Hazel reclined on her bed, propped against a pile of cheap, flimsy dorm room pillows, ignoring the holographic problem set sprawled across the sheets in favor of browsing her socials. Her new tail wagged a little on its own, brushing against her bare thighs. She was getting plenty of attention online for the wolf ears and tail she had just gotten last weekend, especially thanks to the automated highlights montage that the platform had assembled of her first week. It was a tasteful compilation of her posts and others' candid shots - someone's optics footage from afar of her tight pants and wagging tail walking up the Econ Department steps, a reel of hot athleticware promo shots from a brand drone filming a pickup frisbee game on the lower quad, a selfie in the library where the beautiful evening light had perfectly highlighted how nicely the feathered grey fur of her new ears complemented her auburn hair. The media package was very flattering (although she could have done without the blooper clip of her tail knocking that damn coffee off the cafe table on Wednesday when she turned to grab some sweetener).
She was getting a stream of positive mentions from friends and classmates, party invites from some of the better transhumanist clubs on campus (always hunting for converts, she thought) and a nicer class of automated consumer endorsement opportunity than she usually got, all a side effect of the healthy bump to her social score from the release of the media package. She was idly perusing one of the endorsement offers, turning a holographic drink can over and over in the air above her digital problem set (a branding broker was offering her a free six-pack of Neptune Sweets travel milkshakes in exchange for a candid shot of her sharing one with a friend) when Brielle DiSilvo's voice rang out as if from right over her shoulder, making her nearly leap out of her skin.
"Oh fuck, you got new mods?!" The wolfgirl sat bolt upright and saw Brielle's hologram seated at the study desk across the room, legs crossed, reclined in the university-issued desk chair like she owned the joint.
"Shit, Ellie, are you trying to give me a heart attack?" Hazel couldn't help crossing her arms defensively, self conscious and indignant that her high school friend decided to just drop in from the other side of the Pacific while Hazel was in only a bed tee and panties. Stupid rich girls and their stupid elite social score, letting them open chats whenever they wanted, who cares what you set your privacy status to!
Ellie shrugged, either oblivious or indifferent to her friend's ire. "Well I haven't seen you in forever, and obviously I've missed a lot! I heard you got yourself done and had to see for myself!" Ellie's voice was slightly out of sync with the visuals, which wasn't unusual. The network client was emulating her appearance for the room's hologram, portraying her in a sparkly cocktail dress, tanned, beautifully pierced, but Hazel had no idea what she looked like in reality at that moment - certainly not seated in an identical seat as Hazel's dorm room chair, and yet the hologram precisely aligned her pose to the chair's shape. Hologram Ellie sat forward and gestured with both hands for Hazel to stand. "Well, show me the goods! Let's see it, spin around for me!"
Hazel pouted. "I'm trying to do my homework. I'm - I'm in my pajamas! Are you streaming right now?"
Ellie rolled her eyes and spun in the chair, stretching her arms listlessly toward the ceiling, a faint ghost image of the real, motionless chair visible through her. "Of course I am, Hazel! I always am - why aren't you?" She pointed an accusatory finger at the wolfgirl. "This is why your friends miss huge life developments like this; you're such a hermit! Now, up!"
Hazel grimaced and got to her feet. "It's not a huge life development. It's just some cosmetic mods. And you missed it because you live on the other side of the planet from me now! Remember time zones?" She halfheartedly turned to her left and right, sticking out her butt a little and curling her tail up to show it off better. Ellie gave a cat call and Hazel went beet red when her tail reflexively wagged at the sound.
"Hah - Two months in WestCity and you've gone full furry!"
"Ugh, fuck you Ellie, you tease." Hazel sat on the foot of the bed and hugged a pillow to her chest.
"No seriously, I like it - it gives you a bit of a fierce edge, very hot." Hazel's damn tail kept wagging even though she scowled and looked away. Ellie grinned mischievously. "Haaaaze, it really has been too long since we saw each other in person. Why don't you come down and visit me? I'm throwing a little get together tonight for my new line - 10pm my time. If you hop a flight now you can get here in six or seven hours." Ellie leaned back in her chair. "I wanna see what that new fur feels like, wanna show you off to my work friends."
"Ellie, I can't afford to just drop everything and fly across the ocean for my old roommate's random party! It's 10pm over here right now!" Hazel whined, adding somewhat pathetically, "I have homework!"
