!Paragon vs. plastica, chapter 6> <!by Cobalt Jade email@example.com> <!The superheroines of Team Paragon battle against the evil villainess Plastica -- Dr. Polly Mehr -- and her mannequinization gas. Includes bondage, D/s, statue, and mind control themes.>
by Cobalt Jade
Noelani waited until Plastica's red sports car was out of sight, then turned her attention to the condo below. It looked ordinary enough, but there was a blandness to it... it didn't really looked lived in, despite the scattered clothes and the wigs. The only touch out of the ordinary was the row of crystal dishes pushed up against the dresser mirror. Each contained a different color pill: pink, white, green-and-white, black. So that's how she keeps three different identities going, Noelani thought. Uppers.
In one corner of the bedroom was a computer with several external drives. A leather briefcase had been left next to it.
Noelani bit her lip. Cinnabar had told them not to break in. But Plastica was gone, and the computer and briefcase were right there...
Like most LA denizens Plastica had an alarm system, so violent entry was out of the question. Noelani was forced to poke around until she found the dryer vent. She took a deep breath, assumed flower petal form, and whirled down the duct into the dryer. She quickly resumed human form and kicked the dryer door open with her feet. Luckily there hadn't been any clothes left in there, or it would have been a tight squeeze.
She looked around; a laundry room, dark and cramped. She activated the phosphorescent fungi cells in her costume, which began to glow a pale green. Not the brightest light in the world, but her eyes were sensitive and adjusted quickly. Cool air on her skin told her the condo had central air conditioning, so she flung a fistful of pollen into the air. Within a few minutes the minute particles dispersed throughout the house, glowing like neon where the infrared sensors pierced the rooms. There could also be motion sensors, but Blue Cymbidium had the knack of treading lightly... lightly as the fall of a rose petal against the polished wood.
She slipped through the darkened rooms like a vine growing towards the light. She was correct in assuming this place wasn't lived in. It looked more like an advertisement for a store selling Swedish housewares; she was sure none of the white, pristine dinnerware had ever felt the grease of a chicken enchilada. No heel marks marred the smooth wood of the coffee table top, either. The magazines it held were stacked precisely, corners at right angles: Advertising Age, The Modern Mannequin, Store Display. On the wall was a Sorayama poster, the only piece of art in the place: a robot nude with her back arched, conical breasts pointed up to heaven. Noelani gave it a long look, before creeping down the hall to the bedrooms.
Of the three two were empty and unused. The third was Plastica's. The door was ajar and Noelani could see the briefcase inside. Her fingers itched. What secrets did it contain? How much could it tell them about Plastica and her operation? She stepped into the room.
She knew immediately she had made a mistake. A sudden, sharp coolness hit her skin as jets hidden in the door jam zapped her with a bubblegum-pink mist. She froze in mid-step. Disassemble! Petal form! But her desperate orders to her body had no effect. An electric tingling danced over her skin, followed by a tightening sensation as waves of erotic pleasure washed over her body. She moaned against her will as the sensation filled her. She felt so... so... rigid, so powerless and suspended.
She sank to her knees, her legs no longer strong enough to support her. Intellectually, she knew what was happening. Plastica had rigged a trap, and she was turning into a mannequin. One part of her stood objectively by to analyze the process, to see if she might find a weak spot. But the other parts only wanted only to tear off her costume and pleasure herself like a whore. Her hands moved vainly in little jerks toward her breasts; she would go mad if she couldn't touch her nipples.
Colors flashed before her eyes as the orgasm imploded. They blurred, brightened, becoming hotter and more intense as the vibrations coursed through her body... then faded like dying sparks, leaving her frozen in a rictus of pleasure: back arched, head back.
Fool! she thought, as a drowsy numbness overtook her mind. Why didn't you think she'd have traps --
Then all thoughts drifted away for good as Plastica's latest mannequin waited mutely for her creator to come home.
Gina was making photocopies in the media room when a knock on the window caught her attention. She turned around. Arctica -- Lori -- hovered there like a frosty tinkerbell in her short icicle-edged dress. A film of ice crystals had bloomed where her fist touched the glass.
Gina glanced around to make sure she was alone, then shut the door and locked it. She opened the window. "What's up?"
"Cinnabar is in danger," Lori said breathlessly. "Paula Jean, Plastica, Vi Nyll; they're all the same person. I overheard her on the phone at her condo. She said, 'Cinnabar will be delivered to you by the end of the week. My people are working on it, they're waiting there right now. They know her routine.' "
Gina swore. "Cinn left here twenty minutes ago. She said she was going home."
Lori became even more panicked. "They must be waiting for her there! They know where HQ is!"
Gina pulled out her cell phone. "I'll make calls to the others. With luck, Allison should have gotten back already, so Cinn won't have to face Plastica alone. Fly back to HQ as fast as you can. I don't have the sky-cycle, but I can trace Cinn's route home in my car, to see if she got in trouble on the way."
