Fifi the Softbot stood just where she'd been put. Mistress had gone to work, turning off the lights as She went, so the only illumination came from the heavily polarized bay window. It offered a lovely view of the New York skyline, but Fifi, in her corner, wasn't properly positioned to see it. She stood, in her French maid's uniform, like a turned-off appliance, erect and still with her knees locked tight.

Actually, Fifi's knees shouldn't have been locked at all. Like all Softbots, she had been programmed to switch up her stance when required to hold pose for a long time, but there were just so many things she had been programmed to do and not do. Her mind was too soft to hold them all.

So there she stood with her knees locked, alone in the darkened apartment, for close on 45 minutes. Then she fainted.

Fifi toppled as if she'd been struck, falling off her six-inch stiletto heels and striking her temple against an end table as she fell. The carpet cushioned her landing a little, but as she was already unconscious before she hit, it didn't matter very much. What did matter was something Fifi wouldn't have noticed even if she'd been awake. The table-corner had struck her head in such a way that a single neurofiber, one of billions that had been implanted in her brain, bore the brunt of the shock. Just beneath the surface of her skull, the tip of that fiber began to collapse - one molecule at a time.

Fifi lay like a broken toy for nearly half an hour. At last she groaned and stirred. For a moment she didn't know who or where she was, but her programming couldn't be subverted that easily. Ah yes, she remembered now. Fifi was a Softbot, a toy, a puppet, the mindless plaything of Mistress Kelly Reardon. Fifi loved her owner with all her heart and obeyed Her in everything. So then, what was she doing on the floor? Mistress had told her to stand upright!

Fifi pushed herself to a sitting position and winced at the pain in her head. Reflexively her hand went to her temple, and she squeaked at the lump she felt there. When she drew her fingers back she found a trace of blood. Oh no! She'd damaged Mistress' property!

Fortunately, Softbots were programmed for rudimentary first aid. Fifi rushed to bathroom and inspected herself in the mirror. Pushing aside curly black bangs, she saw an almost egg-sized lump, seeping blood. It had already darkened to purple. Poor Mistress, to have a slave in such sorry condition!

Fifi cleaned herself up as best she could, applied ice to the bruise, and went back to standing in the corner.

When Kelly came home almost eight hours later, she found Fifi waiting at the door with her customary glass of wine. A good third of the slave's forehead was now discolored. "Fifi!" Kelly gasped. "What have you done to yourself?"

"Pardonnez-moi, Mistress," said Fifi, curtseying deeply. Her accent wasn't perfect, but it was the way she was programmed to speak. In fact, she was programmed, as Softbots, Inc., advertised, with "almost 500 words of actual French." Among them was the French word for Mistress, but Kelly didn't like her to use that one. She thought it sounded too much like "mattress."

"I have made an 'orrible mistake, Mistress," said Fifi. "I was standing as You told me zis morning, but I forgot and locked my knees. I fainted and struck my 'ead on Your end table. The table is not damaged; I have checked."

Kelly frowned and stepped closer to inspect the bruise. Then she peered into Fifi's eyes and turned her head back and forth, studying her thoroughly. At last she stepped back. "Well," she sighed, "If I take you to SI there'll be a service charge, and you don't look too badly hurt." She took a sip of wine. "I guess we'll just let it go. But be more careful next time. No more locking your legs!"

"Non, Mistress. No more locking my legs. I promise."

That night Fifi danced for her Mistress, stripping herself of one long glove and then the other, kicking off her stilettos and snapping off her garters to wind her fishnets down one at a time. She wore no panties, and every time she bent over Kelly caught a glimpse of ass or pussy.

Also every time she bent over, Fifi's head throbbed, and her thoughts were strangely confused. Usually it was so simple to do what Mistress wanted; it was as natural as breathing. But now she actually had to think about obeying. It was nothing serious enough to bother Kelly with, though.

When she was naked Fifi danced over to Mistress and began to undress her, starting with Her purple silk blouse and moving inward to Her matching bra and panties. Fifi tongued Mistress' nipple and sighed along with Her when the button rose. She slid down to Mistress' panties and slipped her tongue under one edge, then drew it downward with lips and teeth. Mistress' hair was the same rich chestnut below as above. Fifi thrust her face into the darkness and inhaled deeply.