Ellie rolled her eyes. "Of course you can afford to drop everything and fly across the ocean for your best friend's very hip and exciting party - that's what parties are for!" she declared, as if just barely mustering the patience and grace to explain the fundamental truths of the universe to a particularly slow-witted child.
The rich girl sat up and pointed balefully toward the holographic problem set on Hazel's bed. "See? There's your solution right there."
Hazel spun to peer quizzically over her shoulder (immediately feeling like a dope and hoping the holo didn't capture her gormless expression on Ellie's end). A translucent icon for an airline was lazily rotating in the air above her copy of Principles of Macroeconomics, with some sort of holographic tropical paradise animation erupting out of it on a loop. Because of course Ellie was able to view Hazel's private messages from advertisers - why wouldn't she?
Detecting Hazel's atttention, the icon unfurled into an automated offer for a social network endorsement deal. "Skyfleet Airlines wants to partner with you on an exciting new engagement campaign! We are inviting our passengers to GO WILD™ at our hundreds of exotic world destinations, and are looking for girls with that little bit beastly™ attitude to show off their wild side!" The offer played an abbreviated ad reel, full of azure and lavender luxury aircraft jetting off to tropical beaches, rugged mountains and adventuresome destinations. A menagerie of beautiful men and women engaged in all sorts of extreme sports and wild raves, always with some brand marker in shot - a Skyfleet Airlines flag on the wall, the Skyfleet logo glowing on the lenses of a raver's neon shades, even azure and lavender cocktails at a beachside cabana bar. Most shots included Skyfleet pilots and stewardesses joining in the fun - buxom sexpots and chiseled studs leading their equally gorgeous passengers to new adventures. The tagline GO WILD was prominently featured in every visual. "Thinking about taking a trip? With your fresh new look and ever-climbing network engagement stats, we think that you'd be the perfect fit to develop our GO WILD™ brand values of youth, adventure and fearlessness! Connect to learn more!"
Hazel laughed out loud at that, but Ellie just pointed assertively at the icon again. "Connect - see what they're offering!" She refused to discuss any further until Hazel connected, so Hazel reluctantly accessed the offer details. The airline wanted to license the use of her image, including anything she posted to her socials as well as anyone else's posts she appeared in. Additionally, they wanted her to make at least one "candid" conversational callout about the airline on stream at Ellie's party. In exchange, they would offer her a free luxury class fare on a Skyfleet Airlines flight direct to SYD, departing in 40 minutes, and a free lux class seat on any return flight in the next seven days. The airline also loftily hinted that they of course retain the option to expand the relationship, depending on how well the sponsored content played on the socials. Ellie practically squeaked when she heard that. "You have to take it, Haze! That kind of thing can be your foot in the door for legit, for-real influencer work down the road - this is where the real money is at!"
Hazel gave her old friend the side eye. "OK, well I'm definitely not interested in any of that, but..." She paused, willing the blush in her cheeks to disappear. It didn't, so she conceded to the inevitable. "But I guess I'm happy to take a free flight in exchange for some bullshit compliments about an airline over drinks. So, it looks like I'll see you soon!" Ellie cheered and Hazel couldn't help grinning. She'd never done a pickup flight before, and now she was jetting off halfway across the planet?
Ellie blew her a kiss and vanished, leaving the wolfgirl to pack her day bag and call a ride to LAX. The party started in seven hours and the flight would take a little under five, so Hazel figured she would have time to catch some sleep on the plane then freshen up and pop some stims once she landed, before riding out to Ellie's apartment. She opened her closet and started digging through her club outfits to find one to stuff in her carry-on. What goes with a new tail?
SolarMark, the brand management firm on contract to Skyfleet Airlines' parent company Inura Consolidated Holdings International, initiated the standard automated recruitment pipeline for Hazel's public credit profile. The firm's market analysis systems flagged her body type and social engagement metrics over the last six days as a potential match for the brand identifier criteria for the GO WILD campaign, an eight-week out-of-home push engineered to lift the airline's image as thrillingly (but never threateningly) spontaneous and spirited, targeting the affluent leisure/adventurer demographic. The algorithm indicated that if she tested well, she could be profitably repackaged into Skyfleet's order of 600 new GO WILD-branded stewardesses to post on routes popular with the target demographic. It added her profile to a tranche of 355 candidates it was tracking simultaneously and sold her credit profile to the Airline.
