Turbulence
by Genomodder
Jacky and Cindy ran for the check-in counter. Flying standby had its advantages, but not at times like this. Oh sure, you could just show up and hope for an open seat to Tahiti or Hawaii or Paris, and you could usually get it at a discount since the airlines wanted a full plane, and even a discounted fare was better than none at all. But then, there were times like this when you found yourself hustling from gate to gate, trying to catch a flight back home.
“Never again will I let you talk me into this,” the taller brunette glowered at her best friend.
“Sure, Jacky, that’s what you always say,” the smaller, curvier blonde answered, her toned athletic legs powering her through a crowd of weary, bleary-eyed travelers, a wealthy man and his curvy excecutivedoll barely dodging out of the way, as close to a look of surprise on the faux woman’s face as was possible. True, the pair had visited any number of exotic places this way, and on their budget salaries; it got the job done, albeit at a huge level of stress. If they were late back to work just one more time...
The pair nearly collapsed at the counter, Cindy’s thick pumps nearly twisting into an ankle snapping crunch, but a friendly ticket agent grabbed her about the waist, strong masculine hands about her slender, toned torso, a helpful thumb just tracing her bust’s under curve. Whether by accident or design, Cindy didn’t care. She’d worked hard on that body, and it paid dividends, in more ways than one.
“My hero,” she gushed at the strong, virile dark-eyed man. Ooh, early thirties, just a hint of stubble, nice cologne—if only...
“Happy to help, Miss.”
Cindy fluttered her eyelashes at him, eyes narrowed in a scowl, drawing a frown from Jacky. We don’t have time for this, she indicated, bumping her friend with her shoulder, anxious to be off.
“Yeah, right,” the pretty blonde smiled, “Um, a synthie downstairs told us that there were still seats available?”
“It told us you were en route,” the handsome man replied, recalling the conversation with one of the dolls the airline used as a ruthlessly efficient gate agent. “You’re lucky. This is a charter, or was, and the tour group was delayed. We’re routing a some standbys and cancellations here, but it should still be a fairly empty flight.”
“Super,” Cindy cooed, flirting with the employee, her finger curling around a twist of honey blonde hair, her chest more than a bit pushed upwards and outwards, revealing her generous assets all too obvious with her blouse’s plunging V-cut. That generated another nudge from her taller brunette friend.
“Here’s our ticketing info,” Jacky interrupted, placing her paperwork on the counter, while grabbing Cindy’s, too. Cindy smirked at the all-too practical Jacky, the always practical Jacky, pouting. The two made a great pair, actually, Jacky secure with the planning and “mature” activities, and Cindy the more free-wheeling, adventurous one. Together, they had some incredible escapades, and all on a meager budget. You just had to know what you were doing, Jacky realized a long time ago; plan here, take this chance, accept that risk. Cindy took far too many risks, but that wasn’t a bad thing, necessarily. Without her, Jacky wouldn’t have had nearly the fun that she’d had these past few years.
The counter agent, “Jim T.” from his name tag, went through their paperwork, verifying everything and checking their IDs, all the while coyly eyeing Cindy’s tanned bosom pressed against the counter’s edge. Finally, the printer spit out two boarding passes, Cindy jiggling the whole way.
Slut, Jacky thought, trying to boob-tease the poor guy into better seats. Whatever, it had worked in the past, she admitted. She’d even done similar things once or twice, though never to the same extent, just some innocent flirting. Okay, more than twice, but she’d never enjoyed it, Jacky convinced herself, especially since she wasn’t nearly as good at it as her .
“Here you are,” Jim stated, handing the passes to the two twentysomethings. “Seats fifteen B and Fifteen C, first class.”
Wow, maybe the boob-tease had worked, Jacky thought!
“You’re very lucky, like I said,” the agent ever so slightly condescended. “The plane is a charter configured for high-end tour groups so the entire plane has first class amenities. We need to get it from point A to point B, so you benefit from it,” he toothily grinned, that ever so suave customer service smile on his face.
Okay, so it didn’t. Not that Cindy cared. She jiggled a final time, giving Jim a nice view down her super tight tube top, a going away thank you present. The pair took the passes and hustled to the gate, just as the final call came over the intercom. A very pretty pale flight attendant in a tight fitting medium blue woolen uniform took their passes, scanned them briefly, and ushered them down the jet way.
“Please hurry, ladies, we’ve gotten behind schedule waiting for you,” she announced in a feminine exceptionally emotionless voice, her high heels clattering atop the metal grates of the telescoping jet way’s joints. She moved with a liquid, fluid motion, almost as if—synthetic? The thought crossed both women’s minds. She’d certainly had some custom work done, given the way that ass moved, Jacky nodded appreciatively.
She’d wondered what it would be like to afford enhancements like those, like the up and comers in the office possessed. They usually went from temp to executive secretary almost overnight as soon as their tits and asses became beautifully bimbofied. Bitches. Jacky knew her skills were better than any of theirs’, but office skills weren’t exactly required for girls like those. Now, underneath the desk on their knees skills, that was another matter. Thoughts of Lisa Belle, the stacked blonde whore from accounting assaulted her, if that was even her real name. That bitch stole her promotion, and all it took was a few well placed blow jobs from her puffy cock sucking lips and a fresh pair of E-cups. Whore
Through the windows, the pair could just see the wings and engines of the massive jet, a 838, Boeing’s newest large transport. They’d run out of sevens a long time ago, but not superlative designs. The hybrid flying wing remained marginally subsonic, yet ultra-efficient, its long, thick wings generating incredible lift, its wedge-shaped cabin affording greatly increased internal volume over the old cylindrical fuselages of similar length. Cindy and Jacky had never been aboard one. Most hadn’t, delivery flights only commencing a few months before.
Another pretty—okay, stunning—flight attendant with perfect skin directed them through the cabin door just as it began to close, thinking closed into position, everyones’ ears feeling the sealed cabin’s pressure. Pretty uniformed hands grabbed their carry ons, placing them in empty bins, handling it all so efficiently that neither woman had time to protest. “You will not be needing these,” a slender honey blonde stated, flatly. Well, okay then...
The flight attendant rushed them down the seats, not far back, to row fifteen, Cindy taking seat fifteen C, and Jacky fifteen B, an aisle seat with an empty area to the left where on a coach flight seat A would sit. Instead, luxurious cubicles awaited the women, nice private areas where the wealthy could relax, lay their seats back, and enjoy some well deserved privacy viewing the entertainment system, real wooden walls rising up around the deep cushy bucket recliners that really resembled peas in a pod, with the passenger as the pea. Despite the cubicles’ size, the plane was large enough to allow for a very nice, spacious aisle in between. You could probably drive a golf cart through here, Jacky mused. I guess this is how the rich fly! The first flight attendant from the jet way gathered up their purses over their small protestations, placing them in the little storage cabinet at the front of the bulkhead, promising that they could access them after take off, that they were late, and to tighten their seatbelts.
“Man, this is great,” Cindy enthused. “First class!”
“Your little act out front wasn’t very becoming, you know,” Jacky scolded, leaning around the privacy riser separating her seat from the aisle.
“Relax, Miss Uptight. He got a harmless show, and we got first class,” she giggled.
“We would have gotten first class, anyway. Look around, the flight is mostly empty,” the brunette ordered. Yes, it was mostly empty, just a few people here and there, the tops of their heads just visible over the seat if one sat up straight and stretched. They’d passed a couple of women already reclining and relaxing as the attendant escorted them to their seats. A central pillar possessed large, bright video displays beaming the airline’s logo, “Quantum Air.” The plane lurched as push back began, the mandatory safety video playing from the display, a statuesque brunette emotionlessly announcing the rules. Cindy tried to change the channel to something more entertaining, but the display stayed on the safety video. An obsidian-haired flight attendant in her form fitting blue jacket and skirt stood at the front of the aisle, mimicking the video, her pantomime utterly in step with the stacked blonde on the safety video, right down to the eye blinks. Eerie.
Jacky took a moment to admire the doe-eyed attendant. Damn, either she was born perfect or she’d spent a pretty penny on some custom work. These days, gene therapies could do wonders, and this babe was, well, gorgeous. Her moist ruby lips spoke the same words as the gal in the video, word for word, in perfect unison. Then again, Jacky realized, she’d probably done this hundreds of times. She’d certainly know them by heart. Her legs looked so sculpted, muscles so tight and taut, especially atop a five inch pair of stiletto heels, perhaps not practical aboard a plane, but she seemed to get around just fine. Tight, that was the term for her, for all of the ones she’d seen so far. Tight, without an ounce of fat, every perfect curve tight against her clothing. Even her clearly largish bosom appeared covered perfectly by her uniform, white scoop blouse underneath, navy blue jacket over that, without any excess fabric gathered up, no creases, no cinching. The uniform, while clearly layered and professional, almost looked sprayed on. Definitely custom work.
