Dressing for the Occasion

"Doctor," I say for the fifth time since the room settled down and the column at the center of the console came to a stop, "we've sto- You know what? I'm done asking." I reach around to her tits, grab both nipples through her top and twist. She immediately snaps out of whatever happy little world she was in and stops trying to grind me deeper into the armchair with a yelp. "What was that for," she gasps, hopping off of me and rubbing her aching nipples as she sways over to the console and examines it.

"We've been stopped for half an hour, Doctor," I reply, "and your ass was getting too big for the chair." Only a slight exaggeration, that - her cheeks are now big enough that my fingers visibly sink into them a little with every squeeze. She looks back over her shoulder at them and bounces on the balls of her feet, admiring the extra jiggle they've gained before the console pings and she returns to looking at it. "So, what have we got?"

"Place called Wakeford Manor," she replies, "in... England, 1898! Huh, that's odd, don't remember leaving anyone around here." She pauses for a moment, then reaches into her yoga pants. "Oooh, sorry! Just got to... gotta... Fuck! FUCK!" I watch, slightly bemused but not at all unhappy, as she rubs herself to completion without a care. Her ass bounces as her hips buck and her legs shake - before she suddenly stops, withdraws her hand from her pants and starts licking her fingers clean. "Blimey, never realised how good I taste before. Anyway," she sucks the last of her juices off and turns back to me, "sorry about that, just got myself a little too worked up on the way here. Back in a moment, got to get changed!"

I'm left to wait around in confusion for about a minute as she sweeps out of the console room, before she sweeps right back in. The reason for her short absence is immediately obvious, what with the fact that her 'outfit' is nothing but a leather bustier, leather knee-high boots and a silk thong, all in bright red. "Does this make my bum look big," she asks cheekily, turning side on so I can see how pronounced the curve of her ass is. She grins at my noise of confirmation. "Brilliant. How do I actually look?"

"Like someone made a porn parody of a Victorian prostitute and then decided she wasn't slutty enough," I reply honestly. It's far from the first time I've seen a woman go about her day in this little - or even less - but none of the changes I've ever made so far have outright changed history, so I'm looking forward to seeing people's reactions to it. "Brilliant," she sighs, "I've never worn anything so... revealing before! It's perfect." She holds up a small brass key on a chain, then loops it over her head. "Perception filter," she elaborates at my questioning look, "a weak one, calibrated to my appearance and to exclude the two of us. Nobody except you who looks at me is going to be able to tell anything's unusual about my clothes, no matter how certain their subconscious is that I'm a shameless exhibitionist slut."

She bites her lip and squirms, the arousal-to-exhibitionism-to-arousal loop of her twerking addiction doing its work. "Come on," she says at last, strutting past me and throwing the doors open to reveal a large red-brick mansion, "if there's someone here on my list, then something weird is happening." I follow her, making sure to occasionally give her a spank or grab a nice handful of her ass as I do. I'm feeling a bit shell-shocked, frankly - all of my power, and it never once occurred to me to travel through time!