Mirror, Mirror

One thorough fingerblasting later, and the Doctor offers to show me around the TARDIS. Not the hurried 'here's the bedroom, here's the bathroom, don't fall down any bottomless pits' introduction I'd been given on my first day, or the equally slapdash one I'd given myself as I looked for new and interesting locations where I could smash her ass after our trip to Salacia, but a proper tour. Or a thorough one, at any rate; it's a bit difficult for me to describe it as 'proper' when I'm looking at the Doctor's clearly-rock hard nipples tenting her thin park ranger-esque shirt or her dumptruck ass straining her hiking pants to their absolute limit. Why she has a safari hat with 'TARDIS Tours' emblazoned across the front of it, I have no idea and even less inclination to ask - mostly, I'm looking forward to watching those massive mounds of muscle and fat jiggle in time with the wiggle of her hips through the endless warren of corridors that the TARDIS contains.

Stop number one is, surprise surprise, the closet. Or rather, the warehouse-sized rooms that the Doctor uses as closets. They're a collective miracle of fashion, filled with every possible costume from every possible era from every possible planet - or near enough that neither of us ever need to stand out, at any rate. She takes the opportunity to put on an impromptu fashion show in each one, shedding her uniform without a hint of shame before snatching items off of the racks by the armful and squirreling herself away in one of the changing rooms, emerging to strike a few suggestive poses in a dizzying array of outfits, all of which verge from the racy to the obscene. The tamest has been a corset, skirt and boots combination barely more acceptable than the one she wore to Wakeford Manor; the rest have generally been along the lines of latex bodysuits, sling bikinis so stringy that they don't even hide her entire areolae, and nothing but thongs and high-heeled footwear.

"Hey John," she asks, emerging from behind the curtain wearing Xs of black electrical tape over her nipples, a black latex thong and a pair of knee-high leather platform boots, "have these outfits been making my arse look big?" I roll my eyes as she turns around, spreads her legs and leans forward, planting her palms on the wall for support as she thrusts her ass out at me and shoots me a smoky look over her shoulder. Striding over to her, I lay a harsh slap on one of her pale cheeks and grab a handful of the now-pink flesh. "Nothing could make this thing look any bigger than it already is," I reply, turning my rough grope into a gentler squeeze before releasing her, "but they've all drawn plenty of attention to it." She thanks me for the compliment, before feigning a stumble as she goes back into the changing room so that she can 'accidentally' grab my semi-hard cock through my pants while 'trying to steady herself'.

Having shown off the TARDIS's range of available clothing - or rather, her own rather... minimalist tastes in clothing - the Doctor emerges from the changing room one final time in a sequin-covered bolero jacket that visibly strains to stay buttoned up across even her modest chest, a pair of booty shorts that aren't so much being swallowed as they are being inhaled by her ass and a pair of translucent stripper heels, all in an eye-searing neon pink. It doesn't surprise me that she kept the hat, or that it can apparently change colour. She chatters away happily while I follow her to the next point of interest, explaining that the TARDIS likes to shift the exact nature of its interior around and which rooms are more or less static in relation to each other.

I begin to notice a strangely large number of mirrors on the walls as we wander the corridors. Most hold nothing but a different angle on the Doctor's ass as it wiggles and jiggles with every step she takes, but some are... different. One showing the Doctor with several cup sizes more than the one I'm following, bare breasts bouncing as she walks. Another showing her with clearly artificial limbs, all sleek lines and built-in lewdness like auto-lubing hands and integrated stiletto heels. Another Doctor with what can only be described as a mouth-pussy, a perfect pair of silicone-stuffed lips utterly useless for anything other than sucking on something long, thick and hard. Another wrapped in latex, complete with ballet heels and armbinders buckled to her back. And then there's an unexpected guest...

