This choice: ...you enter it and let me give the commands? • Go Back...Chapter #6...you enter it and let me give the commands? by: Mr. George   "That's precisely why I need you to test the skin. I need an experienced officer, to take over in case something goes wrong."
Angela's eyes dart to the skin, in horror. "But... But..."
"I need my crew to be willing to take on every aspect of the ship's various roles, and that includes dealing with the passengers."
Angela picks up the skin tentatively, allowing it to hang between her pinched thumbs and forefingers, the distaste battling her need to do her duty.
"It won't be so bad, just allow the automatic programming to take control.... and you'll only need to intervene should it start to do something -mmm- something inappropriate."
With a sweep of your arm, you gesture to the partition. Angela swallows nervously, and goes behind the screen without further objection, but her face is far from amused.
As she undressed, you try to encourage her.
"This could be a wonderful experience... A chance to interact with the passengers in a different manner. I hope you appreciate this opportunity."
"Yes, Captain. Thank you, Captain."
Her voice sounds happy, so you hope she's going to try her best with this.
The synth-skin, squeaks as she pulls it on. A squelching burp coming too, as pockets of air are compressed. You maintain your professional air, in the face of these farting noises. After a minute, this ends, and you hear, the smart snap, as the last folds of synth-skin are released, and complete the transformation.
You hear Angela clear her throat... It sounds higher, and softer, even as she speaks a few simple words. You can hear the difference as her voice sounds much less authoritative... much more innocent.
Stepping out from behind the screen. She looks even younger now. Like a woman in her early twenties, still perky and bubbly. She smiles and nods back at you with her head tilted slightly to the side. It looks like she needs to be chewing gum to complete the image.
Her pink nails tug at the neckline of the maid uniform, as the girls jostle at the strain. Her skirt is almost indecently short, with layers of satin ruffles lifting it and giving it shape and volume. It wasn't designed for dignity, but as a tempting tease. You can't imagine she'll bend over without exposing her rounded cheeks. The thought wanders into your mind, what kind of underwear came with this particular outfit.
Angela's original ship uniform is draped over the top of the partition. Her cheeks are pink, as she catches her reflection.
You keep a stern, air, as you give a curt nod of approval.
"Very good, Ensign. Now let's see how well, you can perform as a gynoid."
"Oui, mon capitaine. Merci mon capitaine."
She bobs a curtsey, her hands grasping and lifting the hem of her brief mini-skirt. She looks startled at her own choice of words, her face a mask of surprise, like a woman whose just discovered that she likes the taste of cock....
"You don't need to do the accent." you tell her.
"Eet... Mon accent... C'est ... naturel... Capitaine... Captain Thallia."
The effort is clear on her face, as she fights to speak with her normal choice of words and accent. You hadn't realised the programming was so strong. But that's part of the learning process.
"Dismissed."
Angela gives another curtsey, and leaves. There's a bounce in her step, as she leaves your quarters.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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