Dyson Institute/Mile-High Club
Carol Simmons made her way through the crowded airport terminal, navigating with practiced ease the teeming wave of humanity. She stood out in the crowd, not merely for the professional-yet-sexy lines of her flight attendant's uniform but for the stunningly lovely, curvaceous figure that so obviously lay beneath it. The tall, exqusitely feminine brunette turned her fair share of heads as she moved swiftly but gracefully across the concourse. Her admirers, in the main, made at least some effort not to gape openly at her shapely legs, beautifully-rounded bottom, and generous bosom.
Carol did not mind the attention in the least. Although quite happily married, she was nonetheless pleased by the admiring glances. At thirty-five, she reflected, it was still thoroughly pleasant to be noticed. At any rate, she certainly hoped that her face and figure would catch the eye--that was rather the point. Without being outright vain, Carol was justly proud of her body, knowing that it represented the very best the Dyson Institute could build.
It had been almost five years since a dear friend of hers had introduced Carol to the Dyson Institute's program... five years since Carol had first regained awareness in a highly-sophisticated android body. In that time, Carol had come to wholly appreciate her new existence. Being a meticulously-designed, high-performance machine was an enormous advantage for a busy flight attendant--so much so that the airline for which she worked employed androids almost exclusively in that role. Young women newly-hired in that position were soon made aware of the benefits of becoming machines, and were most often very eager to allow the Dyson Institute to convert them.
Carol was the senior field unit in a team of eight, and coordinated not only the usual day-to-day routine of seeing to passengers' needs but also the technical aspects of her team's operations. Given the demands of their operating environment, she and her colleagues--much like the aircraft aboard which they served--were the subjects of constant and intensive servicing and maintenance. Carol was making her way to the plane now, ready for another flight. Even as the plane was undergoing the usual turn-around, Carol herself had been in the Intensive Service Bay (ISB) of the Dyson Institute's dedicated terminal facilities--experiencing a similar turn-around. The mere thought brought a small, satisfied smile to her face. She greatly enjoyed this aspect of her routine... One moment, laying partly disassembled in the ISB; the next, smoothly pulling on her panties, bra and sexy uniform before entering back out seamlessly into the human traffic bustling through the terminal.
Carol had always enjoyed servicing people, but as the subject of routine servicing herself, she had become aware of the true erotic depth of being a machine. It was always such an amazing feeling, having the ISB video feed piped into her paplexus so that she could remain on-line, and then watching her android body being radically taken apart.... Perhaps her head module being removed; her breasts looking up at the camera from a separate table. Her detached faceplate being cycled though a full emotional spectrum.... her legs being removed, calibrated on a treadmill, one exquisite foot twitching as a technician worked to reset the hydraulic actuator manifold pressure... and of course the flashing LEDs surrounding the processor core which housed her very digital essence. As a machine, Carol could conceive of no more stimulating a sight. It was so stimulating, in fact, that she would often find it necessary to enjoy an extended session of Full Vaginal Volume synthetic stimulation before re-entering the operational sphere.
Now, though, she was right back in the usual whirlwind schedule of the airline industry. The sequence of events ran in their typical course, Carol and her team going through the rituals of preflight preparations and boarding of passengers with literally robotic precision; Carol herself delivered the safety briefing in her customary flawless manner. Soon enough, the plane took off and reached cruising altitude, and things settled down somewhat.
The flight was the red-eye to Boston, and the cabin lights were dimmed to allow the weary travellers to catch a little rest during their trip. Consequently, the attendants' immediate duties were somewhat relaxed. Carol, as per usual, used the downtime to her advantage to ensure that the rest of her team were operating to specifications. She would retire to the relative privacy of the galley, in the company of one flight attendant at a time, for a quick diagnostic session. Carol and her 'patient' would each open their paplexus interface (unbuttoning their skirts to facilitate access), and the senior unit would connect to her counterpart to run a few basic diagnostic checks while the other team members kept a watchful eye on the passengers in the cabin.