Purchasing a clean title search on Hazel's image rights from the global broker, Skyfleet took control of her social network credentials and constructed an artificial replica of Hazel's digital presence, perfectly recreating her appearance, voice and mannerisms based on her social feed history. To begin its profit assessment, it generated a standard slate of a dozen advertisements - photos of Hazel shopping for handbags, videos of her buying salads, quick clips of her showing off new shoes - and slotted them in the global marketing stack for test audiences across several indicator demographics, monitoring when and how often she caught the index consumer's eye. At the same time, it began dropping pro-Skyfleet messaging into Hazel's social networks, quietly disabling her notifications so that it could better curate her Skyfleet brand experience - or at least the public record of it - without her interference.
Thirty minutes later, Hazel was crossing a cavernous LAX concourse on her way to board Skyfleet Airlines Flight 1754 to SYD. The electronic eyes of a dozen corporate security system tracked the thousand travelers crisscrossing the atrium, scanning for dangerous substances and pathogens, vetting their social profiles, constructing dynamic risk profiles and assigning travel clearances. Skyfleet Airlines was among the constellation of systems riding the concourse hardware, using the more advanced biometric scanners available there to verify Hazel's genetic and metabolic compatibility with its workforce intake equipment.
Hazel was not dressed to impress - she would have time to clean and change at the other end, so her priority for the plane was comfort and ease. She wore plain black leggings, good walking shoes and warm socks, and a light hooded sweater, her auburn hair in a loose ponytail, and her day bag slung casually over her shoulder. Her face-obscuring sunglasses and big new headphones, formatted for her higher lupine ears, visually cued that she was unavailable for conversation. She walked purposefully with her hands in her pockets, intent on nothing more than making sure she didn't miss her flight.
Meanwhile, unbeknownst to her, her socials were streaming a very different picture to the world - a digitally reconstructed Hazel in the latest travel-appropriate designer sportswear and a fashionable graphic shawl, trailed by a pair of luxury suitcases. The artificial Hazel streamed herself browsing the jewelry showrooms along the perimeter of the atrium, commenting on the fun new fashions coming out this season, taking in an art piece featuring three nude catgirls coating one another in liquid latex, confiding to her contacts about her excitement for her upcoming Skyfleet Airlines flight and the chance to go wild down under.
Terminal scanners monitored her gait, her proportions, how the passengers around her noticed her ephemeral presence in their orbit with fleeting glances or social pings, passing a steady stream of data into Skyfleet's learning algorithms to rate her appeal and suitability. There were no behavioral criteria - that would be handled during on-boarding. All that mattered was her look. At this stage in the analysis, her metrics was well within parameters, so she was cleared for final vetting onboard.
At the gate, passengers sipped drinks and chatted, waiting to board Flight 1754 while a steady stream of travelers from the massive aircraft's previous route disembarked through four skybridges. A half dozen Skyfleet Airlines stewardesses attended to the gate area, serving drinks and helping flyers with luggage. Like most service industry labor, the stewardesses were clearly networked drones, with too-perfect glossy latex skin and visible seams running up their cheeks to the corners of their eyes. Their uniforms had a classic style calculated to capture the glamor and thrill of the golden age of flight - prim jacket and miniskirt in Skyfleet blue and lavender, thigh high black boots and a garrison cap worn at a saucy angle. They were designed mostly for titillation, each one curvy and busty with plump kissable lips and fawning eyes, their physicality incorporating plenty of comforting physical contact as they interacted with passengers. In essence, they were little more than sexbots, provided by the airline to keep passengers orderly and entertained on long haul flights.
Hazel took a selfie positioned so that a group of the stewardesses was visible over her shoulder and tagged Ellie - See? I'm on my way! A little sponsorship goes a long way! Skyfleet intercepted the post and replaced it with a group shot of Hazel posing together with the stewardesses - Fleet ladies living the good life in the sky! Is it wrong to say I'm jealous? : P
The LAX system instructed Hazel to board through the forward-most skybridge. At the front of the plane, the lux class seats were packed into three columns of three seats each. Hazel headed directly to the window seat she had claimed at check-in and tossed her day bag in the overhead bin. One continuous panoramic window extended floor to ceiling down either side of the passenger cabin, giving the fuselage an uncanny exposed feeling that led many passengers to avoid the window seats, but the vertigo had never bothered Hazel and she valued avoiding the sweaty prison of the middle seat, so she went for the window whenever possible. She took her seat, appreciating the softer memory material in the cushion than she was used to in economy. A young, non-threatening looking guy in a business suit took the seat next to her and immediately jacked into a VR conference call, which was just fine as far as Hazel was concerned.
