TARDIS Trouble, Part 4: Mundanity

It doesn't take us long to backtrack to a room containing our target, set into one wall of what was once a well-furnished bedroom, now half consumed by a sterile, plastic-walled white chamber as growths of blue coral wind their way up each corner of the four-poster double bed and crisscross the doors of wardrobes and cabinets like they're chaining them shut. The Whore grabs the handle of the access port and wrenches it off with a sharp squeal of shearing bolts, before tossing it onto the bed and beckoning the Doctor over to take a look. Aphasia and Aphasia Two crowd in behind them, fingers sinking into their mothers' asscheeks out of habit and beginning to knead the firm core of muscles through the overlying fat. I, in turn, give each of the younger blondes a firm grope of my own as I bring up the rear.

The Doctor and Whore each take out their sonic screwdrivers, then pause for a moment as purple and pink light strobes from the console that's just been revealed. Nobody speaks - the four of them presumably wanting to avoid accidentally disturbing whatever it's doing, and myself not seeing any point given it's not doing anything out of the ordinary - until the lightshow cuts off with the same abruptness as it started with and everybody lets out the breaths we've unconsciously been holding in. "Right," the Doctor mutters, grabbing the collar of her crop top and tearing it open with a sharp tug, "let's see what we're dealing with here." The familiar orange glow and buzzing whir of the sonic screwdriver - this time in chorus - fills the room, but doesn't completely disguise the door behind us clicking open and shut.

I take a look over my shoulder, to satisfy my own paranoia if nothing else, but it's just another copy of the Doctor and... hold on, is that Zoe? Yes, I note with some surprise, it is. She's clearly had some work done; in fact both of them have, with their lips plumper, their waists tighter and their tits and asses bigger than when we'd met the brunette originally. Both of them are clad in the same outfit; what look like a cross between knee-length combat boots and stripper heels, a glittery chrome bodysuit that conforms so tightly to their bodies that it must have been vacuum-sealed onto them, and a pair of gloves of the same material. A little modest compared to the Doctor's preferred fashion, but nothing out of the ordinary. The Whore mutters a curse and tells the Doctor to do some sort of technobabble, so I turn back to the task at hand as the new arrivals - for lack of a more appropriate term for their body language - prowl towards us.

The Aphasias are hard at work rimming their mothers, apparently having pulled down each older woman's booty shorts and bitten through the y-shaped connections at the backs of their of their thongs before getting started. Both ruined undergarments and discarded shorts have evidently been stepped out of and kicked aside by shaking legs, the Doctor and the Whore's knees occasionally quivering whenever either girl takes a break from swirling sloppy circles around the inside of the older blondes' assholes to stab their tongue particularly deep. "They're certainly better at this whole cybersecurity thing than the ones we usually run into," the Doctor muses, drawing a hum of agreement from her counterpart, "they've even closed off a couple of- ooh, right there you dirty little tart -avenues I'd never even got around to trying before."

"Well," the latest Doctor to arrive remarks cheerfully, "I didn't see much point in leaving loopholes open when I upgraded it." Makes sense, I wouldn't leave any holes for my alternate selves to exploit either. "Now, do you two mind holding still for a second?" The Doctor frowns slightly and opens her mouth to say something, but all that comes out is a shuddering sigh as her bodysuit-clad counterpart places a fingertip on each temple and zaps her head repeatedly with a crackling purple web of electricity. "That's better," she smirks, arms pulling back and then shooting out faster than I can track to repeat the procedure on the Whore as she turns to see what's going on. "Visual brainwashing's nice and all, but I've got to make sure it really sticks when the target's got a brain like... well, like mine, y'know?" She blinks in surprise as my hand crashes down on her ass with a satisfying WHAP and ripple of that plush, jiggly booty.

"Ooh~ Sorry, handsome," she smiles apologetically, "didn't mean to leave you out." For a moment, I think she's about to repeat whatever she did to the Doctor and the Whore on me, but instead she reaches down and begins stroking my crotch with one - vibrating, surprisingly - hand while the other rests on her cocked hip. "No worries," I reply, reaching out and getting a nice handful of her ass in my grip. It feels noticeably different to either of her counterparts, like one of the plastic-pumped pornstars that have been getting more common on Earth ever since I accidentally destigmatised surgical enhancement in my early days of having this power - a happy accident, admittedly. "Didn't think you were the type to get implants," I admit, before continuing in a moment of curiosity, "and what did you do to them, anyway?"

