And Now, Relax

When I wake, we're still well underway. Taking a moment to blink myself awake, I down what's left of the glass of water I poured myself before bed, throw on some pants and a t-shirt and begin making my way to the console room. Not that I need to go there to know what's going on - screens displaying the Doctor as she shakes her ass on-stage have been everywhere around the TARDIS, at least one per room and more in the corridors. You'd think that she'd get tired after seventy-two hours of non-stop dancing but it seems that, without the debilitatingly intense orgasm from reaching the peak of her twerking addiction in front of billions of people, she's completely indefatigable. My choice of internal monologue reminds me to turn back and cross 'indefatigable' off of the pin-up word-a-day calendar - and isn't that a weird concept - that the Doctor gave me when I moved in.

I'm sure that the fact that I just happen to arrive to the sight of her squatting down, spreading her legs wide open and then reaching down with one hand to do the same to her pussy is, I'm sure, a total coincidence. The bigger question is whether this was somehow planned using some weird alien sense that detected my approach, or if the TARDIS - which I'm quickly learning is providing a not-insignificant amount of the brains and almost all of the focus to this whole time travel operation - is trying to get me to jump the Doctor's bones. The Doctor holds her pose stock-still for a second, which makes me think it's the latter option, then releases the pole with her other hand, lets it fall down by her side and stands up. "Great timing," she gushes, both metaphorically and literally, "we're just landing. I found us an actually relaxing place and time this time."

"You mean the last one wasn't supposed to be," I ask glibly. "I felt so relaxed after we finally escaped from the looming threat of brutal surgical transformation and personality ****." She hip-checks me as she sashays out of the room. "Arse," she mutters without any real heat, before raising her voice to her normal tone, "that was supposed to be interesting, not relaxing. I managed to find two spots on Salacia - top-class spa planet, you'll love it - for a day of ultimate pampering." The door swings shut behind her as she goes off to, presumably, bathe and dress herself. The lights in the console room are lower than usual, and there are streaks of pink running through the usual warm yellow glow, but they quickly return to normal with her departure.

A few minutes and a butter cookie later, she kicks open the door and struts in wearing white knee-high boots with platform heels, a thigh-length white dress so tight that I'm forcibly reminded that the TARDIS has entire rooms of clothes that you need to get vacuum-sealed into and a white leather choker. "Gotta get dressed up for the posh spa," she remarks, "haven't I?" I shrug and step out the door, fully expecting to have to turn right back around on account of her landing us in an active war zone. Fortunately, she seems to have been on target, and follows me out to greet the floating ball of white light that's approaching us. "Joan Smith and John Doe," she says smoothly, "here for the full experience." It hums in acknowledgement, and floats off with the Doctor following it and me following the Doctor.

"Fascinating things, these mirrored walls," the Doctor explains as we go, "made from psyactive glass, they reflect your deepest, most intense desires." I take a look and see myself looking back at me, unchanged. That's... I mull over the implications, either very complimentary or very derisory towards my mental state. Then I notice what appears to be a rolled-up leash poking out of one pocket, and roll my eyes at both the mirror and my own mind. The Doctor is studiously avoiding looking into the mirrors, and I focus hard on wanting to see what she can see. I get flashes, but little more; of enormous tits, of impractically big bimbo lips, of every kind of outfit from harnesses of leather straps to shiny bodysuits that leave only the mouth uncovered, of her being led on her hands and knees at the end of a leash, of enormous numbers of people masturbating to the sight of her shaking her ass, of a tacky-looking collar studded with diamonds that form a name-

I blink away the headache that's slowly forming and resolve that, next time I try to game a piece of tech like this, I'll consider using my powers on it first. Whatever, I got what I wanted - and the gaps in my knowledge make it more satisfying to have what I have, in all honesty - and we're nearly at our destination anyway. A pair of pretty young women in white dresses - not as short or as tight as the Doctor's, but still plenty flattering - and sensibly-heeled shoes approach us from the right-hand fork of the junction we've arrived at, while a pair of well-built young men in white tunics, pants and equally sensible-looking ankle boots. Honestly, the fact that they're the first civilians I've seen dressed 'normally' since I left Earth is easily the most noteworthy thing about them - it's like looking at a particularly bland publicity poster come to life.

"Doctor Joan Smith and Mister John Doe, for a day of full service," the floating light announces in a flat, androgynous voice, "their arrival is already known and payment has been made in full." One of the men steps forward. "Thank you, HALEC," he says, voice as cut-and-paste as his general vibe, "follow us please, Ma'am." The Doctor looks over at me, shrugs, and then begins following the pair as they make their way down the left-hand corridor as I turn to look at the women. "I suppose I'm going with you, then," I ask expectantly. One of them nods in agreement and I make a 'lead on' gesture.

And they proceed to do just that.