"Doctor," I ask warily, "is it just me, or is there something weird about these reflections?" She glances left and right, managing to restrain her reaction to her altered reflections to a slow lick of her lips, then grimaces as she spots what I was actually trying to draw attention to. A girl with a balloon flits from reflection to reflection between lapses in attention, eyeing me with barely-mustered curiosity and the Doctor with contempt. "Ah," the Doctor replies after a moment, the buzz of giving her little tour gone entirely, "yes, she's..." She pauses for a moment, clearly looking for the right phrasing. "...half a guest, half a prisoner - goes by the name 'Daughter of Mine'. She and her family decided it'd be a good idea to try and hunt me; they attacked a small town in England in the 1920s looking for me, killed a lot of people doing it. I trapped her in a mirror rather than kill her, and she's been there ever since."

"And it's normal for her to look like you if you were younger," I 'ask' skeptically, already knowing the answer as the features of the girl in the mirror shift; hair lightens and shortens, skin grows paler as her eyes change colour, her body gains a few inches in height and a lot of inches around the hips and the balloon is replaced by a bubble of gum that pops and gets slurped back into her mouth as I watch. The petulant glare being directed at the Doctor is more pathetic than anything, given that I've seen far better from the woman in question, but there's no denying that the young woman in the mirror is a younger, brattier-looking version of the Doctor. "Yeah, that's what she usually does," the Doctor replies. "Well, it's not like she can use anyone else as a base when I'm the only woman here."

"Neat trick," I say, and the Doctor nods. "She used to be able to possess people as a gas," the Doctor explains, staring down her 'younger self', "but the process for putting her into the mirror let her mimic someone's younger self instead - or at least, a younger version of what they look like now." I hum in acknowledgement. "You know," I say carefully, "I get the feeling that she's normally wearing a much more... predatory expression when she looks at you, Doctor." The Doctor makes a questioning noise. "Yeah," I press on with my 'observation', "the sort of look a woman gets when she's undressing you with her eyes." I watch as the duplicate's glare sharpens suddenly, then softens a little as she looks the Doctor up and down.

"Come to think of it, this whole 'trapped in a mirror' thing is a bit much, isn't it? I mean," I lean in towards the Doctor's ear and tilt my head so my mouth is out of the view of the mirror, before dropping my voice into a low whisper, "normally, trying to copy someone if she were outside of a mirror would have all sorts of effects on her personality. Brain chemistry, you know? And from someone like you, well..." I feel her tense up in anticipation. "...I expect it'd be perfectly normal for her to be **** to be punished - perfectly normal for her to be **** for you to punish your naughty daughter." I smirk as the Doctor shivers slightly, evidently having some ideas for punishment in mind already. "Are you sure it'll work," she asks, in the same tone I used on her right after her plan went awry on Salacia.

I roll my eyes at the realisation that she knows perfectly well that it will, and wants me to be the one making the call. Though whether she's trying to teach me about responsibility or just eager for me to tell her what to do again, I can't say. "What's the worst that can happen," I ask without a hint of irony. "I mean, even if it's something ridiculous like, I dunno... like her natural abilities have changed and she's normally now a shapeshifting cloud of aphrodisiac that makes women think she's really their daughter," I whisper to her, gesticulating to underline the 'impossibility' of such a thing "it's not like it would really change much." She shoots me a questioning look. "Don't tell me that the idea of them being your daughters didn't make you more eager to suck all of those slimegirls off," I murmur flatly, and she has the good grace to look embarrassed for half a second, "in fact, I bet the thought of performing some nasty mother-daughter **** normally turns you on almost as much as shaking your ass does."

The Doctor's expression stills for a moment, halfway between fear and lust, before she slowly licks her lips and carefully schools her face and body language into something resembling decency. "Alright," she says after a few calming - and jacket-stretching - deep breaths, "I'll see about letting her out-" She holds up a hand as the girl in the mirror takes a step back in surprise. "-after we're done with the tour!" With that, she turns on her heel and struts off down the suddenly mirror-free corridor, leaving me to follow after her.