Adventures of K1M Pt. 02

The van door closes behind me with a 'woosh' sound, as the vehicle pressurizes, creating an airtight environment. I step into what appears at first to be a shower stall, big enough for a large humanoid body in a standing position.

I raise my arms above my head and grasp onto handles near the ceiling, bracing myself securely for any bumps and swaying as the van speeds off.

Small, articulated arms extend from various hidden openings around the stall and begin quickly and efficiently removing my shoes, clothes, and lingerie. These items are pulled into compartments situated around the stall and stored for sanitizing and restocking.

Another set of mechanical arms lowers from the ceiling, and quickly taps a pre-programmed pattern of releases around my skull, just above the hairline. To any listening ears, it would sound like a series of small bubble wrap capsules popping. To my synthetic mind, in this interim state, it is the unmistakable sound of my long dark hair separating from the smooth curve of my skull.

The arms pull my wig into another compartment for cleaning and storage.

Now, standing naked and bald in the narrow space, I spread my legs a bit and open my mouth wide. Were anyone able to observe this posture, I would no doubt look very much like an unfinished mannequin or sex doll being readied for shipment.

Which, technically, I suppose I am.

This appearance is only aided by my gravity-defying perky breasts, tipped by erect nipples.

Why make an android appear sexually aroused during maintenance, one might ask? Perhaps it has to do with the security cameras in all vehicles. Perhaps it's due to the not-so-secret fact that all SynthSuite androids, regardless of their final use case, are all pleasure-driven companion droids at their core.

Either way, the true answer is not stored in my hard drives, and my curiosity on the matter is put to rest as several motorized tubes extend from the van walls toward my fit, motionless body.

One tube assembly near my face creates an airtight seal around my mouth and nose. Another approaches from the rear, meeting a small panel in my lower back. Inside the seal formed at the panel border, a series of data cables find their matching ports, and a fluid hose finds a matching receptacle and seals in place.

A third tube rises from the floor, coming to seal around my vaginal and anal openings.

Now that all ports are sealed, a dozen electrostatic nozzles mounted in the van walls activate, spraying my entire body and all surfaces in the stall with a delicate mist of sanitizing fluid.

All my statistical user data, error logs, and system messages are transferred to the system cloud via the cables in my back. Software patches are downloaded and installed, and my faulty vaginal sensors are deemed a low enough priority to be repaired after my next rental engagements.

The oral and vaginal lubricant pumps in my torso spin up to full speed, emptying the cherry-flavored fluid reserve down the tube in the floor. Fresh strawberry-flavored lubricant is pumped through the tube in my back, refilling the reservoir.

A cleaning solution is pumped into the tube in my mouth, which runs the full course through my simple synthetic esophagus, flushing out the small amount of wine and water consumed over the past few days in any instances of simulated public consumption, along with any remaining body fluids.

In a rare moment of emotional affect, I must admit, the sensation of having my entire sensory-laden interior flushed out at the same time is absolutely erotic. This may seem like a waste of behavioral programming, but I suspect the arousal is meant to prime the flow of my newly-replaced fluids.

Once every accessible surface, inside and out, of my smooth, toned body is cleaned and sanitized, and all data transfer is complete, the electrostatic sprayers are replaced by warm air blowers, which quickly dry off my skin.

The entire stall is left bone dry, and the various tubes and data cables retract into the walls. The panel on my lower back re-seals itself, and the inner wall of the stall glides open.

I step forward into the main cabin of the van, lined on either side of the ceiling by storage bins, and either side of the cabin by benches, populated by a variety of other androids, all seated and connected to the van's central charging system.

Stepping past a large black male figure dressed as a police officer, I reach into a storage bin near the ceiling and pull out a short blond bob wig, and lower it over my scalp. More light clicking as the contact points in my plastic skull all secure in sequence to give the wig a perfectly natural fit.

Moving forward a step, placing my bare vagina squarely in the face of a smiling, large-breasted woman in a bikini, I open another bin and extract a plastic pouch of clothing. I swiftly put on a barely office-appropriate ensemble consisting of black thigh high stockings with matching bra and panties, a short plaid skirt, and a tight white button down shirt.

I retrieve a few accessories from another overhead bin. Thin-rimmed glasses and high heels complete the requested look, and I take a seat between two identical, motionless, wide-eyed Thai women in maid uniforms.

The microphones in my ears register the faint "whirr" of a charging port connecting to my lower back, and I my top-level senses go dark as I enter low power mode and await my destination.