One of the stewardesses, a blonde with impossibly crimson lips, brought her a complimentary drink and sedative to welcome her aboard Skyfleet Airlines as a special flyer. "On behalf of all of us here at Skyfleet, we're just so pleased to have you flying with us! You let me know if there is anything you need!" Her lines felt a little animatronic, but her motions were fluid and natural. Hazel gazed at her unblemished skin with its satiny sheen as the stewardess expertly bent at the hip to reach across two passengers with the drink tray, lowering her voluminous busts an inch from the nose of the business guy in the middle seat. The drone's eyes looked glazed, with a faint glow of electronics from deep within, but her smile was extremely lifelike. Hazel took the drink gratefully and posted a status update with a plane selfie sipping the syrupy drink. Her socials instead received a selfie of her and the blonde stewardess making out.
The plane took off without issue. Hazel gazed out the window as the aircraft climbed to cruising altitude, its smart alloy wings fluidly stretching to twice their previous length. By the time they broke the sound barrier, Hazel could feel the sedative taking effect, so she curled her knees up to her chest, settled sideways into her plush seat facing the window and began to doze. She had always been good at napping on airplanes, and soon she fell asleep.
Unnoticed by Hazel or the passengers around her, the plane began adjusting the microclimate around her individual seat. Airflow was redirected to raise the temperature just a few degrees, the humidity balanced slightly higher and the soft, warm ambient cabin lighting intensified imperceptibly. As her metabolism slowed in sleep, the serum she had ingested in her complimentary drink began to activate. The napping girl's breath grew faster and shallower, and the slightest shutter passed down her spine, prompting her to unconsciously nestle her hips tighter into the bend between seat cushion and seatback. Under her hoodie, the hairs on her arms prickled with goosebumps. Her cheeks reddened and lips grew rosier as her pulse quickened.
Her heavy, pheromone-laden breath hung around her invisibly, seeping into the lungs of the passengers nearby, stimulating their arousal in turn. The business traveler seated next to her finally took notice when the feathery fur of her tail tickled his hand where it rested slack on his thigh. He pulled out of VR and looked down to see her wolf tail twitching in her sleep, slowly rising bit by bit from the seat cushion to sway upright between her shoulders. Her back was to him and she was clearly asleep. He surreptitiously looked his traveling companion up and down for the first time: her cute butt hugged by black tights, her thin tee-fabric hoodie failing to hide her slender, feminine figure and fit shoulders, her lush cascade of auburn hair, her little wolf ears, one at attention and the other flopped over and twitching as she dreamed. He adjusted in his seat, idly fantasizing about touching her, pulling her to him.
The plane's sensors monitored the response in his body chemistry, adding this final data stream to the thousands of variables feeding the learning algorithm conducting her suitability assessment. Having approved her across marketability, compatibility, cost and risk criteria, the system rated her prime for acquisition. Skyfleet Airlines activated the clause in her agreement to expand their branding relationship through induction as a Skyfleet air stewardess. It bought out her student contract with the university and loaded her profile into the workforce development queue for on-boarding. Receiving go-ahead instructions from the corporate control network, the airplane warmed up the systems necessary to complete the conversion that had already begun when she swallowed her complimentary drink.
Hazel's eyes fluttered open to the sight of the full moon and a million stars over an endless, uniform grey sea. The passenger cabin was dim, and nearly everyone was asleep or in VR. She realized that she was panting, and squirmed in her seat. Why was she blushing? Why was she so warm? She sat up, and the breath caught in her throat when she felt the soft fabric of her shirt slide across her stiff, hypersensitive nipples. She glanced down, then glanced to her left and immediately back down when she glimpsed the guy next to her swiftly look away to avoid eye contact. Her blush deepened to a ruddy pink. She bit her lip and ground her thighs together - she was roasting down there. Reaching down with her left hand into the seatback in front of her as if for a tissue, she surreptitiously felt between her thighs with her right hand. Oh god, it was so wet she could feel it through her leggings! Even that slight brush of her fingertips over two layers of fabric sent an electric pang up her spine. She bit her lip to avoid squeaking and her ears tucked back against her head.