The diagnostics took little enough time; not surprisingly, each unit was in nearly-peak operating condition, having just come from the terminal ISB. Nonetheless, Carol attended to the task with great care and attention. It simply would never do to have a minor bug affecting service, and of course a more significant malfunction could create a risk of one of the units being compromised. The general public was wholly ignorant of the fact that this airline's flight attendants were, almost to a one, highly-sophisticated female androids... and, at least if Carol had anything to say about it, things were going to remain that way.
Carol finished her last diagnostic check, and watched her paplexus slide closed and reseal itself as her colleague (a petite blonde) walked away. She shuddered slightly as she was gripped by a digitized frisson of arousal; any reminder that she was a machine was cause for sexual excitement, and being connected paplexus-to-paplexus with another beautiful machine was more erotic still.
Carol let the momentary stimulation pass, and turned to see to some routine paperwork. Reaching for a clipboard, she was interrupted by the sudden arrival of a high-frequency wireless transmission. Carol paused as her system processed the incoming databurst. Even before the packet was fully received, Carol could guess at its nature: the frequency and encryption standard conformed to Dyson Institute standards for emergency field service procedure.
The receipt of such a signal was far from unprecedented, or even unusual. The partnership between the Institute and the airline was a long-standing one, and based on many reciprocal arrangements. One such arrangement: in return for providing conversion and maintenance services for the airline's fleet of flight attendant units, the airline (via those same flight attendants) would provide emergency service for units travelling as passengers. As a result, this was the carrier of choice for many of the Institute's female androids. Carol was thorougly accustomed to dealing with the unique needs of those passengers who happened to be, like herself, completely robotic women.
Within seconds, the databurst was fully received, checked for integrity, and decrypted. Information scrolled before Carol's eyes: Ms. Tricia Newell, UX1062, was experiencing several technical problems--chief among them an unexpected switchover from primary to auxiliary power reserves, and a slight facial twitch. Carol cross-checked the name against the passenger list (it was standard procedure to download such information from the airline's network prior to a flight) and moved swiftly into the cabin area.
As Carol approached the indicated seat number, she was pleased to see that the passenger in question was sitting by herself, near a window (the flight being somewhat sparsely booked). This would make it that much easier to contact the unit and make arrangements to assist her. She studied the young woman, who was as yet unaware of her approach.
Tricia Newell was a strikingly attractive woman, apparently in her late twenties; tall and slender, with jet-black hair, flawless olive skin, and somewhat exotic features suggestive of Mediterranean ancestry, or perhaps even a hint of Arabic or Indian descent. She sat calmly with her long legs (provocatively displayed by a short black leather skirt) crossed as she waited for a response to her distress call. A periodic, almost unnoticeable twitch of the left side of her face was the only thing to belie her placid demeanor.
Carol moved closer and sat next to the young woman. "Ms. Newell? My name is Carol... I understand you're having some slight difficulties?" she said softly.
The younger woman looked up with a relieved smile. "Yes, Carol, thank you for coming so quickly. Can you help me out? I have to admit, I've never run into any troubles during a flight, so this is all a little unfamiliar to me..."
Carol smiled reassuringly and touched Tricia's forearm lightly. "Don't worry, Ms. Newell. I deal with these kinds of issues all the time. You'll be fine. If you'd come with me, we'll see what we can do for you." She rose from the seat.
"Of course," Tricia said, standing up. "Thank you so much. And please, call me Tricia."
"Right this way, Tricia," Carol gestured toward the curtained-off galley area, and led the slender beauty aft.
Now within the galley area, the two synthetic women could speak openly. "You have nothing to worry about, Tricia," Carol said softly. "Although we obviously don't have the facilities on board for any kind of extensive servicing, I'm very capable of providing emergency response in this kind of situation. We'll be able to see you safely to your destination, and to help you get in contact with the Institute for proper corrective maintenance once you're on the ground." She unfastened her skirt and lifted her blouse slightly as she prepared to open her paplexus. "First of all, I'll need to access your paplexus interface."
