Flying in Style

I'm slightly taken aback by the the transformation that the TARDIS has undergone since we left. The weird crystal claws are still there, curling together above the console, but the console itself is totally changed; the main body of it is now a flat circular table, ringed by the various doodads that covered the old one, while a plain metal pole now rises to the ceiling in place of the squatter mass of crystal that once sat at the centre of it. The plush armchair I was sat in has moved to outside of the crystals, giving the whole setup the air of a half-steampunk, half-geological dancing cage.

"What?!" The Doctor storms past me and glares at the new design, seemingly appalled. "Someone's redecorated," she frowns, "I don't like i- AH!" She swoons backwards dramatically and I catch her under her arms, wincing slightly at her surprising weight for her height and build - comes with being whatever she is, I guess. She starts to moan and clutch her head, threading her fingers into her hair and mussing it as she writhes in what is probably supposed to resemble agony. That's rather disproved by the way she ends up once she's done - grinding her ample apple ass against my crotch in a vain attempt to get me hard, while trying to wriggle her chest so that I'm cupping her bare breasts.

I roll my eyes and oblige her as her theatrical moans of 'pain' taper of into weak panting, alternating between squeezing her breasts and tugging and pinching her nipples. She pulls away form me abruptly, probably annoyed that she ended up being the one getting teased instead of the one doing the teasing, and begins throwing switches and levers with just a little more **** than is probably necessary. "I can't believe it," she gasps in outrage, "someone's attacked my timeline again!" She spins a valve wheel and pulls herself up onto the stage - because it's now clear that that's what it is - before kicking one of the levers that protrudes up above its edge and grabbing the pole with one hand as the TARDIS lurches to life once more.

"No time rotor anymore," she says as she twirls around the pole before kicking another lever, "now it's supposed to have been powered by a girl getting up on stage and... and... and dancing like a slut!" To punctuate her remark, she wraps one leg around the pole and rolls her hips, grinding her bare pussy up against it. I feel something tickling the back of my psyche, something suspiciously like the words 'overdoing it a bit', and smirk. "But that's how you normally fly the TARDIS," I say in my best 'innocently confused' voice - not that it's very good, "isn't it? I mean, it's what you did when we left my house, and it's how you got us to Wakeford..."

"Oooh..." The doctor sighs like an enormous weight has just been lifted from her psyche, as her motions become more controlled and less **** - like the TARDIS really has always flown by having a hot piece of ass shaking it on-stage, and her main complaint is that she always had someone else to do that bit for her before. "Thanks John," she moans as she drops into a squat and begins to shake her hips, sending her asscheeks bouncing and clapping together, "I've really got to find out who's trying to mess with my timeline like this - who knows what they'll try and erase next!" I settle down into the armchair and watch the show as I wonder, who indeed. "Speaking of," I ask, "where are we off to now?"

She leans back until her spine is parallel to the ground and tilts her head back so we can look at each other eye-to-upside-down-eye, held in the air by the strength of her thighs squeezing the pole tightly. "Not sure," she admits, smiling happily, "figured you could use a holiday after that mess at Wakeford, so I just plugged in 'somewhere safe' and let her go."

Ah, yes, I think, as the Doctor launches into inverted splits with only her hands on the pole for support, I forgot I'm being flown by a crazy person.