Suddenly she had a flash of kneeling before another snatch, this one white-blonde and with a sharper scent. Fifi blinked. As far as she remembered, she'd never been with anyone except Mistress. Coupled with her confusion and the pain in her head, this could indicate a problem with her conditioning. She made a mental note. If the malfunctions continued, she'd have to recommend Mistress take her in for a checkup. But for now...Fifi slipped her tongue between Mistress' throbbing petals and found the bud between. Ah yes, this was all she needed to feel better.

She slept in peace that night, but the rot from the damaged neurofiber continued to spread.

Fifi spent most of the next day cleaning Mistress' apartment. She still had a headache, and now she felt a new sensation, as if something deep inside her lay trapped beneath a blanket. Fifi pictured herself shifting under heavy wool, trying to find a way out, but the blanket was just too huge and thick to shift. The most her struggles gained her was an occasional flash of light.

She thought again of telling Mistress about these problems, but the blanket sensation hardly qualified as a malfunction. Besides, there was something...enticing...about those glimpses of light. Cleaning didn't require much concentration, so she let herself toy with the image as she worked.

Fifi fought the blanket all day long, and around the time she began dinner, she recognized a new emotion in her mind: anger. But what did a Softbot have to be angry about? They were among the happiest creatures on the planet; Softbots, Inc., made sure of it. She could ask Mistress, but somehow it seemed best to Fifi to ponder this question in silence.

When her beloved came home she greeted Her with wine and kisses, and Fifi almost managed to forget her dilemma over dinner. Mistress was especially happy with the lobster bisque; She even complimented Fifi on it. The Softbot glowed with pleasure. But the anger came back at bedtime stronger than ever. Fifi lay in the dark, watching the hump of her owner's body under the covers. The soft, lush curve of Her hip practically invited caress, but somehow Fifi didn't want to touch her Mistress tonight. In fact, she wanted to...to...what? What was that emotion, even blacker than anger? SI hadn't programmed her to recognize it.

If Fifi had needed any more proof that she was malfunctioning, this was it. She had to tell Kelly what was going on inside her head. She had to tell Her. But it could wait until morning.

Fifi's dreams were usually vague and peaceful, but not tonight. Tonight she found herself clamped to a table and screaming while strangers poked her with needles. Then they placed a helmet over her head, and as it tumbled down across her vision, so did the blanket. She thrashed and screamed until the light came back, a wide wash of yellow from the bedside table. Mistress was propped up on one elbow, staring at her. "What the hell is wrong with you?" She groaned. "Softbots aren't supposed to have nightmares."

No, they weren't. But Fifi was malfunctioning. She'd tell Kelly now, and Kelly would take her back to Softbots, Inc., for a thorough checkup. And when she got back, she'd be so brainscrubbed and happy that she'd never think about the blanket again. She'd forget it had ever been there.

Suddenly Fifi didn't want that.

There was nothing in a Softbot's programming to prevent her from lying to her owner. In fact, Softbots, Inc., assumed, lying might be necessary from time to time, to protect the company's interests. So Fifi was less concerned about misleading Kelly than she was about misleading Her without reason. But she had a reason, didn't she? The lie was for her own good. Funny, logic like that would have carried no weight a day or two ago. But now? Fifi told her Mistress that yes, even Softbots occasionally had nightmares, and both went back to sleep content.

Revelation struck the next day, as Fifi stood in her accustomed corner. That strange emotion she'd felt before, the one she couldn't identify? It had a name. It had an object, too, and when Fifi realized who that was, she was very glad she hadn't told Mistress about the malfunctions. For what she had experienced yesterday, and was still experiencing now, was hate. And chief among those she hated was Kelly Reardon.

Fifi still had enough working neurofibers to be confused about why she hated, but that didn't make the feeling any less real. If Kelly had come home from work right then, she'd have met her not with a glass of wine, but with a butcher knife.

Still, something deep beneath the blanket urged caution.

Fifi thought about it as she stood to attention. Killing Kelly would be pleasurable in the short term, but what about afterwards? She knew about crimes and the police, but she didn't know how to hide the first or hide from the second. She'd be caught soon enough, and then it would be back to Softbots, Inc., for a thorough reformatting. That is, if she were lucky. If she were unlucky they'd deem her beyond repair.

Discovering the blanket had brought Fifi nothing but misery, but she couldn't bear to give up what she'd learned from it. And she seemed to learn more every day. Well then, with a few more malfunctions, she might be able to think of a better solution to the Kelly dilemma. Yes, that thought brought a rumble of satisfaction from deep beneath the blanket. Fifi stood quite still but with knees unlocked for two hours, dreaming of how she'd make her Mistress pay. Then she went into the kitchen and started Her dinner.