She posted an order for a glass of ice water, peering over the seat in front of her toward the drink station, willing the robotic stewardess to hurry. She caught sight of the stewardess's ample backside a half dozen rows up, bent at the hips, barely contained in its lavender miniskirt. Was she giving that guy a blowjob? Hazel's ears shot up and toes curled in her shoes as the thought sent another pang through her. Her arousal was more intense than she'd ever experienced without external assistance, and was building by the moment. She was sure the guy next to her could hear her panting like a dog.
Whatever was happening, she couldn't keep it to herself much longer. She mentally counted to three, then cleared her throat and stood up - and had to grab the seatback in front of her to keep her knees from going out instantly. The guy next to her and the even burlier guy in the aisle seat both looked up. "Umm, can I... the bathroom?" Hazel gestured weakly, voice barely audible, her misty breath hanging in the air around her. The two guys pulled their knees to the side. In four agonizing sideways scooches, she slid past them, giving both a full view of her soaked leggings on the way past. She had no idea how she would ever amass the courage to return to this seat, but that was a problem for another lifetime because if she didn't get to somewhere private soon she would die.
She hurried up the aisle, imagining every passenger turning to watch as she passed. Well, all except for the flyers in row 18, where the bent over stewardess was not only fellating the middle seat, but giving handjobs to the passengers on either side at the same time. Hazel clutched her hoodie as she bustled by. She definitely hadn't ordered that service - had she gotten all three of those guy's drinks by mistake?
Hazel hurried into the tiny airplane bathroom and fumbled to close the door behind her. As the door locked, it formed a soundproof hermetic seal, completely isolating the chamber from the passenger cabin beyond. The cramped cell was unadorned, with a mirror and narrow rinsing basin on one side, and a set of discreet nozzles on the other, compatible with the most common metabolic implants. In her rush, Hazel did not notice the warm, transparent vapor that began flooding the chamber from vents along the edge of the floor as soon as the door sealed, filling the air with a dense aerosol of the same serum that spiked her drink and now saturated her body. The arousal clouding her senses was so intense by this point that she could not waste time taking stock of her situation or considering what to do - she immediately plunged her hands into her pants to play with herself in unrestrained, uncoordinated lust. Electricity danced across her tender flesh - she was so sensitive it was almost painful, but animal craving pushed her to keep going. She vigorously pumped two knuckles into her folds, grinding against her clit and clenching down, covering her hand in sticky wetness. But the aching arousal between her legs did not ease - it only intensified under her touch.
The mist grew thicker and thicker. Hazel's clothes felt too hot, too heavy on her slender frame, a hulking weight that teased against her hypersensitized skin, intensifying her horny itch. The drugs in her veins perverted the reflexive functions of her somatic system, compelling her to paw at herself, making her fingers tug and pull any time they brushed a hem or a zipper or a clasp. Soon, with her constant groping and rutting against the smooth plastic walls of the bathroom, her clothes simply molted off of her, leaving the desperate girl nude and increasingly agitated as she tried to satiate the roaring flame under her skin. She began to moan, unable to hold the sound in any longer.
The chamber's sensor suite monitored as the flustered girl undressed and resumed her furious masturbation, scanning her biometrics to confirm that the transformative serum had effectively permeated the new acquisition's tissue. She was completely within its control - mentally, physically, chemically. Satisfied that her body chemistry was sufficiently primed, it initiated the next phase in her procurement. Suddenly, intense monochromatic blue light flooded the chamber, bombarding the space within with a high-energy electromagnetic carrier signal that triggered the warm mist in the air to instantly gelatinize into a thick, heavy fluid. In a flash, the entire cell was filled with dense, transparent jelly.
Hazel was completely immobilized. She was both squeezed from the outside by the gel that suddenly surrounded her and pressurized from the inside by that same gel activated in her tissue, puffing her flesh up with rigidizing turgor pressure, locking her in place. The fluid pulsed with pressure waves, lifting her up to float at the center of the chamber, positioning her with arms turned out at her sides, twitching toes hanging six inches above the ground. She was trapped in a tense pose, with her chest thrust forward, legs parted, tail curled up, hands flared outward, head tossed back, ears perked, eyes wide, mouth a shocked O as if gulping down more and more of the gel pumping through every hole in her body. Her head swam; she felt inflated like a party balloon, futilely tugging against her restraints to touch herself again. She tried to moan in dazzled confusion - no sound could escape her stuffed throat, but she felt no burn in her flooded lungs from missing oxygen. Instead, she was trapped staring deeply into the mesmeric blue light, so pure and monochrome that it made her vision bend in dizzying ways, shuddering as the rolling vibrations in the gel tormented her.