"Of course," Tricia said, and followed suit. A faint seam appeared in her now-exposed flesh, just above a pair of low-cut black thong panties, and the panel covering her interface sank a centimeter or so into her body before sliding upwards to reveal circuitry, terminal connections, and winking LEDs.
Carol withdrew a few cables from a storage locker, and connected them first to her own now-opened paplexus and then to Tricia's. As a senior field unit in a first-response role, Carol was superbly well-equipped to deal with situations like this. She was programmed with additional software utilities pertaining to field maintenance, which now came to life and began to query Tricia's subsystems for diagnostic data. Carol's gorgeously curvaceous figure also accomodated supplemental memory and power gel packages, which began to backup key data streams from Tricia while supplying clean, secure current to Tricia's robotic systems.
The two androids stood quietly as data packets moved back and forth. Carol's maintenance software processed the incoming diagnostic data, building an increasingly-clear picture of the overall health of Tricia's systems.
"Tricia," the flight attendant said, "I'll need to remove your faceplate for a few moments, if I may..."
"Of course," Tricia said. Her facial expression went blank as a seam appeared around its periphery. There was a faint hiss as the panel unsealed itself, and a brief whirring sound as it moved slightly outward from the front of her head module.
Carol reached up with practiced grace and gentleness and lifted the faceplate away. A complex maze of electronics and servomechanisms was unveiled. The faceless machine Tricia stood, apparently unconcerned, as Carol took her lovely face in her hands and studied it.
Carol turned Tricia's facial panel over and studied the complex mechanisms attached to its inner surface. Her maintenance utilities analyzed the data streams from her visual cortex, searching for any hint of a mechanical failure in the sophisticated assembly of components. The diagnostic data coming to Carol via the paplexus-to-paplexus link was vital in determining the exact nature of Tricia's problem, but a visual corroboration would help rule out any possible errors in the diagnostic responses.
Tricia's facial articulation mechanisms were in good order; natural enough, as Tricia was a UX1000 series unit--the Institute's very latest design. Finishing her inspection, Carol set Tricia's face on the nearby countertop. She could have as easily returned the panel to its place, but (she admitted to herself) she was enjoying the sight of the impossibly-complex array of technology within Tricia's head module. The data streaming from Tricia's systems suggested that the younger woman was also enjoying the experience; clearly Tricia found standing faceless and exposed while connected via her paplexus to another beautiful machine to be extraordinarily stimulating.
Carol's diagnostic routines finished their course. "This is strange," she murmured. "According to the diagnostics, something triggered a switchover from your primary power pack to the auxiliary even though your power consumption predictive modelling routines suggest you had many hours output remaining in the PPP."
"Yes," Tricia said. "I was confused by that, too; I've never experienced that before."
"The erroneous switchover seems to have created some corrupt data streams that have affected your facial propriroception routines, as well; that accounts for the twitch." Carol considered for a moment. "Tricia, I'm going to take you offline just briefly for a full system reboot. I'll also be providing an emergency booster charge for your PPP. This should correct the problem for the time being, and hopefully allow you to remain on primary power for the duration of the flight. You will want to go in for more extensive diagnostics as soon as possible, however, in order to locate the cause of the problem."
"Oh, of course," Tricia said. "I'm ready whenever you are."
Carol triggered the shutdown sequence. Tricia's posture went unnaturally erect, and she began to speak calmly and clearly.
"Tricia Newell Unit UX1062 shutdown sequence initiated..."
Tricia stood, completely motionless, as her systems powered down. Carol continued to monitor Tricia's status via the paplexus link until, at last, the raven-haired android woman was entirely inert. Carol then waited a few additional seconds before remotely initiating a system restart.
Tricia's head jerked suddenly and sharply to one side. She spoke again, her simulated voice issuing from the exposed systems of her head module. "Subsystem boot sequence beginning...Unit UX1062 is active...Software demons initialising."