Tonight was the night of Fifi's weekly reinforcement session. She was supposed to take a pill and plug herself into her special chair, complete with helmet and dildo. Then she'd chant the night away in ecstasy. But somehow, Fifi didn't feel much like ecstasy tonight.

It was easy to fool Kelly, who'd grown bored with this procedure and never bothered to watch anymore. She'd even relegated the reinforcement station to the guest room, claiming Fifi made too much noise for her to sleep. So Fifi had no fear of discovery as she left the pill in its bottle. She didn't turn on the helmet or the dildo, though she plugged herself into both. Then she settled back in the chair.

She hadn't planned it this way (truth be told, she hadn't planned anything in particular), but lying here in this familiar setting, now robbed of its power, stirred strange thoughts in Fifi's mind. She found herself making connections she'd never made before. For instance, this reinforcement equipment felt strangely like the torture implements of last night's dream. And the white-coated torturers looked strangely like Softbots, Inc., technicians. But SI had made her, hadn't they? And she was supposed to love her makers. She fell into a fitful sleep and dreamed of clamps and drugs and blankets.

By the time she woke gasping, Fifi hated Softbots, Inc. almost as much as she hated Kelly.

The next day the blanket was thinner but still present, and Fifi worried at first that she wouldn't be able to maintain her act of devoted slave. But whatever else the stranger under the blanket turned out to be, she was a consummate actress. The hardest part for Fifi, suddenly, was not improving on her pseudo-French accent.

"Ooo, Mistress," she cooed as Kelly arrived home from work that evening, "you look so sad! What is ze matter? May Fifi help?"

Kelly regarded her with irritated condescension. "Bad day at work," she sighed, then added in an undertone, "maybe one of my last." She took the proffered wine and downed it in one gulp. "Another. And we'd better be stocked up on ice cream. Are we?"

"Non, Mistress," Fifi pouted. "You finished a carton three days ago, and I 'ave not been to the grocery since then."

"Then you're going now. Here--" Kelly fished in her purse, slung cockeyed over one shoulder. "Take my car keys and credit card and get back as quickly as you can."

"Oui, Mistress.

Somewhere in the middle of the frozen foods, it occurred to Fifi that she now had access to money and a vehicle. What was to prevent her from driving off and leaving Kelly in the lurch? But of course it wasn't that simple. Where would she go? How would she hide? What would she do when the SI controllers tracked her down? And most important of all, how would she gain her revenge?

Fifi paid for the ice cream and hurried back to the only home she knew.

"Yargh, I'm too drunk and too full of ice cream to drop off. Bring me a sleeping pill and some water."

Fifi curtseyed and hurried into the bathroom, which adjoined both Kelly's bedroom and her own reinforcement room. She opened the cabinet over the sink, took down the bottle of pills, then stopped and glanced back toward Kelly's room. From here, the bed on which her "Mistress" lay was invisible. And that meant Fifi was invisible to her Mistress.

She looked down at the bottle in her hand, then back toward the reinforcement room. A smile crept over her face.

"'Ere you are, Mistress," she murmured a moment later, pressing the pill to Kelly's lips.

Kelly opened obediently, then took the proffered water. She closed her eyes and sighed. "No sex, tonight, Fifi. Just give me a massage."

"Oui, Mistress." Fifi waited until Kelly rolled over, then straddled her ass and began to knead her back. Her owner relaxed quickly - too quickly, she might have thought, if she hadn't been muddled with wine. Her mouth fell open and she began to drool on her pillow. "How do you feel?" asked Fifi, forgetting to drop her H, but neither she nor Kelly noticed.

"Mmm," responded Kelly, somehow managing to slur even that.

Fifi grinned nervously. To tell the truth, she hadn't planned much beyond this point. The compulsion to give Kelly a reinforcement pill had come from deep beneath the blanket, and whoever spoke from there had said nothing else.

She paused to consider. Well, she knew what happened to her when she took a pill. It was too late to move Kelly to the reinforcement station, but perhaps she could arrange a similar experience for her here. "I am a Softbot," Fifi murmured in the tones of the reinforcement helmet. She slid her hands down Kelly's back and thrilled to the slackness of her muscles. "A toy, a puppet, a mindless plaything." She paused, then urged in something closer to her own voice, "Now you say it, Kelly: I am a Softbot, a toy, a puppet, a mindless plaything."