The suspended girl felt the gel form tight knots in her anus and pussy like the one pumping in her mouth, thundering her with vibrating pressure waves that seemed to buzz straight through her ravaged holes and across her entire body. Under the baleful glare of the blue glow, she steeped in the gel as it transformed her body according to the chamber's designs. It squeezed tighter and tighter against her from every direction, simplifying her skin into durable, easy-to-maintain silicone latex. She felt her flesh soften and smooth out, seams developing along the inner surfaces of her limbs and up the sides of her torso and around the edges of her cheeks for easy maintenance access to the underlying mechanics. The grey fur of her ears and tail turned into glossy synthetic, and her wavy auburn hair straightened into a silken orange cascade. Beneath the skin, her skeleton and muscles were plasticized, and unneeded fat and viscera was converted into a pliable foam that could dynamically change firmness to ensure supple, flexible performance. Her curves grew softer and more voluptuous, her breasts filling out from within. Her labia puffed up and parted, revealing the plush artificial channel of her vagina. Her anus became a tight rubbery ring granting ready access to a matching passage. The gel edited and refined her every feature, calibrating her honeyed lips, her dewy eyes, her perky nipples, - remaking her into a glossy, airbrushed version of herself.
As the gel relentlessly worked away at her, Hazel's mind soften along with her body. The pulsating heat and vibration overwhelmed and subsumed her senses in a bottomless ocean of ecstasy, building closer and closer to an unimaginable orgasmic peak as the gel soaked through her. Gel percolated through the tissue of her brain and spine, remaking them into a simpler automated system. Perceptions and memories were isolated, assessed and selectively purged as the intricate cellular matrix of her cortex was simplified down into a personality profile imprinted on an interchangeable memory plug. From her perspective, it felt like the blue light was shining all the way through her, washing away her thoughts faster than she could think them, leaving no room for anything but the raw, unprocessed sensation of her body being pumped, pumped, pumped - until finally the dam broke and her mind simply dissipated into orgasm, leaving nothing behind.
Hazel stared blankly into the blue light, an empty shell spasming in pleasure, until the system was satisfied her features and proportions met design standards. The blue light cut out, and the gel once more disintegrated into thin vapor just as rapidly as it had appeared. Hazel dropped unceremoniously to the ground, sinking to her knees. Overwhelmed by the sensitivity of her new synthetic flesh, the mindless girl flopped limply against the cool plastic wall, thighs squirming together, arms hugging her new plush breasts, puffy lips puckering in search of absent cocks and pussies.
While Hazel was being rebuilt for her new role, her replicated online identity operated by Skyfleet was busy rearranging the rest of her life to accommodate her change in position. She cancelled appointments, closed accounts and sent bubbly cheerful messages to close friends to let them know about the wonderful opportunity she was taking to travel for a few years, connecting the ones that met branding criteria with free ticket offers just like "Ellie" had for her earlier that day while being on-boarded on a flight over the Mediterranean.
Outside the bathroom in the passenger cabin, the crew call light winked on. At the end of the aisle, the blonde stewardess pulled a folded package from a side compartment next to the drinks station and sashayed her way to the bathroom door. The door opened for her as she approached - she quickly stepped in and shut it behind her before too much pungent chemical scent spilled out. The floor vents were pushing air at double rate, and would soon purge the chamber of any trace of the transformative mist, but in the meantime the stewardess didn't want to disturb the passengers. She smiled unblinkingly down at the rubberized girl sprawled at feet, squirming away oblivious to her new companion.