Lori zipped off, leaving a trail of ice crystals in her wake.
"Damn, she's heavy," Tiger muttered as he helped load Cinnabar in the van.
"She's a superhero; solid muscle, remember?" Plastica said. She gave Cinnabar an injection to keep her unconscious, then handcuffed her wrists and ankles to make sure she wouldn't try anything if she recovered earlier than expected. She eyed her handiwork. Cinnabar looked much less imposing in real life than the picture Plastica had built up in her mind. Prettier than she'd expected, too... and pretty helpless. All the better for what she had planned.
"Get back to the factory before she comes to," she snapped. Tiger hit the gas.
It was around midnight when they came home. Tiger carried Cinnabar inside and placed the cuffed superheroine on a worktable. Iza and Phanxine hovered nearby. Plastica had told them of her plan but not about Kylasha's hand in it, as the Countess didn't want her existence becoming common knowledge among the lower echelons of the criminal underworld. The three knew only that Plastica intended to try something new with her victim, and they were eager to see the results.
"I don't need an audience," Plastica said with annoyance.
"Aw, come on -- " Iza wheedled.
"You can see it when I'm done." She unlocked Cinnabar's handcuffs. "Go chill out in the rec room."
They left, muttering disappointment; but Plastica had made it clear to them from the start that she preferred privacy when working. She also had other reasons for being alone with the superheroine.
Using her knife she slashed off Cinnabar's blue jeans and long-sleeve knit top, then slit the straps of her bra. Her tits burst free like two melons... firm, uptilted, the nipples tawny eyes. Plastica estimated they were at least a 34 C. Her own were much bigger, but they were mostly plastic. These looked all-natural. She pinched the nipples, noting with amusement that they rose to full erection even though their owner was unconscious. She grinned. Hot damn, this would be even more fun than she'd anticipated.
With a few twists of the blade she shredded Cinnabar's panties; the proud auburn bush of the superheroine lay open to her inspection. Plastica inserted her finger, teasing the superheroine's clit. Again, she was rewarded, this time by a smear of wetness on the vinyl tip of her glove. "Jeez Louise, this l'il piece o' poontang is ripe," she giggled, in Paula Jean Estes mode. "Too bad I can't play with you all night." She rolled the unconscious superheroine onto her stomach.
Working swiftly, she drew Cinnabar's wrists and ankles up over the small of her back and bound them together with transparent chrysteel rope. Happily, Cinnabar was limber enough to accomplish the hogtie. Then she rooted in her purse for the small items Paula Jean had picked up from Sexateria. She intended to send her victim out on a wave of pleasure... Plastica's, as well as her own.
After a few more minutes of preparation the superheroine was ready. Plastica touched the control pad to summon the ceiling crane, which glided over to the table and lowered a hook. Another touch and the crane bore Cinnabar up and over the factory floor, suspended by her wrists and ankles like a motor in a car assembly plant. So good, so far, Plastica thought. Barring the arrival of another superpower, her plan would soon come to fruition.
She touched another button. The crane halted over a tank of liquid chrysteel, its nude burden swinging gently.
Plastica mounted the stairs to the platform surrounding the tank, checking to see if the chrysteel mixture was at the proper viscosity. Cinnabar was still unconscious, ignorant of the fate that awaited her. What a surprise she was going to get! Plastica felt her nipples grow hard just thinking about it. She donned her gloves and safety glasses and began to lower her into the tank.
Cinnabar's eyes snapped open. Plastica jumped, but the superheroine was still groggy from the drug and couldn't fight the bonds that held her. The liquid chrysteel closed around her belly, then her buttocks and limbs; finally she was completely immersed. She struggled feebly in the tank, holding her breath. Amusing to watch, but Plastica did not intend to drown her. Her fate was quite different.
She opened the valves.
A warning siren bleated as the pipes containing the solidifier opened. Then came a hiss, a whoosh, a muffled crack. Then silence.
The four sides of the tank folded down, revealing a four-foot transparent cube of diamond-hard plastic. The superheroine Scirocco was sealed inside.
"Beautiful." Plastica whispered.
Cinnabar was like a fly caught in amber, her long red hair drifting in frozen stasis. With her back bowed and hands and feet together she formed a perfect O of hogtied helplessness. Perfect ... and preserved. She even had a handle. Plastica had tied her wrists and ankles to a metal ring which now protruded above the plastic, forming a convenient means of transport.
"Oh, beautiful!" Plastica repeated, in a loud whoop this time, and summoned the crane. The entombed heroine was hooked again and lifted high over the factory floor, to be deposited on the black-bedded conveyer belt that awaited her.
Plastica strolled over to face her victim. Despite its hardness the chrysteel was permeable to oxygen, the only thing that was keeping Cinnabar alive. She was probably taking in the factory, the hissing plumes of steam, the tanks... and the horrid realization of how she was trapped. "Go ahead, move. If you can," Plastica taunted. "You're stuck like Brer Rabbit in the Tar Baby, honey. Let's see you try to get out of this one."