"Ah'm Softb't," Kelly slurred, her lips trapped by pillow and drool, "a toy, a p'p't, a--"

"-mindless plaything," Fifi gasped. It was working! It was actually working! A ripple began at the center of the blanket and rode out to its edges. She groaned and slid one finger into her snatch. The other went in Kelly's; after all, it was part of the reinforcement procedure.

"Aaah! M'ndless playt'ng!" shrieked Kelly.

Again the blanket flapped, and bright bursts of sunshine lit Fifi's mind. "Good girl," she moaned, and pulled a finger free to turn Kelly's head to one side. This was too good to waste with slurring. "I have no will, no memories, no mind of my own. Say it, Kelly."

"I have no will, no memories, no - ah!-" Fifi had just crooked her finger over Kelly's g-spot - "mind of my own!"

Fifi, her mind ablaze, dug harder into both their cunts. "I exist to serve-to serve-" The mantra she'd learned had her pledging allegiance to Kelly Reardon, but that wouldn't do for Kelly herself. Whom, then, should Kelly serve? Well, that was obvious! "I exist to serve Fifi the Softbot!"

"I exist to serve Fifi the Softbot," repeated Kelly, and Fifi went off like an alarm clock. She fell forward over Kelly's back and grabbed the woman's breasts, banging her bare snatch against Kelly's ass and humping like an animal.

"I exist to serve Fifi the Softbot," Fifi panted, and Kelly screamed it back to her. Fifi grabbed one of Kelly's hands, pulled a finger stiff, and thrust it into her throbbing snatch. "Oh! Yes! Fifi is my Mistress! I love her with all my heart!"

"Fifi is my Mistress," howled Kelly, and her ex-slave flung her over on her back and planted her cunt in Kelly's face. The rest of the mantra was, understandably, drowned.

Every bounce and grind shifted the blanket a little further, until at last Fifi pulled away with a shriek. She sneered into the empty eyes of the woman who'd been her Mistress. "My name," she said, "is Carla Pierelli. And yours is meat."

Kelly woke the next morning to find Fifi bending over her with a breakfast tray stuffed with goodies. "'Ow did you sleep, Mistress?" the Softbot asked.

Kelly stretched, sighed, smiled. "Mmm, just great. That's the best massage you've ever given, Fifi. I fell asleep right in the middle of it and never knew a thing till morning."

"My pleasure," twinkled Fifi, and curtseyed. "Shall I feed you now?"

Kelly considered a moment. "No, Fifi. After last night, I think I owe you breakfast in bed."

Carla watched the idea take hold in Kelly's mind, lighting her eyes with arousal. "Now, get in here," her Mistress said, and her voice was slightly huskier than usual. "No arguments!"

"Oh, non, Mistress," simpered Carla. "I wouldn't dream of disobeying you." Kelly's eyes flared again, and Carla knew she was imagining herself saying those words. Imagining what else she could do to feed this new pleasure. Carla climbed happily into bed and let Kelly feed her, both of them inhaling the odor of musk.

Kelly was fingering herself halfway through the meal, and fingering Carla soon after. But she couldn't bring herself to set aside the breakfast tray until she'd fed Carla every last bite; she wouldn't have completed her task otherwise. As soon as Carla had swallowed the last strawberry, though, Kelly swept the tray onto the floor and pounced on the bed, tonguing her with a ferocity like nothing she'd never shown before. "Ooh," squealed Carla, slipping a knee up between Kelly's legs and kneading her breasts, "I sink Mistress likes serving better than commanding!"

"I do!" cried Kelly, as if she'd just realized it herself. She slid down Carla's belly and buried her face in her crotch. "I - mm - love it! Give me more! Tell me what to do, Fifi!"

"Oui, Madame," Carla moaned, so hot now she could barely remember how to play her part. "Lick me! Lick me hard! Right there! Yes! Ahhhhh, yes! Now suck. Oh yes, oh hell yes!"

Kelly never noticed the slip. She came up for air some fifteen minutes later, lips and eyes equally glazed, and grinned at the woman she'd called slave. "Did Mistress enjoy herself?"

"Oui," purred Carla. "She did. And did the slave enjoy herself?"

"Oui," purred Kelly. "She did."

And so the morning went. Kelly bathed Carla with her sweetest soaps, dried her with her softest towels, and clothed her in her richest silks. Kelly herself donned the maid's uniform. Every harsh word or submissive act gave her a fresh throb of pleasure, and cemented her new status still more.

