Eight

“Eight, that’s an interesting number,” Me says, leaning forward in her chair. “Put it on its side and it’s the symbol for infinity, and that’s what this game must be feeling like for you, shake after shake, ordeal after ordeal, and whenever I shake eight it will seem even longer.”

Me gets up from her chair. “The number eight reminds me of that line in that song, you know the one.” She walks over to you and her fingers brush against your erect cock, shivers of anticipation running through your body. “Eight maids a milking,” says Me, “though I’m the only maid here. You’ll just have to use your imagination.”

She backs away from you, her fingers leaving your cock.

“Though maybe I can help,” she says, as you suddenly notice a large rack of costumes standing next to her. “I had these hidden with a perception filter, didn’t want them to distract you.” She starts looking through them. “I found these sexy outfits hanging around the Tardis, so let me know what excites you, and I might just lower myself to wear them. Unless you’d prefer to wear them, of course. Get to play dress up either way.”