“Flight attendants prepare for departure,” the pilot announced. The video concluded, the gorgeous babe in blue walked back up front to her rear facing jump seat. The plane trundled along, Cindy pulling a Quantum Air in-flight magazine from the seat pouch and leafing through it.
“I think we’ll just make it back before our shift starts,” Jacky mentioned to her friend, “just.” We should land in about four or five hours, so if we can grab a cab and get cleaned up in the lav, then we should just make it.”
Cindy nodded in agreement, “Yep. “Til then, I intend to really sample first class. It says here we get free drinks the whole way,” she said, pointing to an article in the magazine, “and I intend to sample a lot.”
“Just don’t get too liquored up, okay? One more bad write-up and you could lose your job, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Cindy muttered in agreement. Showing up hung over had destroyed her minimal work reputation, and that last warning had been severe.
The plane took a quick left, slowed slightly to align on the runway, and then surged forward, its engines buried deep within the wing roots spooling up. Both women were pushed backwards into their seats by the G forces, the airport zipping past just outside the windows.
Clunk. Clunk-clunk. The wheels left the ground and retracted, whirring sounds betraying the gear doors and flight surfaces moving. The delta-winged plane adopted a steep up angle, and banked to starboard, thrust increasing, airflow rumbling outside.
“We’re off,” Jacky grinned, happy to be heading home. Miami reported as cold and wet, the remnants of a tropical storm pelting the area, but the airport was open, which was all that mattered. A cab ride later and they’d be back at their apartment or at work, depending upon the time factor. Jacky hoped for work, afraid of being late. Cindy would doubtless sack out, which neither could afford to do. Jacky tried her phone, intent upon calling a friend at work to ask her to cover if they arrived late, but the phone wouldn’t work. No signal.
The plane continued climbing, turbulence bumping it around. Jacky leaned out to look up the aisle. The flight attendant, “Erin,” Jacky remembered from her nametag, sat there soothingly, unemotionally, a soft expression of placidity adorning her angelic yet nearly expressionless face. With each little bump, her breasts rose and fell, bouncing slightly, confined by her bra and tight wardrobe. A pair of feet and legs to Erin’s left indicated another flight attendant in a jump seat, her legs also sculpted, taut and tight, virtual duplicates.
Jacky silently wondered what it must be like to be that beautiful. She was slightly bicurious, to be sure, had even rented out a slut from a local brothel to experiment with a few years ago, but hadn’t ever really gone the whole route. The slut had been, well, proficient at her job, but the experience really made Jacky realized how much she enjoyed men. A roll with Erin, though, that spiked Jacky’s blood pressure. Damn, she was so cuddleable, so beautiful. Another bump, more boobs jiggling atop that narrow waist, and Jacky wondered again. She must have stared for a moment too long, for Erin tilted her head at Jacky, softly smiling, and seemingly not at all upset with being checked out. If anything she sat up slightly straighter, chest out further, the chop shaking them anew. The flight attendant smiled that contented smile, happy within her skin and not at all afraid to show it off, and why wouldn’t she be? The turbulence momentarily dislodged the stew’s tight legs, displaying fleeting glimpses of that most valuable region.
Wow, nice show.
Jacky leaned back in, embarrassed. It wasn’t like she wasn’t pretty. She was. Tall, with a nice figure and a sweet face, she just didn’t put out that sexy vibe the way Cindy and Erin did. And, her economic status meant that affording the kind of upgrades that well-off men expected simply wasn’t possible as a Class C citizen. Why be attracted to her when a man with a healthy bank account could afford a remanufactured woman, a custom slut, or those rarest of all creatures, a pleasure doll?
“Ladies, this is your captain speaking. Welcome aboard Quantum Air Flight Six, charter service from Seattle to Miami. It looks like we’ll be experiencing some serious weather most of the way there, so for now we’re going to keep the seat belt sign on. Please remain in your seats for your own safety. Please lay back, relax, and enjoy our all first class service. Our cabin crew will be by shortly with drink and meal service. We’ll be dimming the lights so that those of you who desire a beauty nap can have one. Thank you for flying Quantum Air.”
Jacky turned to look out the window, catching a fleeting glimpse of clouds and lightning before the window itself dimmed and went blank. The newer planes all featured controllable windows, and the crew apparently really did want them to sleep. Damn. Jacky really had to pee. No matter, she’d wait awhile. They wouldn’t keep the seat belt sign on the whole way, would they?
Movement forward attracted her attention. Erin and Lana, she soon learned, had loaded up a drink cart and were pushing it down the aisle. Jacky received an eyeful of Erin’s perfect heart shaped ass. Even confined within her tight skirt, the word, “impressive,” failed to do it justice.
The pair stopped in several rows in front of Jacky and Cindy speaking quietly to the occupant of seat 11 B. Lana acknowledged the passenger’s request and scooped some ice into a crystal whisky glass, Erin pouring a long, stiff shot of premium honey and brown whiskey. A long shot. Wow, Quantum Air really did mean first class, Jacky thought. The attendants finished with some sort of a warning or order to the passenger, Jacky couldn’t tell, and wheeled the cart down the aisle, leg here, butt cheek there.
Yes, that ass was incredible. Wow. The way it swayed in that somewhat short skirt? Jacky found herself becoming more bicurious with each turn of the jet’s turbines.
Erin turned to face Jacky, bending forward to speak, her cleavage now clearly straining against the white top’s fabric, just enough of her “V” visible to entice. Jacky half expected her to ask, “Coffee, tea, or me?” Truly, Jacky wasn’t sure which one she’d choose. But no: “Would you like something to drink? We have juices, sodas, and a wide assortment of cocktails, all completely gratis?” Erin asked in that soft, actually somehow sexy near monotone.
“Um, I’m not really thirsty,” Jacky answered.
“No? Perhaps some water? You really should have something to drink. Passengers often become dehydrated on long flights,” she stated in that perfectly enunciated voice, mesmerizing perfume scents rolling from her form. Was there anything that Erin couldn’t do perfectly? Damn! Perfect chest, perfect lips, perfect ass... Jacky felt totally unworthy. Erin leaned in further, her breasts straining even more, would fall out if not for the top’s high scoop. And yes, Jacky did want them to fall out, she realized, she really did.
“I will make you a cocktail to relax you,” she announced. Jacky could only nod dumbly and watch as the two specimens of feminine perfection went about their tasks, Erin serving her and Lana serving Cindy. Cindy hadn’t waited at all, ordering several stiff drinks which the honey blonde Lana hadn’t hesitated to prepare. Erin finally placed the drink, from the looks of it a mixture of vodka and orange juice on the rocks into the little drink holder at the end of the right armrest. “A perfect drink for a perfect passenger,” she intoned. Perfect. That word again! Erin slowly leaned back, delivering another view of her chest, Jacky now seriously bicurious about what they looked like. All creamy and milky, like Erin’s complexion? Perhaps tanned and golden like Lana’s?
Jacky tested the cocktail. Wonderful, with just the right amount of alcohol and sugary sweetness. Another sip, then more, and the drink had all but disappeared. Erin smiled and created another drink, “In case the turbulence makes it impossible to serve later,” leaning across Jacky to place it in the left armrest’s drink holder. Jacky got a nice waft of Erin’s perfume. Chanel? Something expensive, that was for sure, the floral scents making her lightheaded, ramping up her already unnaturally high libido.
“Remember to remain in your seat. We have turbulence ahead. It would please me greatly were you to remain in your seat, seatbelt securely fastened.” She then adjusted the environment controls on the seat pillar, warm moist air spilling form the vents above, floral with a mix of—what? Jacky couldn’t quite place the aroma, but it certainly smelled wonderful, calming and warm all over at the same time.
Jacky nodded. Please her? Damn, of course! As the pair pushed the drink cart past, Jacky realized how foolish she must have appeared, suddenly more embarrassed than before. A glance to her right showed three empty drink glasses in front of Cindy occupying the faux wood meal try. With a smile and a smirk, she downed the fourth in a gulp.