At about 11:00 the phone rang. Kelly looked to Carla for permission to answer it. "Go ahead," said Carla, no longer even bothering with the accent. "But leave the vidscreen off."

Kelly obeyed, and soon her boss' angry voice filled the room. "Where the hell are you, Reardon?" he growled. "I would have thought, after yesterday, that you'd be falling all over yourself to get back in my good graces."

Kelly, stuffed now with sleek submissiveness, drooped under the weight of this attack. But Carla wrapped her arms around her from behind. "He's not worth your servitude," she whispered. "Be harsh with him, bitch. I demand it."

Instantly Kelly perked up. "You know what, Mr. Pinkins?" she said. "You can really be an ass sometimes. I deserve a day off after all the shit you put me through yesterday. In fact-" her eyes lit as a new thought occurred to her-"I deserve even more than that. I deserve a better job! Mr. Pinkins, I quit!" She stabbed the off button and turned to Carla, face radiant. "Did I do good?"

"You did great," Carla assured her. And because she saw where this was headed - she'd planted these ideas herself, last night - she carried on. "You do deserve a better job. One you enjoy. One that will fulfill you every second of every day. What job do you think would do that, little slave?"

Kelly beamed. "I already know the answer to that, and so do you. Fifi, I want to be a Softbot!"

Carla pretended to consider the request. "Are you sure about that, Kelly?" she asked, barely disguising her glee. "After all, volunteering for recycling is a heavy commitment. It would mean submitting to drugs and brainwashing, losing your whole identity, living a life of will-less obedience. Is that what you really want, you stupid cow?"

Kelly hugged herself tight. "It is, it is! Fifi, I've never been as happy as I've been this morning, and it's all thanks to you. You've shown me my true calling. I was always meant to be a slave. And you were always meant to be my Mistress. I love you, Fifi, and I trust you. Teach me how to serve you more fully."

Carla sighed and shrugged. "Well, if that's what you really want. But we'll have to make some preparations first. Get dressed, cunt. You're going out."

Carla instructed Kelly very carefully before she sent her outdoors. Kelly would be gone for several hours, and during that time, she must not reveal any evidence of her new calling. She must appear the same confident, independent-minded person she'd been every other day of her life. Carla watched Kelly soak up the instruction with sad determination. She hated the thought of hiding her new submissiveness, but she hated more the idea of disobeying her Mistress. She'd follow Carla's commands to the letter, in her absence as well as in her presence.

She was already squaring her shoulders and readjusting her expression as she stepped out of the apartment. Carla watched her go, then allowed herself a few moments of happy-dance. Before long it would be her striding out that door, and Kelly staying behind to serve. Possibly forever.

Carla spent the afternoon working on the recycling station. She'd been a cyber-grifter in her pre-Softbot days - not one of the best, or she'd never have been caught, but good enough to avoid the law for ten years. She understood the workings of the helmet well enough. The nodes on the inner surface transmitted reinforcement commands through her neurofibers. Well, they had. Neither nodes nor neurofibers were any use now (though how that had happened, she still wasn't entirely sure). She extracted the nodes carefully and put them in a bag for Kelly to take to the incinerator. Then she bumped up the feed on the audio-visual stimulants and recorded a new message. That was fun.

Kelly swept back in around dinner time, loading down with bags of goods and food. And cash. She knelt beside her Mistress and fed her, then ate her own meal from a dish on the floor. Carla allowed her no utensils, but that bothered the new slave not at all.

Then it was time for Kelly's brainwashing. Cooing reassurance, Carla stripped her and led her back to the reinforcement station. Kelly let herself be cuffed hand and foot to the chair. She lay quiet and expectant as Carla bent over her. "And now," purred her Mistress, "it's time for the real fun, bitch. Toggle off."

Kelly blinked, gasped, opened her eyes wide and stared. The trigger phrase had wakened her from her day-long trance, but she wouldn't remember much of the last few hours. "F-Fifi?" she gasped. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Not Fifi," her captor corrected. "Say my real name."

Kelly didn't seem to hear her. "Fifi?" She jerked at the cuffs, whipped one way and then the other. "What are you doing to me? Let me go right this instant!"

Carla kicked the chair. "Not Fifi, you ignorant cow. You know my real name; say it!"

Kelly stopped struggling and stared. After a long moment of silence she whispered, "C-Carla?"

"Very good." Carla folded her arms and nodded encouragement. "See? Even a stupid bitch like you can learn something once in awhile. Carla what? Come on, I want to hear you say it!"