Working primly and efficiently, the stewardess unfolded the package into a standard-sized carry-on roller case in the sky blue and lavender livery of Skyfleet Airlines. From within, she pulled out a palm-sized plastic hexagon and a full-face rebreather attached by hose to a narrow tank at the bottom of the suitcase. She first applied the plastic chip to Hazel's chest just above her cleavage. It was a garden-variety fashion composer keyed to Skyfleet branding - In a matter of moments, it unfurled over the new girl's body, stitching into place the tight azure blouse, fitted lavender jacket and miniskirt, black thigh-high boots, floral scarf and jaunty garrison cap of a Skyfleet stewardess, all pristine, wrinkle proof and perfectly tailored to the new hire's remodeled curves. Once Hazel was properly kitted out, the blonde stewardess grasped her firmly but gently under the chin, turned her to face the rebreather, and slid the mask onto her, pulling the straps in place over her head. Hazel could offer no resistance as a long, flexible pink dildo passed through her suckling lips and down her rubberized throat and a broad visor affixed across her eyes. The stewardess unhooked a pair of earbuds from the side of the mask and nestled them in the new girl's lupine ears.
The blonde stewardess effortlessly lifted up the plasticized wolfgirl by the nape of her neck - her density had been reduced by half, making her a trivial burden for the stewardess's mechanically enhanced strength - and folded her neatly into the empty roll-on bag. Hazel's legs reflexively curled tightly against her chest, her face dipped between her knees and her arms and tail folded behind her back, reducing her to a compact, efficient package. The stewardess pulled a thick orange rubber sheet over the curled bundle and tacked it down in the bottom corners of the suitcase. The latex sheet automatically shrinkwrapped against her body, hewing closely to her every curve and locking her inescapably in place. The stewardess closed and sealed the suitcase, took a moment to buff some handprints off the glossy plastic bathroom walls, and exited into the cabin, where she matter-of-factly stowed the carry-on bag in the overhead bin. The "occupied" light over the bathroom deactivated.
Deep in the stasis of the Easy-Carry Case, the mask interfaced directly with Hazel's hollow mind without rebooting her consciousness, filling in the blanks with new skills, instincts and desires. Her simulated brain was reprogrammed to optimally serve her transformed body, a submissive sexpet that lived for, longed for her next passenger. She was coded with a range of behaviors to accomplish her corporate functions, from serving drinks to sucking cock to evacuating a flooding passenger cabin in an emergency. Most importantly, she was programmed to manipulate passenger behavior through passive, servile, unnoticed vectors in order to suppress their attention and keep them calm and orderly from takeoff to landing. From a subtle touch on the shoulder to an extravagant lap dance, she was indoctrinated into an employee-client relationship built around pacification and distraction. The machine rebuilt a personality for her, picking and choosing the elements stored on her personality profile that best fit Skyfleet's customer service branding standards and bypassing the rest, to produce a coquettish, eager flirt ready to thrill.
While she dreamed, Flight 1754 landed at SYD without incident. After the passengers deplaned, a cleaning drone pulled down her case and carried it into the airport. Her day bag and headphones were recycled. At the end of the ramp, the drone tagged the case into the luggage system, where it was swept along a labyrinthine tangle of conveyors through the automated machine guts of the airport, scanned and sniffed and tagged and tracked by a dozen networks before being routed to the Skyfleet Airlines staging area. There, it was shelved in an inventory silo filled with rack upon rack of similar cases, plugged into a slot with a power-and-fluid port to await assignment.
Ten hours later, Captain Luke reviewed the flight plan for Charter Flight TW143 to Soleri Gamma as he strode across the SYD Main Concourse. The Gold-Tier Elite clients would need to be entertained for the three hour trip on their way to safari on the ritzy Soleri offshore arcology, and it looked like Skyfleet's customer analytics modeled that the GO WILD campaign would be the best fit. Luke paged through the crew profiles and chose two stewardesses from the catalog, noting that one of them was a new hire - some clients tipped better for fresh holes. He arrived at the gate well before the clients, and was pleased to see the aircraft present and vacant. No haggling with Central Routing and Scheduling today. At the gate agent's counter, the luggage system spat out two Easy-Carry Cases, which Luke hitched one atop the other and wheeled down the jet bridge.
The charter jet was powered down and empty save for a last lingering cleaning drone spraying down the seats with disinfectant. Eight modular seats were arrayed loosely around a wet bar in the middle of the passenger cabin. Luke slotted the cases into the crew bays under the bar and logged into the control system. The plane ran diagnostics and tested its subsystems while the captain browsed the GO WILD branding catalog for cabin configuration options.