Carol monitored the startup, paying close attention to the progress of the sequence. Everything seemed correct so far...
"Boot sequence complete, all systems show normal status, no boot anomalies reported, no demon aberrations present," Tricia said at last. Her posture relaxed somewhat. She reached for her faceplate, still lying on the counter, and replaced it with robotic precision. The twitching did not seem to have returned. She smiled at Carol.
"Thank you so much, Carol," she said. "I feel so much better now."
"I'll just run a quick diagnostic once more, to see that everything's as it should be," Carol said, remotely initiating the sequence. She waited patiently for the diagnostic to run its course. At length, she spoke again, and began to disconnect from Tricia's paplexus. "Your systems are running within normal parameters."
"That's a relief," Tricia said. She sighed and leaned back against the narrow countertop. In spite of her obvious relief at having been returned to optimal function, she seemed a little flushed; her simulated breathing seemed a little heavy.
Carol smiled. She suspected she knew what was causing Tricia's sophisticated subsystem software to emulate these physiological responses; she had, after all, been connected directly to Tricia's systems a moment earlier, and the elevated data traffic coursing through the raven-haired android's systems could mean only one thing under these circumstances. "It's quite an intense experience, isn't it?" she asked. "Being connected directly to another android woman's paplexus... having your faceplate removed, and being taken offline...?"
"Yes," Tricia smiled back. "It really is. I've never actually experienced that before. It's... quite a thing..." Her eyes met Carol's. "And you do that a lot?"
"Oh, all the time," Carol said. "Only occasionally with passengers... but very often with the other units in my team."
"Well, I can't imagine how you deal with it... I mean, not to put too fine a point on it, but... it's left me a little hot and bothered..." Tricia said. "I have to admit, I find being a machine to be intensely erotic to begin with..."
"Oh, so do I," Carol said, moving ever so slightly closer. "God, I still get a tingle telling people--select people--that I am a machine..." She leaned closer still, bringing her face a mere few inches from Tricia's. "You know, it's my job to be sure that all my passengers are comfortable during their flight. There is something that might help you deal with your... situation..."
Tricia, slowly, knowingly, smiled back at the lovely flight attendant. "And what might that be?"
Carol moved in closer and placed her lips upon Tricia's. As Tricia's mouth opened, just a bit, Carol probed softly with her tongue. Tricia began to kiss her back, with increasing ardor.
Carol moved a hand over Tricia's smooth, toned stomach, down over her still-open paplexus. She traced her fingertips slowly along the exposed circuitry. Her hand continued downward past the open interface, into Tricia's unfastened skirt, and came to a stop gently cupping the younger woman's panty-clad mound.
Tricia drew back from the long, lingering kiss to issue a soft moan, and then brought her mouth back to meet Carol's.
Carol began to stroke Tricia's sex through the thong, black leather to match her skirt. Tricia's hips began to move back and forth to the rhythm of Carol's fingertips. The lovely flight attendant reached down with her other hand to pull the thong aside, revealing a stunningly lovely pussy--immaculately groomed, with a narrow strip of black pubic hair just above. She let her fingers explore the smooth, hairless surface of Tricia's sex, and then begin a delightful dance on her synthetic clitoris.
Tricia struggled to keep her moans soft and low as Carol expertly delivered the pleasure she craved. "Oh, Carol," she whispered. "Oh, yes... oh, I need this... I need this so badly..." She reached up to unbutton her blouse. Two modest but lovely breasts, cupped by a silken black bra, were unveiled. With one hand Tricia pulled her bra aside to allow her fingers to play across her erect nipple; she placed the other one around Carol's waist.
Carol continued her deft stimulation of Tricia's rapidly-moistening sex, and leaned forward. She brushed her lips and tongue across Tricia's exposed nipple.
"Oh, yes... yes, Carol," Tricia breathed. "Don't stop... I need this. I need to come... I'm so close... yes... yes... oh, God... yes! Oh, Carol, that's it... right there... ohhhh!" She arched her back and thrust her mound against Carol's hand as she all but literally exploded into climax.