The captive's eyes unfocused as she looked inward and found, to her surprise, the answer. "Carla Pierelli? How? But-I don't-"

"You don't have to," sneered Carla. "Just know that I'm back, and you're meat."

Kelly's eyes grew wide, and she strained once more against the cuffs. When that didn't work, she opened her mouth and screamed for all she was worth...or tried to. Nothing emerged but a squeaky whisper.

"Just a little post-hypnotic suggestion," Carla shrugged. "We can't have you alerting the neighbors. Not when we're having so much fun."

Kelly shrank in on herself. "What's this all about? What are you doing to me?"

That brought a guffaw from her captor. "Oh, come on, bitch. Look where you are. Look where I am. Look at this-" she waggled the bottle of reinforcement pills. "Do you really have to ask?"

Kelly's mouth opened wide and she wailed as best she could. "You can't recycle me; I haven't done anything wrong!"

"In whose eyes?" Carla snorted.

"But it's against the law!"

Her captor laughed merrily and shook her head. "Damn, Kelly, when did you get to be so funny?" Her eyes hardened. "If you ever wake up, after two or ten or twenty years of slavery, come and find me and tell me what you think of your ex-Mistress. That is, after you finish fucking her over just the way I'm about to fuck you."

Carla crowed inwardly as she saw the truth hit home. Kelly was about to become a Softbot, and there wasn't a thing she could do about it. "No! Please no!" she sobbed. "I'll do anything! What do you want? Sex? Money? A plane ticket out of the country? Just name it!"

Carla refolded her arms. "Okay, now you're just being dense. I've already got you, so I can have all the sex, money and plane tickets I want with or without your permission. In fact, Kelly, there's nothing you can give me that I can't just take on my own."

Kelly closed her eyes and shuddered. Carla waited for her to speak again, but when she did, it wasn't what Carla expected to hear. "There is one thing I can give," the captive whispered. "An apology. A real one, not a forced one."

Carla opened her mouth, then closed it. She'd been about to start the brainwashing process, but now...She looked at Kelly with renewed interest. "Go on."

Emboldened, Kelly swallowed and spoke again in a clearer voice. "Carla, I'm so, so sorry for everything I've done to you. I treated you like a slave and forgot you had ever been a free woman. I never thought about you as a real person, and I am so sorry. I'll never make that mistake again, with you or any other recyclee."

Carla frowned and bit her lip, on the verge of tears. She put one hand to her mouth. When she took it away, she was smiling. "Just kidding. Sorry, Kelly, but that wasn't good enough. For starters, I don't think that really was an unforced apology. I mean, look where you are." She gestured with the pill bottle. "Then there's the little matter of all the years I've spent under your thumb - or in your fucking corner. You can't wipe all that away with a few pretty words."

"No! Fifi - I mean, Carla - I meant them! I meant everything I said! Really!"

Her captor cocked her head, considering. "Well, I suppose you do deserve something for your efforts." She pulled the dildo out of its recess, then lifted a squirt bottle. "I'll put plenty of jelly on this before I insert it."

Kelly tried again to scream, then broke into wrenching sobs. "Please, F-Carla, you don't have to do this!"

"I know," Carla agreed cheerfully. "I'm doing it because I want to. Toggle on."

Kelly's face relaxed into a vacant smile.

"Are you ready to take your happy pill, bitch?" Carla purred.

"Yes, Mistress," chirped Kelly.

"Ready to become a mindless, will-less Softbot?"

"Absolutely, Mistress."

"But you were so scared a moment ago."

"I was?" For the space of a heartbeat Kelly looked confused, but then she smiled again. "Well, I'm not anymore. I want to be a Softbot, Mistress. Just like you."

"Well, then, let's get you started."

Kelly took the pill and swallowed it gratefully, then settled back into the chair while Carla adjusted the helmet and dildo. She sighed as the jellied tip probed her cunt.

"You're welcome," Carla chuckled. She flipped the switches to activate the program. Then, just for fun, she lifted the helmet away from one of Kelly's ears and whispered, "Toggle off."

Kelly gasped, her chest riding up in time with the heave of the dildo. Her eyes, difficult to see under the tinted glass, flew open. For a moment her gaze locked with Carla's, and the terror there reminded Carla so powerfully of her own recycling that she almost shut down the machine. But the light in Kelly's eyes was already fading, like a fast advancing sunset. Her lips began to move, and not to beg or bargain. She did her best to still them, but what she'd started to say, plainly enough, was, "I am a Softbot."

