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Meeting Herself

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She crawled out of the clonevat, naked and cold and lonely, and went to seek her other half, her true self. She knew the layout of the station—false memories, implanted, but memories just the same—and knew she'd love Angela because she was programmed to, but her love was no less real for that. She wandered the halls, shivering, until she stood in front of Angela's door.

Taking a deep breath, she slid her hand over the ID plate. The door opened, of course; same fingerprints, same DNA, same everything, except her soul. Clones didn't have souls. That was okay with her; Angela had enough soul for both of them.


Angela woke to see a naked girl curled up next to her door. She started at first, and then realized the girl wasn't moving, wasn't a threat; she pulled on her silk flowered robe and walked over to check her out.

It was like looking in a mirror. A doubled mirror, because the heart-shaped cluster of freckles under her left eye were under this girl's left eye, not her right like a mirror would have it. Angela gasped when she realized who—what—this girl must be.

"You're me!"

"I'm you," the clone replied. She looked up at Angela with open yearning.

Angela put her arms around the shivering girl—so cold!—and led her to the bed, where she got under the covers with the clone to warm her. As Angela pressed her warm body to the clone's chilled form, the shivering slowed, and then, slowly, started again… for a different reason this time.

As Angela hugged the clone to share warmth, she realized the other girl's nipples weren't hard from cold anymore. On impulse, she ducked her head down and licked one of them, flicking it with her tongue. The clone squeaked and Angela realized why Luke was always pinching her—that was a delightful sound, and she wanted to hear it again.

This time, she nipped at the nibble, and the clone didn't just squeak again, she arched her whole body; when her leg moved against Angela's, the clone moaned aloud.

Hmm, thought Angela, I always wanted to know what this feels like from the outside… and she slid her hand down the clone's writhing body into the cleft of her sex. Angela let her fingers touch and stroke and clench the wet folds, and her clone opened her legs wide and pressed up into the touches. When she glanced up to the clone's face, her lavender eyes were wide with shock and wonder, her mouth a perfect moue of want, and Angela couldn't help grinning as she bent in for a kiss.

The clone melted under the touch of her lips, and Angela licked and nibbled while her fingers twisted and thrust, and the clone arched and shuddered, almost shrieking as she came. When Angela moved to straddle the clone—her clone, her other self—the clone smiled at her and shook her head, and slid down until her head was between Angela's legs.

The clone met Angela's eyes and winked at her before pressing her face to Angela's dripping mound. She reached around to squeeze the globes of Angela's ass, pressing her down as the clone's tongue caressed Angela's clit. Angela squeaked, and didn't care that the clone heard her; she could never be embarrassed here, with her own other self, and then the clone was flicking her clit with her tongue and Angela stopped thinking; when the clone sucked her clit hard, Angela bucked into her face and the clone moaned around her, and that was it, Angela's orgasm hit like a wave of infinite pleasure, lifting her, twisting her, reshaping her into someone who'd never be lonely again.


When they could both move again, Angela propped her head up on her arm and looked at her clone, lazily trailing her fingers around the clone's nipples. The clone looked back at her with trust and awe.

"We'll have to get you a name," Angela said. The clone nodded. She knew she'd never be worthy of the name she loved best—Angela. "I think I could call you… Adarsa. It means 'mirror.' Would you like that?"

The clone nodded. "I'd like any name you gave me," she said shyly.

"Well, when it's just us, I can call you Angie 2, how's that?"

The clone beamed at her.