Parting Gifts

If you aren't actually there, the Doctor and Zoe strutting through the corridors towards the sound of gunfire and screaming would look ridiculous. But in person it's a whole different story - I'm watching a woman with the thickest, roundest ass I've ever seen wiggle and bounce in a barely-sufficient sparkly purple bodysuit, while a bona-fide MILF cumguzzler - also with a big bubble butt - walks next to her, knowing that both of them are utterly under my power, and I'm feeling seriously intimidated by the pair of them. Especially the Doctor, because it shouldn't be possible for a five-foot-six-inches woman in a getup that Barbarella would approve of to loom over anything - but that's the vibe I'm getting. We pass by a group of male guards taking up positions facing the secret section of the station, including a couple of what can only be Drahvin males with bi-pupilled eyes and shark-like teeth, all wielding highly dangerous-looking rifles.

"It's a matter of practicality," Zoe says in answer to the Doctor's disapproving expression, "the Cybersluts will pull their punches against female soldiers, hence why they've gone in first with the less lethal weaponry, but I'm not going to let my people die because they weren't armed for a fight to the ****." The sound of gunfire - crackling, undercut by zipping sounds that makes me think they're using some sort of energy weapon - intensifies and we soon break into a jog as we round the corner into the back lines of the Wheel's defences.

Arcs of crackling pinkish 'lightning' are arcing back and forth between the barricade of crates that 'our side' is sheltering behind and a crowd of Cybersluts trying to push out of the formerly-secret door. "Ma'am," one of the less engaged guards snaps off a salute to Zoe as we arrive and take cover, "they've not managed to get enough momentum for a proper push against us yet, but they're taking a lot of hits to put down and-" There's a scream from up ahead, and I poke my head around our cover to see one of the guards being blasted with a sustained stream of pinkish energy. She doesn't stop screaming when it cuts off and she flops down onto her back, instead tearing open her jumpsuit and sticking two fingers in her mouth and her other hand between her legs. "-as you can see, they're quite accurate." I look around again and realise that the women lying scattered on the floor around us aren't dead, or even knocked out, but instead as fucked-silly as the clubgoers we'd left behind of Hedon Station.

The Drone that fired doesn't make it back to cover, half a dozen beams converging on it from the defenders and knocking it to the floor, where it joins at least two more of its kind in spasming and twitching helplessly. Our latest 'casualty' continues to scream around her fingers as she squirts all over her hand, until one of her comrades rolls her eyes and jabs her with some sort of sedative needle to quieten her down. Three enemies down for eight of ours seems like a good trade given their numbers, until I remember that half of our side can't even fight unless it's a last resort - and that it only takes one surviving Cyberslut to make good all of their casualties and then turn our own into new reinforcements for them using the machinery in those rooms. Suddenly, the entire station seems to shake. "Stay calm," Zoe shouts over the din, "I rescinded the lockdown and called in some reinforcements."

The sound gunfire coming from the Cybersluts suddenly increases massively, even as the amount of it being directed at us quickly tapers off into nothing. Screams of rage and pleasure slowly become audible above the din, gradually drowning out the gunfire before dying down in turn until there's near-silence. Then the Cyberslut leader, missing all of its limbs, comes rocketing out of the doorway and hits the opposite wall hard enough to leave a dent. It's limbless body writhes around on the floor, trying to catch any of the women around it in the beam of its madly-strobing headlamp, before a volley of 'lightning' puts it out of commission. A Drahvin female - flanked on her left by another with a rifle and on her right by a hulking, horned reptilian toting a wicked-looking poleaxe - steps out and announces that the Cybersluts have all been neutralised.

Cameras click and flash all around us - in a way that they probably don't need to, but which sounds good for the more modern recordings that'll be broadcast on the news - as the representative from the Pan-America Union shakes the hand of the Drahvin Colony Commander, the last of Earth's representatives to do so. There'd been a lot of boring speechifying before we got to the photo opportunities, with one from Zoe about what an honour it was to be overseeing Earths first peaceful contact with a major population of extraterrestrials and several by various delegates from each planet being represented at the talks - the Drahvin ones clearly having been very carefully scripted to avoid what saying they were specifically hoping to get from cooperation with humanity - and now it was all over but the free drinks.

"Mmph... Mmph... *slurp* Mmph... *slurp* *pop* Hah... So, has our hospitality been up to standard," Zoe asks the Doctor, before returning to the blowjob she's been giving me. I swear, this woman could suck a football through a silly straw, never mind a golfball through a garden hose - between her, the Sams and the speed and eagerness with which Victoria cleaned me off after knocking up Lady Wakeford, I'm starting to wonder if all of the women in the Doctor's life have been top-tier cocksuckers. I certainly didn't do anything more for most them than boost their libido - and even with Zoe, I only made her a frequent practitioner rather than a retroactive expert.

"It's been fantastic," the Doctor replies, watching the pair of us hungrily and trying in vain to hide it whenever I look over at her, "though some of the other guests were a bit rowdy." I tune them out as I watch the delegates begin to mingle, a few of the women eyeing up the males that the Drahvin have brought along without much subtlety - and most of the men eyeing up the Drahvin themselves with even less. I wonder if I should warn any of them about their likely chances, then dismiss the idea and bask in the twin pleasures of anticipatory schadenfreude and expertly sloppy head. "You'll have to clean up the mess you're making on my balls after I'm done with you," I tell Zoe, who moans in agreement and redoubles the pace. After a few more minutes of watching people assortedly strike out - in the men's cases - or secure nights - in the women's cases - with their Drahvin of choice, I decide to be merciful and give Zoe a chance to freshen up before the photographers start asking around for shots of opportunity.

She gulps down my load eagerly, even when I make it twice as big as usual to see if she can handle it, then licks my balls clean of her drool and throatslime with so much enthusiasm she even tries to fit one into her mouth. She fails, of course - the Doctor's size obsession has made sure that no human is managing that without help - but she gives it a good go and leaves a nice crisp lipstick mark on it. We make our excuses as one of the photographers puts out a call for the people involved in fighting off the Cyberslut attack, making our way back to the TARDIS at a leisurely walk. Fortunately, we aren't interrupted this time.

Zoe Heriot wiped the last drops of Drahvin cum from her lips and sighed happily. She hadn't been expecting the request for a private blowbang after the conclusion of the afterparty, but she was hardly going to turn down a few large, rock-hard cocks and a few pints of exotic, alien jizz. She looked over at the Doctor's parting gift - a framed photograph of Zoe in her younger years, along with a note explaining the identities of the two men in the picture. Her memories of always being the woman on-stage in the TARDIS made a lot more sense now that she knew of the Doctor's ability to change forms, but the memories still carried a tinge of sadness to them - the knowledge that she'd lost some intrinsic part of the whole experience along the way.

Although, she thought to herself wryly, I think I might fill out this outfit even better now than I did back then.

Idly, she flagged one of the day's new messages on her personal terminal for later attention, before retrieving a large dildo and queuing up a quartet of blowjob compilation videos for a little 'me time' before she went to bed. As her room filled with the sloppy, nasty sound of a throat being thoroughly ruined in pursuit of pleasure - both from the terminal speakers and not - Zoe mused that maybe she should follow up on this Victoria Waterfield's offer to host her at Wakeford Baths when she next went on leave. After all, it was never too late for a first visit.