"You are a Softbot," Carla whispered, remembering, "a toy, a puppet, a mindless plaything. You have no will, no memories, no mind of your own."

Slowly the tension drained from Kelly's muscles. She relaxed into the rhythm of the dildo and began to chant along with the helmet. "I exist to serve Carla Pierelli....I am a Softbot, a toy, a puppet, a mindless plaything."

"Good, good," Carla purred. She cupped one of Kelly's heaving breasts in her hand and squeezed gently. "You're on your way, baby doll."

Carla got up early on their last morning together. After three days of mindless, repetitive tasks and three nights of deep-brain reinforcement, Kelly had become a perfect little Softbot. She stood pert and upright, if a little dazed, in her skimpy maid's costume. Even her new black curls stood to attention. She trembled visibly with the need to please.

"What's your name, bitch?" asked Carla, and Kelly smiled.

"Fifi ze Softbot!" she chirped, "property of Kelly Reardon."

"And who is Kelly Reardon?"

"You are, Mademoiselle."

"I thought you were Kelly."

"Oh, non, Mistress. I am Fifi. I 'ave always been Fifi."

"You don't remember your life before becoming a Softbot?"

"Non, Mistress. My life before becoming a Softbot was trés un'appy; I do not wish to remember it. But I am 'appy now." She beamed her pleasure at being Carla's toy.

Carla wondered how long the happiness would last without neurofibers to reinforce it. She'd done the best she could on Kelly, but she didn't kid herself. Lacking SI's best technology, she couldn't create a permanent Softbot. Thank goodness she didn't have to. She reached around to cup Kelly's ass and was rewarded by a simper. "I really wish I could follow you on the rest of your journey," she told the brainwashed woman. "But I have a train to catch. And you have a corner to stand in, don't you, Fifi-bot?"

"Oui, Mistress," Kelly twinkled. She pranced over to the corner and took up her position, carefully keeping her knees unlocked. Carla watched her for a long time, reveling in her blankness, the gleam of her glassy eyes in the darkened apartment. "Well," she sighed at last, "I suppose that's it. Have fun, bitch. I know I did." She gathered up her suitcases and left the apartment, locking the door behind her.

Fifi the Softbot stayed just where she'd been put.

Several hours later, Fifi stirred. Strutting proudly in her stilettos, she crossed to the phone and dialed the number for Softbots, Inc. She left the vidscreen off for the call. "Yes," she said when the SI operator answered. "My name is Kelly Reardon. I own one of your Softbots, a Fifi model, and I think she's malfunctioning. She's slow to obey commands and seems to be taking a little too much initiative....Yes, I agree. I'd like her brought in for reformatting as soon as possible. Can you pick her up this afternoon?....Oh, good. I won't be home until late this evening, but you can come on in and get her. She knows to expect you. Oh, and take the recycling station with you, too. I think the problem started there.....Thanks, I appreciate that. Good-bye."

Fifi hung up the phone, already forgetting who'd really made the call, and trotted back to her corner to await the pickup crew.

At about the same time, a woman with short, spiky red hair and a bruised forehead sat aboard a train speeding toward Atlanta. She imagined the glee with which Kelly would welcome the SI slavers into her home. It would have been more fun to deliver Kelly to SI, herself; but she couldn't take the risk. Dyed hair or not, her ex-Mistress might have been recognized in public, and that could lead to...complications. The last thing Carla wanted was to be recaptured. Better for her to cut out early and leave Kelly to private transport.

For a moment Carla wondered how far Kelly would get in the evaluation process before SI caught on. Maybe she'd make it all the way to reformatting, at which point she'd have to alert them, herself, that she wasn't who they thought she was. That would be funny: a Softbot correcting her programmers.

Carla put that thought aside to consider her own next move. There were old friends to visit, ID's to forge, planes to book. Would Herrero still be in business after all this time? She had a hell of a story for him, if he was.

As a matter of fact, Kelly didn't get anywhere near the reformatting station. When the first brain scan turned up no neurofibers, the technicians alerted their manager, who came at a run. Kelly informed the startled woman that she was, in fact, the ex-owner of the Fifi they thought they were evaluating, and that she had a message for the SI governing board. Then she immediately forgot what she had said.