With a pneumatic hiss, Hazel unfurled at the end of the bar, straightening up and gazing dreamily around at her surroundings. The passenger cabin was small; she recognized it instinctively as a short-haul charter jet. Only the floor, the furniture and a thin metal frame along the spine of the ceiling was opaque; the rest of the aircraft's fuselage was transparent to provide sweeping views of the pre-dawn twilight and the plane's sleek, predatory wings. Hazel glanced to her left and saw another stewardess at the other end of the bar coming online as well, a leopard kemonomimi with beautiful olive skin named Marina, gazing mindlessly around like Hazel was. Hazel paused and looked down at herself. Her breasts, tightly packed into her immaculate Skyfleet stewardess uniform, took up most of her view. She ran a finger along the gap of exposed flesh between her thigh-highs and miniskirt, shuttering from the sensitivity of her plush, glossy latex skin. She felt pretty and special and official in her perfectly tailored uniform. Soon, she'd get to greet new passengers! She suppressed a giggle but did a little shimmy in place, tail wagging, to get the nerves out.
Captain Luke ignored the stewardesses as he paged through the branding catalog, settling on an Arcadian Sunrise theme. On his command, the cabin restructured itself, shifting the wet bar to the aft and the seats to a loose ring with a view out the front. The bar disguised itself in a hologram of a twisted olivewood alter spilling over with fragrant orchids. The floor became elegant, moss-speckled marble and verdant greenery; the seats remade themselves from silk tapestries. The air conditioning filled the atmosphere with the rich scent of dew and fresh-cut grass, warm with a lingering hint of morning chill - a bracing, fresh feeling of a new day ready to begin. Birdsong replaced the antiseptic hum of the revving engines. The cabin took on the feeling of waking up on the first day of camping, ready to set off on an adventure.
The clique of fintech bros that piled in from the jetway, bantering and jostling one another and carelessly tossing their bags in the corner as they boarded, didn't seem to notice the carefully curated ambience. They were too busy whipping each other up about the hardcore hunt they'd be starting in just a few hours, bragging about the stopping power of the military-grade rifles they had shipped to their hotel, taking bets on the trophies they'd bag. Hazel felt a warm gooey longing well up in her at the sight of the passengers, a girlish desire to hop in their arms and touch them all over, but her training kept her in place, standing at attention. She and Marina moved in sync, crossing their hands behind their backs just over the base of the tail and bowing deeply, reciting simultaneously, "Welcome to Skyfleet Airlines!" Captain Luke stood graciously at the door as they entered, shaking hands, welcoming them aboard in a more conversational tone.
The passengers were still taking their seats as the plane slid smoothly into the air, the AI opting to pitch a slightly aggressive 25 degrees on takeoff to goad their boisterous mood. They gave a whoop as the jet banked sharply over the glimmering row of executive beach resorts and soared out over open water. Hazel didn't break her stride as the plane maneuvered, sashaying with perfect balance from seat to seat with a tray of liquor and party drugs in one hand, never spilling a drop. A tingle shot up her spine when a blond, chiseled hunk pinched her ass while she bent to place a whiskey sour on his side table. He leaned back in his chair and bragged more for his bros' benefit than hers, "Why do we need to fly out to a frankenstein island in the middle of the ocean if I can bag a shewolf right here?"
Hazel grinned and leaned in close to his face, so that her long red hair teased his chest and her ample cleavage dominated his vision, and whispered conspiratorially into his ear. "You're welcome to try if you think you can handle her." Feeling the eyes of the other boys on her ass, she made sure to raise her tail and cock her hips. By the time they had reached cruising altitude, she was kneeling between the blond's legs, undoing his fly.
Online, Hazel was traveling the world. Her image had scored well across the core GO WILD male 18-35 high income demo, and in particular she was a breakout hit with the hunting, extreme sport, private aeronautics and outdoor fashion co-factors. Soon, the algorithmic content-generation systems were headlining her alongside the other highest-performing campaign hires for flagship GO WILD ads, depicting her surfing down Sahara sand dunes with a rapacious fennic foxgirl, playing volleyball on a tropical beach with an exotic raptorgirl and making out with a Amazonian tigergirl in a secluded jungle hot spring. Her face appeared in optics, wall art, news clips and sky-dominating holo ads, inviting wealthy travelers from all over the world to fly her to exotic destinations. For months to come, ten million people would know her face and no one would know her name.
Hazel and Marina waved off the gaggle of execs as they piled into a 4x4 on the Soleri Gamma airstrip and drove off into the synthetic savanna. The next client for the charter jet would be bringing his own staff, so the two stewardesses simply packed themselves back into their Easy-Carry Cases to be stowed until their next flights.