Summary: A media magnate is suspicious when she receives a "gift" of ten identical, brainwashed clones.
Note 1: If you are under 18 years of age, this story is not for you. Go away.
Note 2: This story owes a lot to Sarah H and her tales of industrial espionage, but the opening image came to me in a dream. I was one of the Trixies.
The Trixies beamed as their owners read off their measurements: "Forebrain activity 2%, hindbrain activity 15%, emotional development 1%, autonomic development 120%, electrical activity 755%."
All ten readouts, identical to the day before. Naomi sighed. The fact that she'd expected no less did nothing to ease her disappointment. The woman she'd made love to last night had responded exactly as Renee would have - once Naomi had taught her how. And now that the ten had been synched, all of them would know those responses. She wondered what else Renee had been taught last night, fucking who knew which of them. Had she groveled for Anne? Been caressed by Kari? Reamed by Tony? Yes, in a way she'd experienced all those things. And she'd be more, until she either returned to awareness or returned to Recycled Toys. If they failed to decycle her, Naomi wondered, would Argenti tell them which was the real Renee as she packaged her up for the trip home?
Naomi turned to hide a grimace, covering the action by reaching into the box that contained the Trixies' nutrient bars. The tech-meds had examined them as thoroughly as they'd examined everything else and had declared the foodstuff safe. However, they'd also advised Naomi and her team not to eat them.
The Trixies dug in, beaming as always, and when all ten had finished (at exactly the same moment, of course), their handlers took them out to play.
If the tech-meds had still been there, they might have noticed that the Trixies were processing their food differently than they had before. But the tech-meds were long gone.
"Mistress, why haven't you made love to me yet?"
Kari flushed, partly from embarrassment and partly from excitement. "I didn't know a Trixie could ask questions," she whispered. "Are you regaining some initiative, Renee?"
"No, Mistress," chirped the doll-woman. "I have no initiative, but I have been programmed to respond to certain circumstances with set questions. Why haven't you made love to me yet? Don't you like me?"
Kari bit her lip. If this was Renee, she owed her the truth - and it would be easier to say it now than it would have been before. Not that it would ever be easy. "Renee-" it was hard to call her that, but Kari insisted on trying- "I like you a lot; I always have. Every day we worked together I fell a little more in love with you. But I had the feeling you were involved with someone else, and I was too shy to ask. I don't have any experience with women, see? I'm a virgin."
"Aw," said the Trixie, "that's wonderful. I'm a virgin too - since my recycling. Why don't we lose our virginity together?"
Kari shuddered though she wasn't sure why. "Was that another programmed response?"
"Yes, Mistress. Why don't we lose our virginity together?"
Kari stared hard, trying to see the woman beneath the doll. Renee had black hair and hazel eyes, but her nose had been much like this woman's, and her breasts were only a little smaller. Hesitantly she reached out to touch the smiling lips. Trixie - no, Renee - gently kissed her fingertips.
"I can be anything you want me to be," said the doll.
"Be Renee, then." Kari leaned in and the Trixie, drawing on lessons she'd learned from Naomi, drew her close and raked her fingers upwards through her owner's hair. They kissed deeply. Then Renee's lips moved across Kari's jaw to find her earlobe. She nibbled for a moment or two and then swirled her tongue inside, around, beneath. Her hands moved inside Kari's blouse as her kisses traveled down the woman's collarbone.
Kari had dressed her Trixie in her own clothes but now she pulled them off, smelling her own soft scent as she lifted the shirt over her head. She closed her eyes and imagined the woman before her with raven hair and hazel eyes. Then she dipped downward into her lover's breasts as Renee eased her out of bra and panties. Soon they were on the floor, each woman with her head to the other's cunt. Renee matched Kari move for move as they tongued each other's clits.
It felt just as Kari had always dreamed it would, the soft sweet pains and the sizzling along every nerve ending. Blood pounded through her heart and head and cunt, keeping time with the rhythm of their sex. "I love you, Kari," whispered the Trixie, and her voice sounded just like Renee's.
"Good night, Martina," burbled Trixie1, and kissed the watcher exactly as she'd kissed O'Reilly the night before.
Mm, spicy, thought Henderson. She nibbled the doll-woman's tongue as it withdrew.
"Good night, Martina," burbled Trixie2, and Henderson pulled her close and rammed her fingers into the doll's cunt. O'Reilly would want payback after last night, so have to get her satisfaction in a hurry.