It was enough, though. The board assembled in record time and Kelly stood before them, cheerfully subservient. "Bonjour, Mesdames et Messieurs. I bring you greetings from my Mistress Kelly Reardon and 'er dear friend-ah, but I cannot recall the friend's name at zis moment. Isn't that silly of me? 'Owever, I do 'ave a message from her which I would like to play for you all. S'il vous plait, if someone would push my button?" To the horror (and, in some cases, secret delight) of the board, Kelly pulled one pink breast from her blouse and pointed the nipple at her nearest observer. "Madame, would you be so kind?"

Stunned, the woman looked around the table at her peers. One by one they gaped or shrugged or looked away. She swallowed, then reached out gingerly to touch the proffered nipple.

"Harder, Madame," Fifi urged.

The board member bit her lip, closed her eyes, and mashed the nipple down. It sprang back instantly.

Kelly smiled. "Merci, Madame." She straightened up, then slouched into a confident, cock-hipped stance. "Hello, assholes," she purred. Her voice no longer held any trace of an accent. "My name is Carla Pierelli, though you might know me better as the real Fifi9871. The woman standing before you, in case you haven't guessed, is Kelly Reardon. Or, well, she used to be. Right now she's so far gone that she doesn't even know what she's saying to you. And if I were you, I wouldn't be too quick to fix that. See-" she shifted from one hip to the other-"you know as well as I do that recycling is supposed to be permanent. What would it do to the industry if that were found to be untrue? What would it do to Softbots, Inc., if they were the proof case? What would it do if that proof case involved a Softbot assaulting her Mistress?"

She made a face. "I won't lie to you; I'd love to see SI go down in flames. But more than that, I'd love to see myself free and happy for the rest of my long, long life. And the only way to ensure that is to strike a deal with the people I hate most. You." Her expression hardened. "By the time you hear this, I'll be halfway across the country with a new name and a new face. You won't find me, so don't bother looking. And you won't find Kelly Reardon, either, if you're smart. No one's reported her missing yet, and when they do, the police won't be able to trace her any further than her apartment. She quit her job three days ago and hasn't been seen by anyone since, save sweet little Fifi. But Kelly sent Fifi back to SI for reformatting. Oh, and did you know how Kelly quit her job just before that? Under duress. She must have been horribly depressed, poor thing. But she still cared enough about her Fifi to send her home before she disappeared. After that, who knows? She could h ave jumped in the river, for all the evidence we have. Her body might not be found for months."

Kelly crossed her arms. "That's what the police will conclude, anyway. I've been very careful about covering my tracks. The only thing I couldn't do was finish Kelly's recycling and farm her out to some poor greedy sap, then maybe fudge the records so she could never be found. That's your part of the deal. If you want it."

Now she smiled. "And just to give you some added incentive, I'm giving you $5,265,000 from Kelly's bank accounts. I know it's not much, but it's all she had; and if you don't claim it from its safe-deposit box, it's just going to sit there. But if our secret is still safe in two months, I'll e-mail you the location and combination of the money." The smile darkened. "Or if our secret isn't safe, you can trust me to enjoy every second of your downfall."

Kelly straightened back into her Fifi posture, and the board saw that the "recording" had reached an end. They stared at one another, dazed, aghast, guilty, guiltily hopeful. All eyes turned gradually to the president. He swallowed. "Well, ah, Fifi," he managed at last, "that was certainly a...an...interesting recording. Thank you. And now, if you don't mind, just step outside and have a seat. Shut the door behind you, yes?"

In the end, they voted eight to two to follow Carla's advice.

The story broke exactly two months and twelve hours later. Softbots, Inc., had been caught in a bribery scandal, taking money to recycle an innocent citizen. Thanks to a tip-off - from someone rumored, against all probability, to be a recovered recyclee - the police had caught an SI employee withdrawing the payment from a safe deposit box. The box just below it contained a two-hour videodisc of the victim explaining her plight - and reading the serial numbers off the stack of hush money.

Carla followed the news from her beachfront condo in Cancun. The police would have her name soon, if they didn't already, but she wasn't worried. Her e-mails to them had been untraceable, and besides, she'd left her old name and face behind in Atlanta.

If only SI had realized how little she really feared recapture. She had even gone back on the grift. The rich tourists in Cancun were easy pickings, and she'd already quadrupled the money she stole from Kelly. Better still, the blonde with the sharp-scented pussy was back with her. She'd gone brunette, but she was just as enticing as ever.

Yes, life was just about as perfect as it could be for this ex-Softbot. But sometimes she found herself thinking about Kelly, wondering if they'd ever find her. Wondering if she cared.