A Surprisingly Mundane Setting

The sound of the TARDIS in flight trails off almost with a sigh as the Doctor and Aphasia continue to give the central pole a double assjob. The two furiously blushing blondes don't even notice that we've stopped, too busy glaring at each other as they grind their thick, meaty asscheeks together around the pole. I cough lightly to get their attention, and they immediately separate and try to pretend that they weren't getting lost in the competition. The pair take one last look at each other and promptly flounce off through separate doors to replace the clothes currently lying in tatters all over the room. I idly take some sort of shortbread from the biscuit dispenser and mull over the newfound mother-'daughter' dynamic, wondering if there's any more fun to be had, when an idea hits me.

"It's normal," I say to myself, looking over at a scattering of torn fabric that used to be Aphasia's panties, "that the Doctor and her daughter don't remember me telling them about our new arrangements before they started double-teaming the pole; it's also normal for them to start acting like I told them to and think it was all their own idea." It's weird, how jaded I am about actually telling people to do stuff for me, but seeing how the way Aphasia's going to indulge her exhibitionism and the Doctor's going to do the same with her voyeurism differ when it's developed 'naturally'... now that could go to some interesting places.

Stepping outside into the heat of a midsummer's day in New Mexico isn't exactly pleasant after being in the climate-controlled environment of the TARDIS, but I can't deny that it feels good to be outside. The Doctor follows, wearing a red sundress and high-heeled sandals that together practically scream 'trophy wife', while Aphasia brings up the rear in the same battered sneakers, ragged denim cut-offs and too-tight white crop top she'd been wearing the first time we met 'in person'. She actually stops and shudders in the throes of a miniature orgasm as she takes her first breath of outside air - not that I can blame her, spending who knows how long trapped in a mirror and all. What I don't expect is for her to take a deep sniff of the air, cock her head and smile hungrily. "There's something here," she 'explains' when she catches me looking at her, "something slutty and ****." She smirks and takes a packet of bubblegum from her pocket, before strutting off after the Doctor.

It doesn't take long to find the likely source of the scent she's apparently picked up - besides her own 'mother', obviously - as we emerge from the alleyway we've landed in to find a platinum-blonde woman with the face of a deluxe blow-up doll being bundled into the back of an ambulance by a pair of female paramedics while two men - one clearly a police officer - talk next to another car. It's no great exaggeration to call her that, either; the short glimpse I get of her face gives me the impression of thumb-thick lips, a mouth locked in a permanent 'O' and eyes so vacant and vapid it's a little disturbing. The Doctor's already gone over to chat with the two men, who clearly aren't sure whether or not the woman talking to them is actually a federal agent on vacation - or whatever she's claiming to be this time - but don't see any harm in telling her what happened.

"-dn't know what to do," the non-cop's voice is clearly full of worry as I get close enough to make out what he's saying, "one minute she was sitting there giggling, the next she was trying to rip my pants off. I mean, I like to get a bit of road head as much as the next guy, but not like that!" The Doctor gives him a conciliatory nod and makes a show of writing something in a notepad she's procured from... somewhere, I guess. "I'll get in contact with the office in Santa Fe and see if this has been happening anywhere else," she promises him, "hopefully, I'll be able to let you know more soon." He nods and goes back to staring at his thoroughly wrecked car as the Doctor turns, grabs my shoulder and steers me away from the scene.

"Something happened to his fiancee," she explains, "he was driving her to the hospital when she popped her seatbelt, started trying to suck him off while they were going around that turn-" She helpfully gestures to it. "-and ended up shoving his hands off the steering wheel." I raise an eyebrow. "Yeah, it's a bit beyond a healthy love of giving head," she continues, "and apparently she looked like this-" This time she shows me a photograph of a conventionally-pretty redhead. "-about an hour ago." I try to reconcile the face on the paper with the one I saw and fail utterly. "Nobody just does that," I say, leaving out the 'unless I say they do' part, "you thinking aliens?"

"Of course," she replies with a smile, as Aphasia stops staring at the ambulance and begins to walk over to us, "and she's not the first one, either."

The hospital is a squat, sprawling building clearly built in the days before reliable lifts. A quick flash of the Doctor's psychic paper gets her in through the staff entrance, and a quick wiggle of her hips as she goes dazes everyone watching badly enough for Aphasia and I to follow her without IDs of our own. The halls are the usual antiseptic-smelling, drably-painted affair, but there's clearly something strange going on as we reach a row of rooms that are chained and padlocked from the outside. A peak through the little window set into each door reveals the same thing - an empty-eyed platinum blonde, one hand stuffing three fingers into her pussy and the other stuffing three fingers between the obscenely-oversized, glossed-up DSLs adorning her face.

The Doctor looks at each one of them with hints of lust and jealousy in her concerned gaze, but manages to pull herself away from the doors each time. Aphasia seems utterly uncaring of their state, but keeps pressing on down the corridor, towards a set of doors without any extra locks. These ones hold the same sort of mega-lipped blondes as the ones before, but their behaviour and awareness are clearly closer to normal - they merely look vapid instead of vacant, and the mindless frenzy of fingerfucking has been replaced with more sedate, measured masturbation. The Doctor's gaze grows more openly hungry now, clearly not feeling as bad about admiring them now that they're merely exceptionally ditzy rather than clearly impaired.

The last few rooms we get to are weird not for what's in them, but why they're in them. The only thing that separates the occupants from any other obscenely-proportioned, implant-stuffed, cock-hungry bimbo is the fact that only stuff above the neck seems to have been worked on. In every other respect, they - and all of the other patients - look just like regularly-proportioned women. "Aphasia, wait!" The Doctor reaches to grab her 'daughter' as she slips into the room right at the end of the row, but only succeeds in knocking the door open further. The occupant, who seems to be on the smaller end of the lip spectrum we've witnessed, turns to look at us expectantly.

"Ith it, like, time fow my daily dothe of cawk?" She alternates between staring at my crotch and the pornography being played on the old TV mounted on the wall opposite her bed, fingers rubbing her slit and pinching her nipples. "Ooh, you giwlth look, like, thuper-hawt!" Aphasia preens at the barely-intelligible compliment, even as she wordlessly grabs the girl's hair and tilts her head to the side before giving her neck a long, slow lick. The Doctor arches an eyebrow and cocks her hip, but otherwise doesn't interfere, evidently having gotten used to her 'daughter's' habits and abilities in some distant, imaginary past. "And you smell so yummy," the bratty doppelganger purrs, "all those traces of psychic energy, parasitised brainwaves and... TV static? How exotic..." She abruptly backs off, leaving the woman blinking in confusion, before the Doctor grabs a handful of her ass and hauls her out of the room.

I debate making use of the woman's lips, but decide to leave her to her porn and close the door after me. I find the Doctor pressing her body against Aphasia from behind, lightly **** the younger blonde with one hand and fingering her under her shorts with the other while her ass grinds against her 'mother's' crotch. "Good news," she says cheerfully, "thanks to this little tart's-" She punctuates the word by pumping her fingers harder into Aphasia's snatch, who responds by shuddering her way through an orgasm. "-love of exotic pussy, I've got an idea of where we need to go next." Not too urgently though, apparently, because she keeps fingering her gasping, squirming 'daughter' for a few more minutes.