She looks at the pair, now back to trying to crack the Cybersluts' systems while Zoe watches impassively. "Oh, just rewrote a few neural pathways to make sure their new conditioning stays in place," she replies blithely, "it took months for my brainwashing to become permanent, but all the data we got from it has made the new programs so much more effective, especially when it's used on basically the same person they learned it from." She pops the button on my trousers and pulls down the fly, before slipping her hand down the front of my underwear to get a proper feel of my cock - one which she's plenty satisfied with, if her expression is anything to go by. "Speaking of," she continues, turning to the four blondes, "just tune us out for a couple of minutes, ignore anything we say to each other." Privacy on demand, I think, smart. Probably ought to put some of that in place myself. "Don't worry," I tell her, "normally they can't properly internalise information about me that I'd rather they didn't know, even if they remember it."

She blinks in surprise, then hums softly like she just found something she'd forgotten she'd lost. "You're the one giving off the weird readings we've been picking up, then? I wasn't going to ask you about why you're the only person on record not to show up as a potential conversion target," she admits, "since it's, y'know, not exactly out of the ordinary, but that's piqued my interest a bit. Anything else you can do?" I mull over the question for a moment, debating how much to reveal, but in the end it's a perfectly normal thing to be curious about - and with my newfound filter on what the Doctor and Aphasia can process about me, there's no real harm in answering. "Well," I reply, my breath hitching slightly as her already silky palm abruptly slickens with lube, "besides the whole 'not appearing notable' thing, anything I say is normal becomes normal. Like, for instance, 'it's normal for Cyberslut mainframe security to suffer glitches that let the Doctor or the Whore in whenever they want' or 'it's normal for every networked Cyberslut to cum whenever it does'."

The Doctor's - or possibly the Whore's, I don't turn around to check - whoop of victory is joined by a pair of low, throaty moans of pleasure as Zoe and the version of the Doctor in front of me both grind their thighs together and shudder with the **** of their joint climax. "W-Well," the apparent Cyberslut Doctor sighs happily, not pausing in her rapid, wrist-rolling strokes for even a fraction of a second, "it's just as well you used examples that are already true, then, or you could have done a lot of damage with an ability like that. I mean, we can barely supply power to generate your mundanity field around two units and look how powerful that is." I can't really tell if either my ability or their supposed copy of it are doing anything, since they haven't actually done anything unusual so far, but maybe they've got some sort of brainwave scanner that can tell someone's being affected even if it's not impacting their behaviour.

"D-13," Zoe finally speaks up, her voice calm and stern, "you are making unacceptably slow progress extracting this man's seed; are you malfunctioning?" The Cyber- no, D-13 shakes her head, and gestures to the amount of precum that's leaking from the tip of my cock, adding copious lubrication to her handjob and dripping onto the floor. "Despite being otherwise unremarkable," the blonde 'borg explains, "he seems to have superior size and endurance than any target I've been assigned before." Zoe cocks her head and struts over, tits bouncing and hips swinging, before reaching down and cupping one of my balls in her hand. "You are correct," she concedes to her blonde... Colleague? Sister? Whatever. "Zoe Herriot was selected for conversion based on her incredible ability to perform oral intercourse as well as for her superior intellect; I will assist you."

"Do Cy- Holy shit!" Within a second of her knees hitting the ground in front of me, Zoe already has half my cock sheathed in her throat while her tongue emerges to a preposterous length and winds around the rest like a boa constrictor, vibrators buzzing to life around me while the walls of her throat ripple and squeeze in a near-perfect imitation of the Doctor's own technique. "D-Do Cybersluts normally play with their targets like this, or is this just for me?" Zoe pulls back with a slurp and - entirely performative, I'm sure - gasp, one hand noisily stroking my spit-soaked shaft. "All targets for Cyberslut conversion are thoroughly exhausted through sexual activity to ensure they put up no resistance," she helpfully informs me, before diving back in for more sloppy sucking. D-13, for her part, glances at the Doctor's chest and shifts her stance slightly, her bodysuit audibly stretching as her own breasts begin to expand to three or four cup sizes larger than her counterpart.

The Doctor turns towards me - Aphasia pulling her face from the older woman's ass with a satisfied smack of her lips - and holds up her sonic screwdriver, a light on the side blinking intermittently. "Right, we've got access to the local network, and all the maps they're trying to put together of this whole," she shrugs, "TARDIS pileup, I guess. The Whore and I think we can get everything untangled if... if..." Her voice trails off as she lays eyes on D-13's tits, visibly straining the material of her outfit. "Forget that," the Whore pipes up from behind her, her tone strangely urgent, "we all need to get fucked!" The Doctor blinks and stares into space for a moment, then nods vigorously. "Right, yeah," she responds, "don't know how I forgot that. Fuck until we're too exhausted to resist now, figure out a plan later." I relax a little, luxuriating in the feeling of Zoe's drool-drenched cockslurping; after the day we've had so far, it's nice to take some time for a return to normalcy.