary.

"I don't believe you hate it at all," the Master whispered into his ear, his voice soft and beguiling. "I think you want this more than you've ever wanted anything."

He still didn't answer; there was no need for him to. The only words that would come out if he did were words of anger, of denial, and they would only convince the Master that he was right. There would be no need to react so heatedly if he wasn't.

"The bed, Doctor," the Master said, flourishing the whip clenched in one hand. "Get on the bed, and kneel. Legs spread, shoulders down on the bed. You know what will happen if you aren't in that position within a few moments."

He had no choice but to comply, hating himself for doing so. It was difficult to climb onto the bed with his hands bound behind his back, but somehow he managed it, taking the position that the Master had specified and squeezing his eyes shut.

The Doctor felt the bed move beneath him as the Master sat down, somewhere behind him. His muscles tensed, waiting for the inevitable touch -- or the sting of the whip across his bare ass or the soft skin of his thighs.

He'd already felt the bite of that whip more than once; the red welts on his ass were proof of that. Hopefully, he'd be able to satisfy the Master enough so that he wouldn't be whipped again, though he had no idea of what the other man planned to do to him.

But he would undoubtedly find out soon enough, the Doctor thought, steeling himself for the feel of the Master's hands on his body.

The Doctor had thought he was prepared to feel those hands, that touch that so sickened him. But he couldn't hold back a gasp when one finger slid down the cleft of his ass, the Master's hand moving between his spread thighs to cup his balls.

He held his breath as that hand fondled him, waiting breathlessly for the Master to reach for his cock, but that didn't happen. Instead, the other man was spreading his cheeks, rubbing the pad of one thumb back and forth over his entrance.

The Doctor had to hold back a moan; in spite of the fact that he didn't want this, that he hated the Master's touch more than he'd ever hated anything, he couldn't help but be aroused. And the Master knew it, damn him.

He wanted to scream, to sob, to cry out and leap up off the bed, to curse the Master for what he was doing. But he couldn't. He had to stay here, obedient, unmoving, letting the Master do whatever struck his fancy.

He had no choice but to submit to this. He had to keep telling himself that, or he would go mad before this was all over.

Of all the things he wanted to keep intact and sacrosanct from the Master, his mind was at the top of the list. His body .... the Master had already taken that, several times. It was only his body. It was one of the things he could bear to sacrifice.

The stroking became harder, faster. It was all he could do not to cry out; he couldn't keep back a strangled moan, the sound coming out more like a sob. He could almost see the Master smile; he could certainly hear the satisfaction in that voice when he spoke.

"Very good, Doctor. I can keep this up all night, you know. You're going to feel much more than this inside you before the night is over -- and I doubt you'll like what I have planned any better than you like this." The Master's voice almost dripped contentment.

How was he going to manage to free himself while he was kneeling here in front of the Master at the other man's mercy? The Doctor didn't know, but there had to be a way. He had to get out of this. Had to, unless he wanted to slip off the edge of sanity.

He could already feel his resistance weakening, his traitorous body giving in to the physicality of what was being done to him.

The Time Lord struggled to keep himself impassive, to keep his body from responding to what the Master was doing to him. But it was impossible; he could feel himself opening, his body's reactions overt and obvious.

"Spread those legs wider, Doctor." The Master was climbing onto the bed behind him now; the Doctor had no doubt in his mind of what was coming. "Your arse is going to be raw by the time I'm finished with you, I'm afraid. I hope you're prepared."

The Doctor buried his face against the blanket, squeezing his eyes closed and trying to hold back tears of frustration. This was going to be one of the longest nights he'd ever spent, he was sure -- and it was only beginning.

How long would it be before he was broken? The Doctor knew that he would struggle to the bitter end, but that his surrender was inevitable. He could only hope that surrender would come with a scream of defiance, rather than of defeat.