Mystery Manor

"Right, so," the Doctor's all business as we approach the front door of Wakeford Manor, "basic time travel rules apply; don't kill anyone, try not to interact with your own ancestors and give my arse a nice, hard smack whenever the mood takes y- OH! G-Getting the hang of it already, I see- AH! AH! OH!" She shivers and almost stumbles as I admire the bright red hand print my repeated strikes have left on the pale flesh of her left asscheek. "You know," I say idly, "normally spanking helps accelerate a twerking addict's growth. But I'm sure that never entered your mind when you made those rules."

"Oh, absolutely not," she replies, "I'd never do something like that." The smirk on my face grows smugger at her unconvincing denial. At least that still works, I think to myself. The whole business with the TARDIS's records has me a bit shaken up, honestly; sure, the Doctor believed that the old timeline was the changed one, but the idea that anything could be resistant to my power is troubling. Still, look on the bright side, I reassure myself, _this is the most interesting things have been in months._ Aliens! Time travel! Even if all the actual challenge are still self-imposed, the idea of exotic people, places and events that I didn't make up in the first place is just too good to pass up.

The door to Wakeford Manor swings open as I make to knock on it, revealing a young brunette woman in a ruffled shirt and tight riding pants inspecting a large landscape painting. "Speaking of growing asses," I murmur to the Doctor, admiring the way the cloth stretches over her large, firm cheeks like a second skin. The Doctor giggles as she shifts her hips from left to right habitually, and for the first time the other woman seems aware of our presence. She gives a short, shrill cry of surprise that makes me flinch and spins around to face us. "Oh," she gasps, "I didn't hear you open the door. Are you here for anything in particular? I've been here for almost twenty minutes and haven't seen hide or hair of any staff."

"That's alright, we should have knocked first," the Doctor cuts me off before I can reply, "and no, we were just passing through town and heard some interesting rumours about the place. I'm Joan Smith."

"I'm John Doe," I answer the woman's questioning look.

"Pleased to meet you," she replies, "I'm Victoria Waterfield. I, ah, came up here for the same reason you did." I can't help but notice the way her eyes dart down to my crotch for a moment, and wonder what's up with her. After all, the Victorians were famous for doing stuff like making clothes for furniture because the thought a bare table leg was too scandalous, never mind a person's - and never mind a woman openly sizing me up. "Perhaps I should, ah, see if I can find anybody further inside." She's evidently agitated by the Doctor's presence, but the perception filter seems to be holding up as she hasn't commented on her state of dress - or how obviously wet the blonde is.

"Great idea," I smile, "I'd go myself or get Joan to do it, but I have a feeling they'd be much more lenient to a clearly well-bred young woman wandering around than a strange man like me or a shameless slut-" I slap the Doctor's ass again, before squeezing it roughly. "-like her." Victoria smiles gratefully, and hurries through the door at the far end of the foyer. "You just wanted to see her bum bounce when she walked," the Doctor murmurs from my side, leaning her ass into my grip as I continue to grope it, "not that I blame you, she always did like tight pants."

"Always did? One of the women on your list, then," I reply, and she nods.

"Thankfully she's just as much of a phat-assed, horny bitch as ever," she confirms, "at least if the way she was checking you out is any indication. There's definitely something weird going on, too - last time I saw her, I was dropping her off in the 1960s after she had a seaweed monster-induced nervous breakdown."

"So the mystery is," I try not to smile at having a real-life mystery to solve, "what's she doing here and now, investigating a spooky manor house on her own?"

Before the Doctor can reply, the door to our right clicks open and an absolute bombshell of a woman in a tightly-fitted maid outfit steps through it. "Mister Doe? Lady Wakeford would like to see you at your earliest convenience," she says calmly, as if we were long expected, "your companion is free to join you." The Doctor bristles a little at being called a companion, but before we can say anything, the maid has turned and left, leaving the door open behind her. "Nothing for it, I guess," I say as I move to follow her, my firm grip on the Doctor's now slightly thicker ass pulling her along for the ride before she recovers from her moment of annoyance and sets her own pace beside me.

Author's Note: Yes, the whole table leg covers thing was for aesthetic rather than moral purposes, but having the power of Normality alone doesn't actually make you any more knowledgeable about pop history from more than a century ago and I only know it because I googled it while writing this chapter, so John doesn't. Mistakes of this nature will become important as he continues to travel in time.