“Dang, great service! I could get used to this,” the little blonde remarked, satisfied with herself, a slight slur already upon her lips.
“How much did you have to drink, Cin?” Several full cups littered the tray in front of her, evidence of some serious drinking.
“Oh, she kept pouring and I kept chugging. Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. Why don’t you check out what’s playing,” she asked, motioning to the holoscreen floating in midair several feet in front of her. Jacky acquiesced, taking another sip of the nectary cocktail while trying her phone again. The signal wavered in and out, then out. Whatever. The display mentioned something about a malfunction, that the entertainment choices weren’t updated from their last trip. No matter, the choices seemed fine, from movies to comedies to interactive games. Yes, games. That sounded about right. Jacky flipped through the choices using the controlled located at her armrest, all the while leaning the comfy leather seat backwards, the chair’s soft vibrations lulling her senses. Yes, very comfortable! Coach had nothing on this.
“Personal Trivia.” The name sounded intriguing, so Jacky switched to it. “Prepare to win in-flight prizes by answering a series of trivia questions! Compete against your fellow passengers,” announced the emcee. Jacky leaned forward, but Cindy was already deeply engrossed in another show, so she didn’t disturb her. Okay, trivia time. Another sip. Jacky began to feel a little bit drowsy, tired from their run form airport to airport all over the Pacific Northwest. The leg rests came forward a bit reclining her deeper, the plastic walls acting almost like a protective cocoon, safe from the noisy outside.
The game began. Another sip. Select your answers using the control buttons. Speak your responses aloud. The mic will pick them up. Relax, and have fun, ladies.
Odd, that was the second time someone had said, “Ladies,” and not “Ladies and gentlemen.” Who else? Oh, the captain. Something tickled Jacky’s brain cells. She leaned forward and looked around. Beyond Cindy sat a young women in her late twenties, ahead of her, just visible, moved the bobbed hairdo of another woman. Were there only ladies on the flight? That strange tickling subsided with another sip.
Jacky soon became aware of yet another oddity, a nice tropical scent permeating the cabin, much like Erin’s perfume. A nice touch, detectable yet not overwhelming. Perhaps the charter had come in from Hawaii? She breathed deeply, a smile crossingher face, loins earming with each little gasp. Another sip. The game began.
The questions began slowly, asking about her past. The computerized emcee explained that the passengers’ results would be tabulated and compared to create a custom trivia game for each of them. Questions about her family, education, pretty standard stuff biographical stuff. Another whiff of that wonderful island scent. Close friends and coworkers. The relaxing seat began lightly buzzing. Bank accounts. Medical histories. Vag tingling. Relationships. Sip. Drowsy. Sexual preferences.
Wait, what? Jacky stared at the question again. Sip. What business was that of their’s? “Are you straight or lesbian?” She shuddered, anger welling up. Sip. Anger built, anger at the airline for having the temerity to ask the question, and inwardly anger because Jacky really didn’t know. She liked sex with men, no doubt, but the idea of kissing a woman—Erin—fascinated her. Even as she raged, she barely noticed the soft outline of a woman’s face on the display, shadowed, barely there. Red lips.
“Are you straight or lesbian?”
Jacky clicked the “neither,” button.
“Are you bisexual?”
Yes.
The face smiled, filling Jacky with a warm contented feeling, warm suffused lights on holoscreen unwinding her further. The questions continued, an array of ever more private inquiries. Jacky still felt somehow wrong answering them, but that smiling face demanded it. She looked so happy, so much like Jacky deeply inside wanted to look. Like Erin.
More floral scents. Had a flight attendant just walked past? The footfalls of those high heels echoed down the aisle.
Someone in the distance was swearing. The game continued. Sip.
A series of pictures floated in midair. Who would she like to be? Create her own perfect body? The rotating translucent figure rotated, Jacky’s controls manipulating the image. Pull this here, push that there. Now, two images, two women. Strange words whispered into her ears. Where had those ear buds come from, she wondered? No matter, sip. Create the new you.
Breasts. Waist. Legs. Erin. Just like Erin. The floating image to the right slowly adopted Erin’s features, all plastic and calm, devoid of emotion. Utterly calm. Controlled. Yes, she dreamt of being under control, she realized, what she always desired. Sip. The voices said so.
The left hand image slowly receded from importance. Jacky had given her a bubble butt and massive breasts, just like the voices ordered. “Ultratits,” the display called them, jutting outwards at ninety degrees from the image’s chest, their wearer smiling that dumb, vapid slut look. She had created a slut, out of herself. The face seemed familiar. Her, yet not her. Sexed up, puffy lips, shaved pussy, a total sexpot.
“Fuck me, Master,” the whore panted in her ears.
Uninterested. Jacky simply didn’t respond. The display read her reactions, noting her lack of interest in the sextoy, and slowly faded it from view. The idealized Erin form, however, enlarged, gaining in prominence. Her face—yes, her again, but streamlined, perfected, smiling that near smile of contentedness, her featureless eyes portraying total serenity. Jacky fell into it, loving it, wanting to be it.
“This unit exists to serve,” ErinJacky stated. Jacky nodded in agreement, her vagina slowly warming, small sensors embedded within the cabin detecting those minuscule heat spikes, logging them. “These units exist to serve. Repeat,” the floating image ordered.
Jacky’s lips moved, her voice rough and noncommittal. Did she truly want this? Sip.
“These units exist to serve. Repeat.”
Her lips trembled. Yes? Did she? Want this? Her lips began moving, her vocal cords still tentative and tenuous, but her lips?
Then, screaming. Yelling. Not a crazy on the flight? Jacky leaned forward. The twentysomething woman was struggling with two flight attendants, a redhead and a chocolate skinned one she hadn’t seen before.
“This isn’t right! Let me off! Land this plane!”
The attendants tried to calm her, but to little avail. The woman loudly demanded to see the pilot. Other heads peaked up over their seats. Other flight attendants approached down the aisles, converging from front and rear, one angling diagonally across rows of seats.
“I’m not crazy,” the woman yelled. “Let go of me, bitch!”
The chocolate attendant grabbed her wrists, holding them tightly. Tight... Yes, she also looked oh so tight in that glorious uniform, butt swaying as they struggled. The redhead pinned one arm behind the woman’s back and pulled her forward, rack jiggling, walking her towards the front of the plane. Wow, she clearly knew how to handle herself. The four flight attendants marched the struggling passenger forward and through the bow bulkhead, the door closing behind.
“I trust everything is alright?” Erin asked. Where had she come from?
“Y-yes, fine. Um, what was wrong with that woman?”
“Just someone afraid of flying. It happens from time to time. Can I get you anything else, Miss?”
Jacky looked down to see a fresh drink. Talk about great service.
“No, no its all good,” she slurred.
“Perfect,” the woman replied. “I see you’re playing a game? Please continue. And then, take a nap.” Then, the words ringing forth from the ear buds and Erin’s glossy carmine lips, “You deserve it.” Other words, too, just out of earshot yet there, telling her things, truths, realities. Jacky’s nipples tingled in rhythm with her clit.
Her words shuddered Jacky. Yes, she did deserve this. The drinks, the fun, the hot babe talking to her. She deserved all of it. Then, something came to her mind. She had to remember something, but what?
“I have to pee.”
“Please stay in your seat and finish your game. We will instruct you when it is permissible. Do you understand?”
Jacky slowly nodded, Erin’s piercing deep blue eyes commanding her, overriding her biological needs. “We will reach cruising altitude shortly. We will instruct you then. Remain in your seat until then,” Erin ordered, reaching into Jacky’s lap and tightening the belt. Her hand, so near to Jacky’s own private areas, excited the woman.
Then, a kiss. Erin planted a soft, soothing kiss atop Jacky’s forehead.
“Remain in your seat. It is important to me. Do you understand?”
Jacky nodded, staring lovingly at the beatific face, the voices rising to a near crescendo. “Obey.” Then, the woman turned and jounced down the aisle, her walk suddenly transformed into a supermodel’s catwalk strut. Jacky drooled at the sight, even more turned on as Erin’s butt performed flawlessly.
Play the game.
Who had spoken? Oh, no one. Sip. Jacky went back to the game. That question again. More choices. She selected, “Bi,” surrendering to her innate curiosity and wondering what cuddling with her roommate would feel like, her normally quite uninhibited roommate. She’d wondered before. Or Erin. Or the dark skinned one. Or Lana.