Carol moved her mouth back to Tricia's, kissing her deeply as her orgasm subsided. She withdrew, bringing her moist fingertips to Tricia's lips. Tricia extended her long, nimble tongue to taste her own synthetic lubricants on Carol's fingers.
"Ohhhhhhh..." Tricia said. "I really needed that. Thank you," she said, and kissed Carol again. "But now I can't just go back to my seat... not and leave you distracted for the rest of the flight..." She kissed Carol, long and deep, and began to open the flight attendant's uniform blouse. Deftly she released Carol's spectacular breasts from the blouse and bra that had hidden them, and moved to lick and tease her nipples with great enthusiasm. Soon she slipped Carol's blouse off entirely, followed by her bra, and then slid Carol's skirt down over her rounded hips and sexy legs. Her panties followed soon after.
Tricia knelt and placed her hands on Carol's shapely hips, gently turning her around to face the counter. Carol complied. She reached up and planted her hands on the overhead storage compartments, and lifted one leg to rest upon the counter... giving Tricia free access to what lie between her delightfully-turned thighs.
Carol drew in a sharp simulated breath at the first contact of Tricia's tongue with her own damp sex. There was little Carol loved better than to receive oral sex--she loved it when her husband went down on her, and she had even from time to time enjoyed the attentions of some of her sexy synthetic colleagues while on layover between flights. She relished the idea of telling her husband every tiny detail of this encounter the next time she was home, and of enjoying the good sound fucking that was sure to follow...
"Ohhhhhhhh," Carol moaned softly as Tricia's tongue worked its magic. "That's so good..." She brought one hand down to caress her own open paplexus. "I need this, too," she said. "There is something so special about having to remove a passenger's faceplate during a flight... it really reinforces this incredible existence as a machine. It makes me so hot."
Tricia gently spread Carol's lovely nether lips, and licked up and down the delicate pink synthetic flesh between them. Her tongue slid deep within Carol, moving in and out for a time before moving back to her clit, swirling around and around. Intense data streams raced from Carol's robotic vaginal package, through her complex circuitry, to her system core. Columns of sexual function and response data scrolled before Carol's eyes; a bar representing percentage progress toward climax raced ever closer to 100%. A message window appeared, informing her that a digitized orgasm sequence was loading into her operating memory. An intense dual awareness--that of being both a woman being wonderfully licked and eaten by another beautiful woman, and a highly-sophisticated machine achieving spectacular performance--arose in Carol's mind.
"Oh, yes, UX1062," she hissed. "Yes... yes... ohhhhh... you're going to make me come..." She tossed her head back. "Ohhh! Yes! Yes! Fuck... yes!" She convulsed as a particularly delightful orgasm sequence burst through her systems.
Tricia rose and embraced the beautiful, naked android flight attendant. The two robotic women kissed deeply for a minute or two. Then they closed their interfaces and dressed themselves quickly.
"Thank you again, Carol," Tricia smiled, now completely composed.
"Oh, thank you," Carol said. "If there's anything else you need, don't hesitate to let me or any of the other girls know."
"I won't," Tricia said, and headed back to her seat.
Some time later, the plane reached its destination. Carol stood by the exit, bidding good-bye to the passengers as they deplaned. As Tricia passed, she smiled broadly. "Thank you for flying with us," she said.
"Thank you for taking such good care of me," Tricia smiled in return, and said her farewell.
Carol watched the beautiful raven-haired woman depart, marvelling at the fact that she was--like Carol herself--nothing more than a machine. Carol knew that Tricia would soon be bound for the local branch of the Dyson Institute, for further investigation into her power pack dilemma, and felt a tiny twinge of envy. The comprehensive diagnostics and servicing would be quite intense for Tricia, without a doubt. But then, Carol herself would soon be in the airport terminal ISB for another turnaround. She could scarcely wait.