Sure enough, her earphone beeped - far louder than it should have done. She jerked despite herself and grimaced as O'Reilly cackled. "Game over, Henderson. Hope you brought something to read." But Henderson recovered quickly, and lifting a knowing eyebrow she pulled out her book: the Kama Sutra.
The Trixies settled in quickly, as did their guardian. Henderson had no compunctions about masturbating in front of an audience.
She never noticed the buzzing of the storage boxes, but of course she wasn't supposed to.
Naomi's team knew more than most about the recycling process, but even they knew very little. Drugs were involved; that was obvious - as was the sensory reinforcement. The tech-meds' explorations had mapped the Trixies' circuitry, but no one knew how typical that circuitry was, and the computer department had yet to crack its code.
Still, the biggest gap in their knowledge was this. They thought recycling turned every victim into a mindless drone. In fact, nothing could be further from the truth.
This was the recycling trade's best-kept secret. Bit by bit they'd fed the media their lies, and now even a giant like GlobeNet accepted those lies as truth. They thought recycling automatically erased a subject's memories when, in fact, mindwiping was an optional add-on. Body modifications and circuitry were equally unneccessary. Truth be told, all a recycler really needed to remake a mind was a triad of starter drugs and a subliminal imprinting device.
The Trixies' storage boxes functioned as just such devices...in more ways than one. As for the Trixies themselves, they functioned as drugmakers.
Tribase, as the trio of starter drugs was collectively known, had an active life of just over two hours. Thus it had to be manufactured in its components parts and stored separately until use. Argenti had found a way to do this within the body of her dolls themselves. This was the real purpose behind the body modifications Naomi had noticed.
Combining raw materials from their nutrient bars with residues in their saliva, Trixies 1 and 2 produced the first component of Tribase in thick-walled pouches just above their stomachs. Trixies 3-5 produced the second compound; and Trixies 6-10 produced the third, which was required in greatest quantities.
It took them eight days to manufacture enough Tribase to suborn a single GlobeNetter. Once they'd accomplished the feat, they synched the news to one another that night and used the downtime to transfer their compounds to ducts inside their mouths.
On the following night O'Reilly got a wetter kiss than usual, but he didn't notice. He was used to the Trixies' affections now, and besides, Henderson had loaned him her book. He couldn't wait to see what she'd been jilling off about. Hell, he might even give in to a bit of self-abuse himself. It wasn't like he had much else to do.
The book really was engrossing: not as hot as a girlie mag, but there was something about it. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on. O'Reilly slid lower in his chair and unbuckled his pants. Oh yeah, that was better. Now unzip. Henderson was watching, but fuck her. Yeah, fuck her. Squeeze, pump, pull. Weird how the buzzing of the boxes seemed timed to his motions. Or was it the other way around?
Whatever the case, O'Reilly came in record time, spilling the book on the floor and himself on the book. He looked up at the camera and grinned. That's right, Henderson. Fuck you. His gaze slid lazily to the Trixies, their eyes glittering in the overhead light. Had they seen him too? Probably, but fuck them, too, if they had. Anyway, they were all on the same team. John O'Reilly and the doll-girls, all products of the same company. Funny how he'd forgotten who his boss was until now. But of course he'd deep undercover - for years. Maybe it was time to check in with his handlers.
A sly smile crept over O'Reilly's face. Yeah, he needed to call Recycled Toys for instructions - as soon as he could get away from this place. He couldn't call from enemy headquarters, oh no. The line would be tapped. But as soon as he got home from work, he'd pick up the phone. They'd be waiting to hear from him.
O'Reilly strolled into work the next evening in a very different frame of mind. Just a few hours before, he'd met up with his handlers in an abandoned warehouse and received a thorough debriefing. He didn't remember much of it now, but that was all right. An operative of his level knew only what he had to know to get the job done. O'Reilly fingered the three-chambered syringe in his pocket. Yeah, he knew about that, all right.
As soon as Henderson was ensconced in the storage room, he crept down the hall and shot her from the doorway with his stun pistol. When she awoke, the Tribase was already singing in her veins and O'Reilly himself was at her cunt.
After that, it was only 24 hours before the next two guardians fell. O'Reilly and Henderson took them down in tandem when they reported for their shift. Then the four of them took down the remaining guardians the next day.
It had been less than two weeks since the Trixies had arrived at GlobeNet, and already Naomi's system of cameras, mikes, and guardians was rendered useless.