“Are you currently in a sexual relationship?”
No.
“Are you in any type of a relationship?”
No.
“Did you tell anyone that you were aboard this flight?”
No.
“Do you moan or scream?
Both. Wait, what? Again, that tickling at the back of her skull, that tiny sense of wrongness. But then, she did scream and moan with Willy, hadn’t she? Sip. Silly question.
The flight hit another patch of turbulence, rocking her forward. Jacky leaned up and out to ask Cindy something or other, she couldn’t remember what; asleep, totally zonked. Well, no wonder with all of that booze in her. Dummy. Then, there. The screaming woman entered Jacky’s view. She walked robotically, the redhead guiding her back to her seat, right hand atop her right shoulder, left hand around her waist, directing her. The passenger turned around, entering the little cubicle, the color blue somehow important just outside of Jacky’s reach. The redhead adjusted her stance and slowly pushed her down, all without a single word of complaint, cinching the seatbelt apparently quite tightly from the way she drew the belt’s tongue through the clasps. The passenger said nothing, only a soft moan escaping her. The redhead continued leaning over, doing something or somethings, Jacky couldn’t tell. She straightened and stared over at Jacky, somehow aware of her gaze. The attendant quickly pulled the curtain, blocking Jacky’s view, however, the curtain continued to move, evidence of some action or another continuing.
Something odd. The woman, she had changed. What was it? Jacky couldn’t quite put her finger on it, her very tired, drunk finger. Her expression, her walk, all different. She sat back, playing the trivia game again. Sip. More questions, more answers.
Yes, I do like sex.
No, I’ve never pole danced.
Yes, I’m the more submissive one in a relationship.
Yes, I’m curious about what it would be like.
Yes, dolls are prettier than sluts.
I need to pee.
That realization finally spurred her up. A moistness in her panties couldn’t be anything else. Damn. Jacky slowly moved her hand to the belt buckle. It stopped. She needed to unclasp it, but her hand wouldn’t obey. It shivered there, try as she might. Sip. Really weird. Try as she might, Jacky simply couldn’t—Cindy. Maybe she could help?
Jacky paused the game, much to the phantom woman’s displeasure, her vague visage frowning. The seat came up to its normal height, Jacky still struggling with the belt. Finally, after a superhuman effort, her left hand slid past the buckle, freeing her with a snap. The brunette staggered to her feet, unsteady and wavering. Cindy? Not there, her seat empty, the pile of empties long gone, but her pumps sitting there silently, all alone.
Probably at the lav, she thought, just like her to ignore the seatbelt sign. But, her shoes? Who would want to stand in a lav, even a first class one, in bare feet? Eww.
Whatever, Jacky stumbled forward, the little bumps making forward progress difficult. There, a few rows up, were the lavs and galley sitting against the bulkhead leading to the cockpit and crew areas. Strangely, no passengers occupied the seats on that side of the aircraft between rows 15 and the bulkhead. Hadn’t there been people there before? A drunken glance to the right showed other occupied seats all with their curtains drawn, just like the unruly passenger. A few looked to have been recently occupied, with personal effects still strewn about.
The toilet. She fell inside, barely catching herself and more landing than sitting on the throne. Urine ran unbidden, a large flow of scenty, floral urine, just like the aroma in the main cabin. This somewhat piqued Jacky’s slowed curiosity.
The toilet. Right, her insistent bladder reminded her. Keep peeing. The rush of fluids continued, for what, thirty seconds? Sixty? Telling time became hard. Finally, the relief that only a woman with a formerly full bladder can understand. Jacky wiped herself tentatively, surprised by her suddenly sensitive clitoris and private regions. It felt good, very good, so she wiped herself again, and again. Ooh, yes. More tissue. This thorough cleaning might have continued for hours had a loud click and knock not penetrated within the small lav, grudgingly bringing Jacky back to reality. Pulling up her pants after repositioning her panties, Jacky unlooked the door and stepped outside...
...Just catching a glimpse of another blue-uniformed attendant escorting another female passenger down the right side aisle, hand atop her shoulder, the other around her waist, like a parent directing a small child. They vanished behind the galley and lav on the other side of the cabin, presumably walking back to the woman’s seat. The woman, had she changed? Jacky caught the most fleeting glance of shiny light blue clothing where whatever she’d been wearing before had been. Where had they come from? Oh, the bulkhead door. Open. The doorway to the crew’s area. Maybe Cindy was there. Maybe Erin, too. The image of the creamy-skinned woman kissing her sent little tremors through the brunette’s charged up body. Her legs stumbled onwards.
The door, left just ajar. Another bump. Jacky grabbed the door frame for support, the door swinging wildly, fortunately not slamming shut on her knuckles. “Cindy?” No answer. Jacky peaked inside.
The sight shocked even her addled, drugged mind. Three women sat in what looked like make up or dentist’s chairs, flight attendants fussing over them, doing something to their heads and necks. Each passenger wore a superbly tight shimmery blue low scooped leotard of sorts, but that’s where it ended. These weren’t dancers’ leotards, but more like a fetish outfit, breasts jutting from holes in the chests, the built-up area underneath clearly offering mammary support like a bustier with the crotch area appearing open to the air, potentially supplying a pervy voyeur with quite a show. Their breasts were all quite shiny as if rubbed with baby oil, proud and engorged, like those of nursing new mothers, nipples erect. The redhead helped a standing out of shape woman in her forties into her own blue tights, steadying her, one leg here, then the other, turning her as needed. The outfit covered her pudgy butt cheeks though not her crotch area anywhere, front or back. Wherever it touched, it seemed to just anchor down, adhering to her flesh like spray paint on a wall. Small darker numbers adorned the suit above the woman’s left breast. Jacky tried to perceive more, but her blurry, drugged vision prevented it.
A strange woman emerged from someplace Jacky’s near-stoned brain didn’t process, approaching the first chair. Dressed all in skintight red and white rubber and standing atop six inch stilettos with shiny ivory hose, she made for quite a sight, red crosses featured on her shoulders and chest. Something else caught Jacky’s attention—her eyes, or lack thereof. All white, no pupils not irises, just endless whiteness. No, not quite, she realized, the color fading from whitish pink to whitish purple as the light hit them. A doll? Were they all dolls? Disjointed memories of the holowoman ached into view.
The newcomer produced a strange device from somewhere unseen, placing it at the rear of a young woman’s skull, right where the head met the neck. She gasped, eyes alight with fright, yet made no attempt to escape. Their eyes met in recognition, her lips mouthing words—Help me... Could she? Another bump, and Jacky nearly lost her footing. She looked up. The pleading woman now sat there, eyes closed yet clearly coursing back and forth in some parody of REM sleep, her chin nodding up and down quickly, lips forming silent unspoken words, then slowing down, slower, slower, done. Her face lost all expression. Open eyes stared straight ahead. She just sat there. A statue. A puppet. A doll?
The red and white “woman” played with the grey collar-like device, open at the front like a stunted yet thickened horseshoe, the woman remaining motionless, uncomplaining. A look to the left showed the redhead taking tissue and blood samples from the older woman, scraping skin cells from any number of points and placing them within small plastic boxes, which she then inserted within a blinking medical lab looking machine.
Cindy. Right, think of Cindy. Where?
Another peak through the door jam betrayed her fear. Her friend sat in the second chair, the chocolate attendant standing behind working on her neck and head, already clad in shiny powder-puff blue, her impressive rosy breasts poking through the cut outs, nipples clearly erect and stimulated. Her eyes—dead. No emotion, no recognition, nothing. Was it already too late?
Momentarily, Jacky noticed that she wore one of those things around her neck, an utterly blank expression dominating her face. Jacky waved at her through the door jam. Nothing. Her legs spread wide open on the leg rests, revealing a tube or something trailing from her feminine regions, long and black and glistening with moisture. The red and white clad doll approached with a long metallic probe, like the metal dildo the roommates had sometimes shared and played with, only significantly longer. Kneeling in front of the drugged woman, the doll positioned the lip of the probe at the entrance of the tube and pushed, slowly yet forcefully, forcing the black tube deep inside the little blonde. Jacky gasped—it appeared so huge and painful, yet Cindy moved not one iota. She simply lay there, allowing the artificial woman to violate her. How far inside? Four inches, six, ten? Jacky couldn’t tell in her own drugged state but it looked horrid.
