TARDIS Trouble, Part 2: Hazards

"Ooh, very nice angle," the Doctor coos appreciatively, shifting her weight from foot to foot, "can't imagine my arse ever having been that small, though." It's a mark of just how thoroughly her time with me around has warped her sense of perspective that an ass that most women would kill - or at least maim - for doesn't rate compared to the junk currently in her trunk. Aphasia nods in distracted agreement, one hand 'discreetly' popping the button on her denim shorts as she ogles the slowly-swaying form of her mother's rear. "Interesting that none of these paintings have nameplates, though," she continues blithely, "especially when that one of there is definitely Lady Wakef-"

Another room-shifting lurch and a loud slurp sends all three of us sprawling - although thankfully onto the manor's deep-pile carpeting rather than onto the console room floor. The Doctor wiggles her upraised hips for a moment, apparently assuming that because she's face-down, ass-up, I must be about to slap it, but unfortunately I'm too busy hauling myself to my feet to act before she rises up herself. A quick look around reveals that the effects have been even more severe than the first time, the room having been forcibly blended with some sort of cavern made out of glistening blue stone or coral; and blended is the right word, with the 'boundary' down the middle of the two featuring plaster and wood with warped colours, coral glittering silver where it's swallowed ornamentation, and dark stains spreading through the carpet from the layer of moisture that covers the new decor's various surfaces.

The perfectly normal door that we entered through, now set incongruously in the carven wall, clicks open to admit the same maid we'd hidden from on the way in, apparently drawn back by the sound of whatever just happened. She jumps slightly as she steps through and catches sight of the Doctor, causing her tits to practically leap out of her frilly, black-and-white top and Aphasia to bite down a moan that sounds suspiciously like 'want'. "Miss Smith," she gasps, "I wasn't expe- MMMPH!" The thick dark-blue tentacle that spears down from the ceiling to stuff her mouth is joined by half a dozen others, wrapping tightly around her wrists, ankles and thighs before hoisting her up into the air with both arms stretched above her head and her legs pulled out in splits - forcing the hem of her 'skirt' up far enough to confirm that she's going commando. They're quickly joined by a trio of much thicker, slimier appendages, one of which replaces the tentacle occupying her mouth as it coils around her neck instead and the other two plunging without preamble into her pussy and asshole.

Aphasia moans shamelessly next to me as she slips one hand down the front of her unbuttoned shorts and begins teasing her own lower lips with two fingers, while the Doctor looks torn between doing the same and rushing to help the woman - though whether that's to help her free or help her get this suddenly-appearing tentacle monster's rocks off is another question entirely. Regardless, from the way her moans have shifted it's clear she's enjoying herself, and she doesn't even try to test its grip as the tentacles pull her legs around to the front and upwards until her ankles are up by her ears. Then, without a sound beyond the schlick-schlick-schlick of her dripping holes, she's hoisted upwards and vanishes.

The three of us approach carefully, keeping our eyes on the ceiling, and find a ring of raised coral that had been hiding the lip of a large, pitch-black opening from view in our previous position. "Might want to find another way out," I say, eyeballing whether it's possible to get the door open and through it without passing under the hole - it's not, unfortunately, "this place can't just be one big line, after all." The Doctor nods in agreement. "Head out, look for a way to double back to the TARDIS," she pauses to grab Aphasia's wrist and finish what the younger blonde's been doing while we've been taking a look around, "and see what we can do from there."

"If it's even there still," Aphasia pouts at having the last traces of her juices sucked from her fingers, but obediently follows the Doctor after I give her ass a quick slap to motivate her. The environment only gets more jumbled as we continue deeper into the 'manor'; dark wooden panels are replaced at random with sterile steel, non-functional security cameras hang from sculptures made from a swirling mixture of marble and blue coral, couches and other furniture jut half-formed from walls that look suspiciously like those I've been calling home recently. Finally, we step through a hinged slab of what appears to be coral - but what a quick knock proves is some sort of hollow plastic - and into a bright, sterile corridor where the only signs that anything's wrong are a gas lantern on one wall and half a panel of coral a little further down the other.

"Well, at least we're somewhere consistent," the Doctor muses as she sashays down it with a level of confidence in her sense of direction she certainly doesn't deserve, "and if I'm right, that door over there's just the one we're looking for!" Aphasia and I are somewhat warier as we follow her, careful to give the coral a wide berth just in case, but I'm **** to admit that the door in question does look just like the console room's internal door as viewed from the other side. She grabs the handle, twists it, and immediately flings herself backwards just in time to avoid a crackling beam of pink light that slams into the frame. The air immediately fills with ear-stinging snaps and crackles and a heavy smell of ozone as the Doctor backpedals and grabs us both by the shoulders. "Back, back, back! Lots of Drahvin," she almost-shouts by way of explanation, dragging us towards the coral wall panel, "lots of stun guns!"

As if on cue, two tall women in skintight black bodysuits and red armour step through the - now slightly singed - door and level a pair of bulky rifles at us. Our backs hit the coral and it hinges open, both revealing it to be an escape route and knocking me on my ass for the third time in an hour. The Doctor's hands are already in motion as she's falling, one reaching back to cushion the impact and the other aiming her sonic screwdriver at the door as it swings shut. After a few seconds without the Drahvin following us, she lets out a sigh of relief and relaxes. "Alright," she admits, "so maybe that's not the way back. This place gets weirder by the second."

"I'll say," the Doctor replies, an audible note of confusion in her voice as I shift my position on the floor slightly to see, standing over us, exact copies of the blondes lying beside me. Well, not exact copies. The doppel-Doctor looks like she just strutted off the stage of one of the TARDIS's many, many dance studios, clad in nothing but a pair of uncomfortably tall-looking translucent platform stilettos, a pair of spandex booty shorts - so tight that it's really obvious she's only bothering with a thong so she can have the strings riding up over her hips rather than because she has any sense of modesty - and Xs of tape over her nipples, all in a gaudy pink. Aphasia Two is wearing much the same as the one I'm familiar with, with the exception of a pair of bars prominently visible under the flimsily-thin material of her white crop top. Oh, and the collars they're wearing; thick, glossy black leather - or something similar - with blocky gold lettering reading WHORE for the doppel-Doctor and SLUT for Aphasia Two.

It's just as I'm finishing taking their appearance in, and right when the two Doctors open their mouths to speak, that Aphasia leaps up off of the floor with all the speed of someone only loosely bound by things like 'leverage' and 'the limits of humanoid biology' and tackles her counterpart in a flurry of green smoke and torn cloth.