...and Upwards, and Upwards...

"Goodness, these stairs are a bit treacherous," Victoria muses, "I'm not sure how the staff are supposed to navigate them every day." The fact that, rather than her reasonably practical riding boots, she's now wearing stiletto-heeled knee-high leather platforms to match her chaps probably has something to do with her difficulties. Still, if I didn't know better I'd think she wore these every day with how well she's coping in them - oh, wait, now she does. "I couldn't help but notice how, ah, well-endowed all of the maids are," she continues, taking my silent enjoyment of the sight of her swaying ass as an indication to continue, "it really is extraordinary - you'd even think they weren't human, at first glance." She follows that last part up with a ****-sounding, I-didn't-mean-to-say-that-last-bit giggle.

"Or second, or third," I reply, before launching into an explanation of my experience talking to Lady Wakeford. I leave out the most salient comparison, to a cheaply-scripted porn film, but I make sure not to pull any punches in my descriptions, just to see how Victoria reacts to the language. "Goodness," she murmurs as I finish telling her what the pair were about to do when I left, "and they just came out and said it? That sounds positively... Well, it sounds positively obscene! L-Licking her maid's slit like that... A-And to just start rubbing herself, right in front of a guest..." I can already tell she's licking her lips at the thought, but before I can tease her about keeping her eyes on the stairs, we're rounding the corner to the servants' quarters. "Miss Smith," Victoria calls out as we step up onto the landing, "we were just looking for you!"

The Doctor looks down from where she's been fiddling with one of the regularly-spaced square panels set into the ceiling and grins. "Victoria! John! I was poking around up here and noticed these," she gestures to the panel and then reaches up to feel at something in the middle of it, "come and have a l- OH!" The panel vanishes to one side with a soft hiss and a glossy, flexible white tube of something tipped with what looks like a pair of black rubber bimbo lips lunges out of the hole and engulfs the Doctor down to the top of her bustier. "Miss Smith," Victoria screams, making me wince, and rushes forwards as the thing sucks and pulls the Doctor up until everything above the waist is covered and her long legs are kicking helplessly off the ground. The lips keep a skin-tight seal around her body, pushing between it and the bustier until the red leather gives way and the ruined thing drops to the floor.

The tube retracts into the ceiling, but stops when Victoria grabs the Doctor's ankles. There's a moment where it looks like she might be able to pull her free, and then the thing's lips shift a little and there's a snap of cloth and the Doctor's wide hips disappear into it as the remains of her thong fall to the floor. Victoria gives a shriek of frustration and fear as the Doctor is slurped right out of her boots, leaving Miss Waterfield to fall on her ass while the panel slides back into place - a well-cushioned landing, at least. She blinks in confusion at suddenly being able to identify how racy the footwear she's holding is - not that she has any room to talk - before I reach down and grab her wrist. "Come on," I reassure her, admiring the way the adrenaline rush is making her chest heave, "there's normally a way to access the attic in one of these rooms."

"Y-Yes, right," she replies, "that thing was... it almost seemed like a machine!" She gulps, then sets her jaw and starts opening doors. "This really is alien, isn't it? Just like... Just like... No. Be brave, Victoria, people are counting on you this time!" She throws open door after door, revealing rooms full of maids in various states of dress and progress towards their next orgasm, but staunchly ignores them until she opens one leading to a ladder up to whatever's above us. I don't even need to say anything before she's hoisting herself up and disappearing. I follow after her, nearly planting my face in the crack of her ass as she stops at the top to take in the sight of the actual attic to this place, but settling for a harsh spank that makes her yelp and stutter-step far enough forwards for me to get to my feet.

The attic is full of strange machinery, an almost organic-looking mass of glossy white plastic and glossier black rubber, interrupted only for a pair of strangely retro-looking consoles and screens on either side of a transparent pod big enough to fit four or five people comfortably, if not spaciously. Currently, however, it's filled only by a clear, pinkish fluid and the Doctor, who floats in it limply. A smaller version of the thing that sucked her up here is fastened to the front of her head, the black lips engulfing her entire face and the tube clearly 'gulping' at regular intervals like it's trying to sucking on the Doctor like a lollipop.