The woman in the third seats stood up, appearing tall atop some impractical heels, another flight attendant Jacky hadn’t yet seen escorting her, all Nordic and every bit the emotionless ice princess blonde. She too featured the strange device at the base of her skull, small diodes blinking green and blue, her face demonstrating zero emotion, her body an automaton. The blonde grasped her charge, directing her up and out. The woman staggered for a moment, heels catching in the carpet, but quickly recovering with the blonde’s help.
Jacky panicked. What if they found her? She had to hide, but where? The lavatory? Surely, they’d search there! Where?
Time ran out. The duo walked through the bulkhead door, eyes front. Jacky, positioned to the side, wound up just behind the door, the stoic flight attendant taking absolutely no notice of her as the pair walked past, Jacky just out of their peripheral vision. Safe, but for how long?
Some noise distracted Jacky. She stepped back from the door, not noticing the redhead staring in her general direction. She looked upward as if speaking to someone, yet no words left her lips. In the center of the plane, Erin suddenly stirred, prancing forward atop those blue leather heels. Jacky saw her coming.
Spinning to the right, she hid next to the galley. Erin inspected Jacky’s little cubicle. Empty. Logic flowed. Situation analyzed. She hadn’t passed her, therefore... She spun forward, boobs swaying hypnotically, requiring all of Jacky’s will to look away, both from them and Erin’s suddenly all white eyes. As Erin reached the galley, Jacky moved down the aisle, temporarily blocked from view. To where? Movement in the far distance meant another flight attendant and certain discovery. That meant—yes, there. She ran a few rows down and ducked past a drawn curtain: the angry woman. Her cubicle. Jacky barely glanced at her. Even then, there remained very little room, so Jacky straddled the woman’s legs, attempting to reach the far wall and slide down beneath, in between her legs and the cabin wall. It required some doing, but yes, finally! A blue Quantum Air blanket sat next to the woman atop the little desk area. Jacky grabbed it and draped it over herself, trying desperately to hide herself from view.
Heels. Erin? Someone passed by, undoubtedly intent on discovering her hiding place. Jacky remained utterly still. The miles flew past, little bouts of turbulence hopefully indicating their progress towards Miami, towards home. They were heading home, weren’t they? Summoning some courage, Jacky peeked out from beneath the blanket, realizing why getting over and around the woman had been so difficult.
Wires trailed from the ceiling to her breasts, where black rubbery cups slowly squeezed in and out, massaging her smallish cups as they poked from the leotard. A musky smell betrayed something else. Looking down, Jacky saw the reclining woman’s mons and clit, her legs splayed wide, a wide rod rising from beneath her seat pumping powerfully in and out of a black tube recessed within her sodden pussy, its silvery metallic surface covered with a mixture of girl juices and machine lubricant. The woman, a not unattractive gal in her twenties moaned softly, her privates clenching the metallic implement with each air pocket. Worse, a large white helmet almost completely covered her head, wide and heavily padded, a barely translucent visor covering her eyes. Through it, Jacky could barely make out a look of absolute contentment mixed with ecstasy, not dissimilar to the one adorning Erin’s face at take off. She responded to the machine methodically fucking her, her body soaking from a combination of perspiration and oil. Jacky dully realized that the lubricating oil probably helped to attire the drugged women in those tights. Its musky scent betrayed another purpose, the machine dildo releasing more of the same with each thrust, ensuring a nice, slick and smooth penetration cycle.
More heels. Jacky covered up again, praying for concealment. The heels stopped. So did Jacky’s breathing. The curtain opened. Beneath the woman’s legs, Jacky remained totally blind to the proceedings just a few inches above. However, she could hear the woman’s gasps, her moans, her pants of sexual need. It sounded like little clicks, probably the attendants adjusting her restraints or altering the infernal breast cups.
“Yes, yes!” The crying became more insistent, the phallus probing deeper, enlarging slightly to test out the woman’s vagina.
“Fuck me,” she moaned, “Oh God, I need fucking!”
The muffled voice of Lana perhaps, filtered through the blanket. The woman responded.
“I need fucking! This slut needs fucking! Fuck me! Fuck me!”
Slut? What the Hell?
“Initiate Process Delta Six,” the voice stated.
“Confirmed,” answered another unmodulated female voice. Instantly, the woman calmed, the probe now joined by an unseen anal phallus rising from within the seat which continued their work in unison. “Telemetry is nominal,” Then, “The recruit will be trained and assessed.”
The curtain pulled closed again, Jacky again escaping detection. Wow, that was close! A look upwards—the breast cups pulsed, kneading and massaging her A cups, rubbery coils snaking to the overhead. The passenger moaned again, insistently, clearly in need just on the edge of orgasm, yet not quite allowed to partake.
“I’m a slut, I’m a slut, I’m a slut,” she repeated, “fuck this slut, fuck this slut, fuck this slut, please master! Fuck your worthless slut!”
Jacky shivered at the mantras the prisoner uttered. What were they doing, creating a slut from this poor woman? Jacky thought of the bubble butts, the massive tits, the stupid grins that all sluts possessed, wondering just how this poor woman would be twisted into that norm. She also shivered at how seductive it had all been, how she so wanted to become another Erin. A doll? Her?
“Yes, master, yes! Make me beg! All Free women should be sluts!”
How long Jacky huddled there she wasn’t sure. It couldn’t have been long, maybe an hour, perhaps less, until the longing welled up. The aromas from the woman’s pussy became nearly overwhelming, their juices mingling in the air. Hunger pangs stabbed at Jacky. She hadn’t eaten before boarding the flight, and... Her head moved up, staring at the woman’s pussy, the rod pumping out aphrodisiacs that turned the captive passenger on, and Jacky, too, as their scents infiltrated her senses. It wouldn’t hurt, couldn’t, would it? No, it wouldn’t, the barely audible voices informed her. Not at all. Jacky jerked upright, aware of them. The loudspeakers? The escapee’s clearing mind recognized the attempt at suggestion, at resubmerging her in calm and obedience. Still, the woman’s sweet juices were so close, and she was so hungry...
A tentative finger. The woman gasped. Her digit now dripping with white warmth, Jacky placed it to her lips. Was this right, proper, even moral? Did it matter? The hunger overwhelmed her. Yes, sugary sweet and salty all at the same time. Nirvana. Another finger, more lust. The woman gasped at the slightest touch, clearly enjoying, even savoring the smallest caresses. Finally, Jacky couldn’t resist. She leaned up and forward, burying her face in the captive’s crotch above the phallic probe. Even with the rod pumping here and there, she could still lick up a lion’s share of joy juice. The aphrodisiacs meant for the strapped down woman now entered Jacky in significant quantities, activating her own erogenous responses. She idly wondered what it felt like to be so controlled, so dominated, with a power dildo rammed up her holes. The woman didn’t seem to mind. Would she?
She remembered—something. Oh yeah, the phone. Jacky fumbled for it in her back pocket, her hand quivering and shaking. Did she really want to call out, call the authorities? The woman’s fluids tasted so wonderful. Jacky considered how glorious it would feel were their positions reversed, an obscenely large dildo reaming her out, her body oiled and lubed, tits all a flutter. A thumb swiped over the security passer, the display coming up, the confused passenger barely realizing her actions. She reluctantly activated a menu, then a submenu, trying desperately to retain control so near to the bound woman’s tastiness, so close to nirvana.
“You have reached Federal OnCall. What is your emergency?”
Jacky placed the phone closer to her face, covering with the blanket again to muffle her voice.
“What is your emergency,” the tinny voice demanded.
“I’m, I’m on a plane and I’m being kidnaped. You have to help me!”
“One moment please.”
“No, no don’t go, please,” Jacky gasped, unwilling to let her lifeline go.
“Stand by.”
Jacky breathed fast and hard, emotions running high. There might still be a chance to save Cindy!
“What flight are you on?”
“Um, I’m not sure. I don’t have my ticket on me. It’s a Quantum Air plane, a charter.”
“Stand by.”
“They’re doing things to the women on board! Weird things! You have to hurry!”
“Okay,” a new voice interrupted, “I’m Agent Jackson. I need you to do something for me. We’ve been monitoring a potential situation like the one you’ve described for some time. You’re the first person to ever get through and report. I need you to get to the remote locator to confirm your position. Can you do that?”
“What, what’s that?”
“Okay,” the male voice replied, “if a place goes down in the water, there are locator beacons to tell rescuers where the rafts are. Quantum Air has hundreds of flights in the air, so we need to know which one is your’s.”
“What do I have to do?”
“Okay, at either end of the plane by the main cabin doors there is a deployable life raft, several, in fact. All you need to do is pull the red cord on the panel. It should be partially sticking out, You pull it, it activates the beeper. Got it?”
“Then what?”
A pause. “Well, it has to land sometime.”
Okay, that made sense.
“Attention Passenger Jaclyn Morton. Please return to your seat.” It sounded like Erin over the PA system. The thought of her milky boobs shot up Jacky’s pulse, but not, she would remain. Another lick, another swallow of the sweetest cognac.
“Attention Passenger Jaclyn Morton. You are ordered to return to your seat.” More scents assaulted Jacky’s nostrils, that floral island breeze again, lowering her inhibitions. Her brain began fogging over.
“Obey.”
Jacky sat up, crawling over the woman before reason reasserted control. She had wanted to obey, to do precisely what the now clearly artificial woman commanded. Did she still?
“Jacky?” Cindy? “Jacky, please come back to your seat! I miss you! I’m worried about you!” The voice sounded so normal, so like Cindy with her little girl pout. Was it really her, though, or another toy like the female Jacky would love to eat out.
More aromas.
“Jacky, I want to love you. Return to your seat so we can become lovers.” Jacky nearly came right there, her pussy quivering at the thought for it now seemed to almost possess a mind of its own, all warm and wet, trembling nearly in unison with the rods now hammering the moaning female at a faster pace.
“Fuckmefuckmefuckmefuckeme,” she mumbled, back arching against the straps as another near orgasm rolled through her sexed up body, the breast cups squeezing harder, the rod plunging deeper.
What would that feel like? Would it feel as good as it looks? Jacky felt herself weakening, rubbing her own tits as time with the darkly sinister breast cups, wondering how that felt. The woman certainly enjoyed it, her tits in the midst of a nonstop fondle.
The beacon. Remember the beacon.
“Jacky, please return to your seat. You can look just like me, Jacky, I promise.” Erin again, with a more seductive offer. Her tight ass, tight legs, tight rack, gorgeously made up face... That nearly did it, Jacky almost crawling underneath the curtain right then and there. Only a dribble of cum halted her, the need for that salty secretion overriding all else. Yes, lap it up. However, other things began intruding.
Heels clattered past, doll heels, she was sure. They were too robotic, too emotionless; they must be dolls her barely cognizant mind realized. There would be no reasoning with them. They would capture her and do—things to her.
What would I look like as a doll?
The thought surprised her. Oh, not the thought itself, but the fact that she warmed up at the thought, quite curious, memories of the holo game returning, of ErinJacky. Would she totter atop stilettos like Erin? Would her ass be oh-so luscious, her boobs without flaws? The pics and vids she’d seen of pleasuredolls showed utterly servile synthetic humans, if that description even fit. They’d seemed so content, but then again, they were programmed that way. Like machines. Like totally obedient machines. Without fears. Without worries. Without cares. No rent, no taxes, no messy breakups, just obedience and service. Always service.
Another slurp, another grunt from the shackled woman.
Would what dolly sex feel like? Do I really want to activate the beacon?
Good questions. They acted like they felt sex, their bodies radically modified to put out, but did they? Or, was it all a programmed act?
Slurp. More joy juice.
What would being fucked by dolly Erin feel like?
Outfuckingstanding, Jacky was sure. She knew that pleasuredolls were trained and programmed as the perfect sextoy, and Erin certainly had that look. They all did. Jacky wasn’t into blacks, but that chocolate one turned her on, and the image of the redhead doll between her legs roiled through her consciousness.
Do I want to become a doll? What if she’s lying? Do dolls lie?
Either way, she had two choices, remain here or flee. They would eventually find her when the plane landed and the captive was removed to whatever fate awaited her, but there were just so many places to hide on an airplane. With one last lick of captive cum, Jacky slithered underneath the leg rest, the woman’s glistening legs, and under the curtain—just as the redhead strutted past, so close that Jacky felt the displaced air.
“Are you moving?”
Jacky pushed the phone closer to her head to muffle the sound further, “Yes, trying.” Was she? Apparently, since she crawled towards the front of the plane, to the sinister bulkhead area where her friend was—changed, where the locator was. Each crawl felt like a thousand pounds weighing on her, hands leaden.
“Keep moving. Get to the remote locator, it’s the only way!” Agent Jackson sounded young, maybe twenties? Probably right out of college. He sounded handsome. Maybe he’ll fuck me when we’re done, Jacky pondered, her pussy warming to the thought, the drugs still affecting her thought processes.
Heels. Jacky snuck into a row, attempting to melt into a seat back as a pair of flight attendants minced past. Their feet receded into the distance towards the back of the plane. Good, fewer up front.
“Get going! You have to get there, Jacky!”
“I’m trying,” she hissed into the phone, crawling and then rising onto her haunches and approaching the galley front. What faced her around the corner? The main cabin doors were on either side of the plane, so go for the starboard side one, the right hand one, just like Jackson said. Her wobbly legs surged forward, one last attempt, one final lunge for freedom!
Straight into Lana. The pair collided as Jacky turned the corner, the synthetic, her eyes now faceless whites, burning into the fugitive. She spoke into the PA handset, her voice now oddly articulated, all becoming clear.
“The recruit will accompany this unit,” she stated in Agent Jackson’s manly voice. “Your report had not been logged and no action will be taken. Thank you for calling Federal OnCall,” she finished, hanging up robotically, emotionlessly, efficiently. No!
Jacky stood up staggering backwards, eyeing the doll, backing up, the doll slowly following until—bounce! Jacky turned around. Erin, with Cindy in tow, that strange device about her neck, lights flashing green and blue, with the occasional orange, her hands and arms clearly directing her (former?) friend.
“The recruit will accompany these units,” Erin stated, like her comrade without any feelings whatsoever.
“I, I mean, no, what are you?” The words gurgled from her lips, fear on Jacky’s face, her head looking this way and that vainly attempting to locate an escape route. The chocolate and Nordic dolls stood in the far aisle near the friends’ seats, slowly edging nearer.
Erin released Cindy into the care of a shorter Asian stewardessdoll, stepping forward. “You have been selected for possible personnel acquisition. You will be assessed.” Then, leaning forward, “It is a wonderful existence, Jaclyn,” she cooed in her best faux-caring voice, a preprogrammed script meant to reduce a target’s suspicions, cupping her breasts beneath the blue Quantum Air jacket. “You cannot imagine, my love.”
“Join us, Jacky,” Cindy smiled, her eyes suddenly alight and actually lifelike. “Join us,” the other stewardessdolls proffered. A deep whiff of tropical scent nearly fell the fugitive, such was its power. No, she had to maintain her composure, remain herself.
Hands ran across her shoulders, Erin’s perfect hands, nails all glossy red, an inhuman impossible red. Another hand wrapped about her waist: “This way, my love.” Jacky hadn’t even felt the small needle prick, hadn’t seen the small syringe in her best friend’s hand, but all doubts immediately evaporated. All simply seemed well, as it should be. These women were her friends, they told her, and she so wanted to obey and please her best friends. Erin guided her charge forward, towards the bulkhead door. “Do not resist, you will serve, like me.” That thought excited the drugged woman, rivulets of cum staining her inner thighs. Serving. On her knees? Jacky lubed up at the thought.
The dolls stood Jacky up in a small circle, slowly stripping her, clothes vanishing down a trash receptacle, no longer required. “Bye bye,” she grinned as they disappeared, the drugs making her childlike yet controllable. Erin spread her legs, inspecting what lay within, while other angelic hands massaged a sweet scented oil into the captive’s skin, triggering soft pants and moans as they deposited the drug laced liquid around and about her more sensitive areas. Satisfied, Erin she produced a blue shimmery garment, Lana helping to dress their former prey. On it went, ultra tight yet stretchy, tight where Jacky’s tits jutted out. She stared dully down. Yes, nipples erect just like Cindy. Lucky Cindy, always getting turned on and fucked so easily. A warm gel massaged into the breast flesh stiffened her nipples, globes enlarging as blood rushed within.
A doll shaved away Jacky’s neck and pubic hair, why she couldn’t fathom and cared even less. What mattered were the little circles Erin’s finger traced about her excited boobs.
“The recruit is experiencing Stage One sexual excitement through basic tactile contact,” Lana stated.
“Logged,” answered the redhead from somewhere.
“Ow,” Jacky pouted, feeling the little flesh scrapes. “Quiet, recruit” Erin ordered, so she obeyed. It felt so good to obey, to do whatever perfect Erin ordered, the drugs interfering with many of her brain’s flight or fight processes. A small box or something placed against her temple buzzed, further tamping down her grey matter. “Aces,” she mouthed, yet no sounds emerged.
Someone stuck some syringes or something, Jacky couldn’t tell, up her vagina and anus, sampling the tissues and fluids there. All done, the dolls placed the various samples into a lab machine of some form against the far cabin wall, which took all of three minutes to completely sequence Jacky’s DNA and compare it against a wide range of products.
Matched. Two potentialities emerged. More testing required.
They sat Jacky down into one of the beauty chairs, uncomfortable to be sure, strapping her arms and legs down. A headrest emerged from behind, the back of Jacky’s head resting against it.
“Remain still, recruit.”
Jacky tried to mouth her assent, but nothing happened, the drugs now seriously affecting her ability to move. Fear welled up within as reality temporarily intruded. Was this really happening? Were they really going to doll her?
She felt Erin place something at the back of her skull, another familiar horseshoe shaped device not unlike those neck supporters frequent flyers wore to combat fatigue. Clicks and whirs indicated the device had attached to some mount or another. Erin pushed it forward until it just touched her flesh. Memories of the other woman in the chair, the very same chair she now sat in, coursed up. What was her name? Cindy something? Cindy who?
Wait! No! I don’t want this! Erin, no!
Too late.
The device snicked up snugly against the base of her skull, a small drill puncturing the skin there and digging all the way through to her spinal column. Jacky didn’t feel any pain, but the vibrations were terrible enough! She could only imagine what the demented device was doing!
Erin pressed some controls on a nearby computer, calling out positive telemetry results, whatever that meant. Then, it happened. The drill shot a thing, a something, literally onto her spinal cord. The little chip wrapped around the cord, eventually fusing with it. Jacky felt it move, slithering inside. Her eyes rolled back in their sockets, rolling around, teeth chattering, head nodding furiously.
The pain, the agony! Then, voices. No, not voices, but someone. Numbers, maybe, or threads, strands of language?
Wiggle your right big toe. Open your mouth. Close your mouth. Take a deep breathe. Clench your vaginal muscles. Jiggle your right breast. The list went on, and all with blazing speed, her body quivering as it attempted to comply. Slowly, the chip learned her neural net, deconstruction Jacky’s internal nervous language.
Attempt to escape.
The command went form the chip to her brain, journeying up her spinal cord. Jacky’s brain resent it, commands to her muscles to move but—the chip intercepted them.
Lubricate your vagina.
Again, the command went up, and bounced back. Stopped cold, Jacky mentally tried to lube up, needing to cum. No. Halted. Dead in her tracks, vagina listless.
Then, the chip sent its own command to her vagina. A gush of warm fluids flowed outwards, more Jacky juice blotting her thighs. The process continued: test pleasure centers, test pain centers, and on and on. To Jacky, the process seemed to take hours, but in reality it required mere minutes for the computers to assume control, overriding her own will.
Erin sopped up the warm fluids, Jacky not responding a bit, the chip not allowing her to. Finally, her eyes fluttered open.
“Recruit, identify”
“Passenger Fifteen B, Quantum Air recruit,” she answered flatly, wondering where the answer came from.
The chair rotated backwards, legs splaying further. Clinically, Jacky realized the next step. The red and white clad doll inserted something up her vagina, then her anus. The long silver rod came next. Surprisingly, there was little pain, more a serious, unyielding pressure until the doll had forced the tubes as far within the prisoner as possible. The probe then sparked a small electrical charge, bonding the tubes temporarily to Jacky’s inner walls.
“Telemetry wraps installed,” the doll announced.
“The recruit is released. The recruit will be assessed.”
“The recruit complies,” Jacky replied. She could do no other.
The restraints were loosened, Erin helping Jacky up. She placed the mind controlled woman atop five inch pumps, a small clasp locking them in place, dainty feminine feet hostage within. They were totally unnecessary and quite impractical, but they aided if a recruit “woke up,” and regained her will power, as sometimes rarely happened—locked inside those unlockable shoes and drugged, she wasn’t going anywhere fast.
They walked down the aisle, past the lav and galley, Jacky hobbling with the tubes inserted up her privates. Cindy moaned within her curtained enclosure, little gasps of passion as her own personal ramrod reamed her out. Lucky, her friend mutely thought. Lana adjusted Jacky’s cubicle, opening several compartments from above and below. Deposited within the seat, the chip mandated that Jacky help the dolls restrain her, helping to position her arms, legs and head just so, small rubbery wraps pulling her down. Erin worked the seat, extending and reclining it further, splaying Jack’s legs apart. She knew precisely what was coming. With a gearing sound, a dark intruder arose from the central pillar, its head pointing just beneath Jacky’s now highly sensitive clitoris. More whirrings betrayed another arising from beneath the seat.
While Erin performed her duties, Lana pulled the now familiar breast cups from the overhead where the emergency oxygen masks would normally reside, their black cords coiled yet taut. Placing one on the engorged left breast, Jacky felt it suction down, completely covering her milk producing gland. A small needle pushed into the very center of the nipple, a tiny electrode meant to supply extra pleasurable sensations. Jacky felt no pain, the chip mercifully intercepting any pain before reaching her brain’s pain centers. The right breast received an identical treatment, Jacky suddenly proud of her puffier boobs, the rubbery cups already squeezing and suctioning and showing them off nicely, a stupid smile crossing her face.
She observed clinically as the two automatons conducted themselves, no wasted energy, no doubts. They’d all done this before, many times, she realized. How many other women had been captured this way? The thought drifted through her mind as the white helmet slipped over and around her head, locking into place with the grey neck controller. Instantly, a series of numbers, words and patterns displayed. Jacky could understand none of it, but the controller could, the chip correlating it with Jacky’s previous sexual experiences.
A tit, a big one. Part of her brain flared. An orgasm. Another part, the chip and controller identifying them all, bit by but, piece by piece. A more detailed map of her brain would be compiled later at their final destination, but this would suffice to determine her basic grey matter to mental composition and begin Entry Level Processing. More tits. More pussies. Clits. Sex. Nipples. Lesbo sex. Straight sex. Licking. Being licked. Hard core porn. Blow jobs. Sucking. Swallowing. Lingerie. Nude. Sexy looks. Make up. Flirting. Kissing. Deep kissing. More orgasms. Fucktoy, Slave. Slave bitch. Whore. Pro. Property. Unit. Chattel. Slut or doll. Doll or slut. On and on and on. She barely felt the phallus push itself inside, the chip ordering her to cum aiding the rod’s penetration. The metal felt cold, inhuman. However, Jacky dimly realized, that rod was about to fuck her senseless, just like that other woman, just like Cindy and everyone else on the plane. Every other female human, that is.
The show began. Her, on her knees, fucking, sucking, gasping, swallowing. The star of the show continued whispering herself into slavery, begging to be used, fucked, to be made to obey, Jacky’s own voice now repeating the mantras, the chip triggering small near-orgasms with each repetition, rewarding her, trading pleasure for slavery, promising rapture for servitude. The movie ran on an endless loop within her head, the breast cups and probes working the new captive’s body. Truth be told, it was the best fucking Jacky had ever received, and she wouldn’t remember any of it.
Two hours later, the huge plane finally circled in for landing, the bright desert sun scorching the sands as it always had for millions of years. After touching down, the big Boeing taxied over to the company’s maintenance area, where all of the heavy maintenance on Quantum Air’s fleet occurred. A single massive hangar awaited, huge, it had to be to accept the plane. The ground crew directed the plane inside, the engines shut down, and the hangar doors closed.
“Just a routine test flight?” the maintenance boss asked the dispatch agent, his coverall grimy with oil after another long shift rebuilding these damned new birds and their troublesome systems. How he longed or a simple old MD-90, like the ones he trained on at mech school decades and decades ago. Now those were bulletproof planes.
“Looks that way, chief. They had some pressurization problems, so they flew her around the country a few times. Everything looks okay, but I am sorry for the charter we lost. That’s a pretty penny, plus a bunch of pissed off customers we’ll probably never see again.”
“They’ll be back,” the grizzled mechanic replied. He’d been around since the early days of Quantum, before the mergers and buyouts transformed it into a transportation conglomerate unto itself. “All it’ll take is the right price and a sales pitch they can’t refuse.”
“You don’t know how right you are,” the agent knowingly smirked. “Anyway, the tech folks from the factory are going to do some crack and fracture tests, so you can have her in the morning. This pressure issue has happened twice in the past month and it has corporate spooked. Between you and me, I think they want to keep it well under wraps.”
“Gotcha,” the older man spit, “I’ll send my boys home ’til tomorrow. Just make sure the gripes are logged so we can get to it quickly. Last time, it seemed like they tore half the plane apart before giving her to us, including th interior! My boys weren’t happy about the extra work, even if it was overtime,” he spat.
The agent nodded his approval before walking into the hangar, security suddenly incredibly visible within the cavernous hangar, all windows suddenly tinting and all doors locking. A procession of medicos emerged from somewhere, human doctors and synthetic nursedolls replete with their uber tight red and white latex uniforms, red crosses denoting their functions. He never could quite get used to seeing them, looking like escapees from a fetish convention, but they conformed to the laws on dolls, their attire meant to absolutely indicate their, well, their “dollness.”
A large and wide jet way sans windows about thrice the normal size snaked to the plane from the far wall, thumping against the planes skin. Inside, the cabin crew opened the hatchway, a stunning stewardessdoll greeting an executive and a doctor with appropriate deference.
“Good work, Erin, Lana, and all of you,” he complimented them, his eyes roving over their now skintight latex blue uniforms, their every curve on display. As designed. Just like a doll should be.
“Thank you, Sir,” they replied as one, white eyes glowing.
“Preliminary typing is all done. Let’s get them moved out.”
The blue suited former passengers lined up, a stewardessdoll escorting each off of the plane and into the waiting custody of a nursedoll, their alabaster faces betraying zero emotion. A human doctor stared at the cargo, a woman actually, older, perhaps in her fifties, checking them off of her list. There sexual responses, game results, tests, everything had told their captors precisely what their best purposes were. They could remake anyone into just about anything, but every fresh recruit’s genotype was best suited for certain conversions, their genes more easily malleable into one product over another. Their minds also helped, their mental preferences and beliefs used to reinforce conditioning and programming, their very selves used against them.
“This one, Line One.” an older woman destined for slutdom, the genotherapy capable of erasing decades from one’s life. The assessments had indicated a far better chance of a successful slut conversion than doll, so a future as a fuckslut awaited. Transformed into a vapid buxom whore, she would become untraceable.
“Line One.” A teenager, slender as an aspen tree, maybe eighteen or nineteen and all innocent and pure, destined to spend her life on her back. Then again, it wasn’t her life anymore. The girl drifted into line without complaint, a thin line of spittle pooling form the corner of her lips, her first taste of absolute obedience.
“Line Three.” Dolldom. A nondescript woman wearing her hair in a bun perhaps in her mid-thirties, the protein vats, gene washes and invasive surgeries would create a synthetic person, a living machine to do the company’s bidding. Pleasuredoll, stewardessdoll, nursedoll, techdoll, the list went on and on. The older woman grinned an evil grin at the thought. “Lots of money in that one, I’m sure,” she cackled.
“Line Two,” the angry woman, Suitably reconstructed, processed and trained, the former middle manager would become a valued member of Quantum Air’s office cadre, her skills never going to waste. And, she would become skilled, very skilled, in a number of very specific talents.
“Line One. Cute one, isn’t she?” Cindy marched into line with the other future sluts, open pussy inviting and wet, her blue tights stained with perspiration from the sustained machine fucking. Her endurance had proven beyond doubt that slutdom was her best purpose, although her DNA typing indicated a good probability of a successful doll conversion. No matter, custom sluts paid the bills, and Quantum Air made bank supplying them to the wealthy and the slut factories as basically transformed blanks ready for customization. It was truly amazing how easy it was to disappear a young woman, only to have a freshly minted slut pop up a year or so later, and no one the wiser. Just a few paperwork changes here, a manifest alteration there. It helped that Quantum owned many hotels, cabs, buses, and the rest, making it all too easy to “lose” someone.
A nursedoll walked a stunning young teen, every bit looking straight from the prom, forward to her future. Atop those wicked heels, she already seemed primed for a future as a sex toy or a custom bride or some other function. The doctor drooled at the pert girl, her toned body obviously the result of hour after hour of intense personal training, her near-porn star figure totally natural. The things we could do to you, the good doctor mused.
“Line Four.” Catch and release. Despite her off of the chart sexual performance numbers, the girl would be released back into the wild, as they called it. Someday, she might make a very pricy slut, but for now there were simply too many loose ends, too many friends and family members awaiting her return. A low level reformat and a few implanted memories and the girl would be returned to her life. For now. Her numbers and data would be stored away someplace just in case. She’d awaken in a terminal waiting for a connection, or in an airport lounge hung over, and none the wiser. What the future may hold, only time and supply and demand would tell.
“This one, Line Three.” Erin guide the former Jaclyn into line, remaining with her even after a nursedoll approached.
“The recruit expressed a desire to become a stewardessdoll.”
The nursedoll stared back, unaccustomed to requests. So, Erin walked Jacky over to the female doctor, repeating the statement.
“Did she, now? Well, if she types out we can always use some fresh employees. We’ll see,” the doctor replied, puzzled that the stewdoll took such initiative. Might have to do a reintegration check on that one.
Placed safely in line, Erin planted a deep, lasting kiss atop the drugged captive’s receptive lips, which the temporarily human female returned in kind, further raising their observers’ eyebrows. Jacky wobbled away, still atop her pretty heels, never to be seen again, at least not in her present form.
Two years later...
The man and his squeeze sat in first class, he enjoying the complimentary drinks, she leaning over massaging his neck and back. She didn’t say much, but then sluts rarely did. They generally just fucked and looked pretty, and this one certainly was a stunner with her bolt on tits, unreal waist, and eternally glossy perfect blow job lips. Dumb as a stump, too, but that’s what the rich, spoiled Class A citizen specified, and truthfully sluts didn’t need many working brain cells to fuck.
“May I serve you with another drink, Monsieur?” the stewardessdoll inquired in a French accent. He examined the angelic yet artificial face, probably a vat grown doll. Her nametag read, “Jacqueline.” Truly French, he wondered? No matter, she could speak in any number of preprogrammed languages and accents, just as a stewdoll for an international airline should.
“Sure, and I’m quite certain that you can do a few more things for me later on,” he teased. The flight to New York wouldn’t be too long, but he could most certainly discover some athletic activities along the way if his slut didn’t fully occupy him.
“I am at your service, Monsieur,” the doll replied honestly, pouring him more champagne. She gave the slut a small glance, commands and protocols unspooling; the care and feeding of sluts could become difficult in an emergency situation.
Then—something. The doll’s memory fibers twigged. Other protocols activated, but something, some remnant in her meat brain, or what was left of it, charged. A name. Cindy? How did she know that? The doll checked the flight’s manifest remotely, her onboard transceivers linking her with the plane’s customer service computers, a wireless being.
“Sindy 104-Gamma,” was her name. Perhaps that was it? Had she accessed the manifest earlier? Her log files said no. The doll scheduled herself for a reboot to purge and defrag her crystal lattice memory centers after landing in New York at the corporate facility.
The doll finished her part of prepping the cabin for departure and pranced back to the crew rest area. Not that she or her sisters required any rest, but the human pilots might, and the dolls always needed to be ready to serve them in many ways. A tall, dark haired doll awaited there, “Erin” proudly displayed in her name badge. The platinum blonde doll approached her raven haired counterpart and embraced, kissing deeply and longingly. The pair always did this, although neither understood why. Dolls regularly trained and practiced on each other, the better to service the airline’s paying passengers, especially their business and first class clientele, but this was—unique. Even the dollmasters remained unable to figure it out, but these two seemed oddly attached to each other, even after reformatting.
“This unit required use and training” Stewardessdoll Jacqueline stated. “This unit requires use and training,” Stewardessdoll Erin replied. Luckily for them, it was a night flight and the passengers would doubtless sleep most of it away. They felt the pressure change as the cabin doors sealed and push back began, another flight departing, another experience in perfect obedience.
Across the concourse and twenty gates away, a harried young woman ran to the counter.
“Is there still time to catch the flight?” she asked, her face a mixture of exhaustion and hope.
“Certainly,” a smiling agent named Jim answered. “We held the plane just for you.”