Oh, the look in Cinnabar's eyes was priceless...moist, panicked, her pupils dilated to the size of quarters. But the expression on her face did not change.
Grinning, Plastica made a slow inspection of her prisoner. Her body was slim yet powerful, a true athlete's build that took many hours of daily training to keep in shape, and the chrysteel had penetrated every nook and crevice, trapping her completely. Yes, it had definitely been a good idea to shave her pussy before dipping her... and an even better one to force the soles of her feet together, stretching her thighs as wide as they could go. Now anyone, friend or foe, could inspect the pink folds of her labia, speculate on the pearly nub of her clit, the modest brown pucker of her anus. Plastica congratulated herself again for plasticizing Cinnabar in such an exposed and novel position. If only she'd had the wit to pick up a decorative butt plug on her way out of Sexateria.
She savored the plastic-sealed pussy a little longer, then walked up Cinnabar's left side. Her luscious tits now hung below her, the nipples erect as two thumbs... so pink and pinchable, yet so out of reach. Then Cinnabar's panic-stricken eyes again, her slightly parted lips. Oh, wonderful! This was too good... a dream come true.
It was time for a photo opp. Hands on hips, chest high, Plastica stood proudly by her creation, her pose a mocking tribute to the superheroine inside. The camera clicked to capture the moment for posterity. Then she took yanked it off the tripod to snap off dozens more shots, shooting her victim from all angles. She just HAD to send her friends a card with Cinnabar's asshole on it for the holidays. O Little Star of Bethlehem...
Suddenly she found herself becoming aroused. She unzipped her catsuit, the fingers of one hand twisting her nipples; her other hand slipped into her pussy. She sat with her back against the cube and drew her knees up, fingers pumping. That she was masturbating next to the helpless superheroine -- almost under her nose -- only egged her on. Her body began to smolder; her thumb struck pizzicatos on her clit. She imagined Cinnabar watching her, disgusted by her. Knowing there was absolutely no way for her to escape...
It hit her then, a series of delicious shocks that set her insides spasming. Her body jerked, her legs lifting: "Oh, ooooohh oh oh...AAAHHHH!"
Plastica fell back against the block, skin tingling. That had been fabulous. She waited a few seconds for the tremors to abate, panting. What was it about plastifying women that made her so hot? Was it that they were so helpless and at her mercy... or that she secretly wanted to trade places with them?
No matter. She zipped up her catsuit, stood. It was time to explain a few things to her captive... not that it really mattered.
"Hello Cinnabar," Plastica said casually, leaning against the cube where Cinnabar's head was trapped. "Kylasha the Damned hired me to eliminate you. I could have simply shot you for her, but she likes to keep trophies of her enemies." She tapped the cube with her finger. "You're going to be a very interesting conversation piece for her library."
Cinnabar's face did not change, but her pupils contracted. She already knows, Plastica thought. Her own eyes narrowed. What really happened between those two...?
But it was not her place to find out. "As I said, she likes to keep trophies," Plastica said. "There's only one small problem with that, though. You're still alive. While there is a lot of appeal in keeping you trapped like this, Cinna-buns, you'd starve to death in a couple of days. So, I'm going to treat you the same way all my other mannequins will be treated, eventually. Flash freeze-dried, and coated with a polymer resin to keep you fresh and lifelike... for eternity."
Cinnabar still stared. A wild panic flared in her blue-gray eyes.
"However, since I'm much more humane than Kylasha the Damned, I've given you a present to make your transformation into a piece of bric-a-brac more tolerable." She flicked on the remote to activate the vibrator buried deep within her prisoner's pussy. Cinnabar's lips trembled faintly as the stimulation began, the tight confines of the cube no doubt amplifying the sensations.
Plastica sighed. Such a lovely sight. It inspired her to rub herself again, in full view of her captive.
But her second orgasm would have to wait. She pulled back a lever in the floor, setting the conveyer belt into motion. At the end of the beltway a vacuum chamber waited, eight silo-sized tanks of liquid nitrogen more than enough to freeze her. She probably wouldn't suffer much. She might even black out before then, from her continual orgasms.
The entombed superheroine began the slow glide to her doom. Plastica blew her a kiss as she departed. "Adieu, mon cherie," she crooned, bidding the perky globes of her ass a final farewell. "It's not such a bad fate. At least you'll be an object of admiration."
Chuckling, she keyed the sequence that readied the vacuum chamber. Perhaps it had all been too easy. She cheered herself with the thought she might come across Cinnabar again one day, when Kylasha tired of her toy. In a dusty second hand shop, perhaps, under several layers of tattered quilts and old newspapers.
She creamed again just thinking about it.
This story is copyrighted 2002 by Cobalt Jade (Cobaltjade@aol.com). This work
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