I ignore her predicament for the moment, instead going over to one of the consoles. I tap a key experimentally, and a long block of text appears on the screen. It informs me that I'm the proud owner of a tria- I groan in despair and bury my face in my hands for a moment. It informs me that I'm the 'proud' owner of a trial period for some sort of drone programmer, one that can input pre-set orders and behaviour parameters into organic or non-organic drones. "Victoria," I call over my shoulder as a video starts up on the screen, "could you see if there's some sort of 'off' switch on the other panel, all I've got here is the sales pitch." Turned into sexbots by a malfunctioning ****-making machine, that definitely explains the way Lady Wakeford and Andrea were acting - not to mention the ones masturbating in their rooms.

A glitchy, black silhouette of a woman with a bob haircut appears. #Welcome, please stand by for verification.# One of the keys my fingers are resting on opens up and I yelp as a needle hidden inside quickly stabs me and withdraws. #Identification verified, logging John Doe as DESIGNATE: OWNER,# the machine continues as I wipe the small amount of blood that wells up from the pinprick off onto my belt, #John Doe is now owner of coordinator drone C001, designated Mary Wakeford, and **** drones D001 through D012. If you did not input the parameters for lease state any queries regarding drone status, physical condition and mental parameters now.# I look over and see Victoria begin scrolling through what looks like a command menu, before turning back to my screen and cracking my neck. "Alright," I say quietly, "how about we start with the identity of the previous owner..."

Victoria's fingers flew over the keys with a speed that surprised even herself as her eyes flicked back and forth along the lines of text she was scrolling through. She was hardly the most technologically-inclined person ever to travel with the Doctor, even if that was by the period-limited nature of her childhood education rather than any lack of intelligence, and she'd never been a particularly quick typist once she settled down with the Harisses in 1968, before-

-she couldn't see, couldn't move, could only keep thrashing and shrieking with every new orgasm that ripped through her. Long, slim fingers and tongues wriggled in her slit and her backdoor, while her face was buried between a pair of breasts so large she feared she might suffocate. She kept trying to wriggle free, but the hands around her wrists and ankles were like stone and then, with one last scream of pleasure, she was falling and falling and falling-

-never mind, it wasn't important. What was important was freeing Miss Smith and then bending her over and giving her a thorough spanking for running off on her own. Wait, no, that wasn't right. She had to let Miss Smith out of the pod so she could be punished for being such a shameless exhibitionist. No, that wasn't it either. Victoria cursed internally - but mildly, she was still a woman of good breeding, even after all that had happened to her - and tried to focus. The swirling background of the screen was hardly helping her concentration, but she managed to find what she was looking for - an error report about whatever procedure Miss Smith was undergoing. There! She swiftly tapped in the code that would replace the ineffective tits and holes programming with the hot piece of ass programming a hot piece of ass like Miss Smith deserved.

She could practically see it already; Miss Smith, scrubbing the floor in nothing but a fishnet leotard as part of her punishment, that gorgeous bum raised up and exposed for anyone who wanted it - and herself, reaching down to spread those cheeks and just bury her face in-! She screamed as a woman's hand closed around her wrist, then suddenly relaxed. In fact, she relaxed so much that she didn't even notice Miss Smith release her, or Miss Smith turn around, or herself drop to her knees. She reached out, grabbed Miss Smith's cheeks and spread them wide, then leaned in and began to lick her pucker just like she was meant to. Neither of them noticed Lady Wakeford pulling down John's pants and slobbering in a most unladylike manner all over his fat nuts while three of her maids licked all over his massive cock, or the phrases both she and Miss Smith were repeating softly in their delirium.

Just a hot piece of ass rimming a hot piece of ass, just like they should be.

Author's Note: Oh no, however will our heroes get out of this? I mean, we all know the general way they'll do it, but feel free to speculate on specifics in the comments! Who knows, you might come up with a better idea than the one I'm working on. :P

And if you want to get a slice of the Doctor's current cake, this is the (accurate) image in Victoria's mind: