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Paragon 06
Paragon vs. Plastica
by Cobalt Jade (cobaltjade@aol.com)
Chapter 6: Cinnabar Cubed
Noelani waited until Plastica's 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 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 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 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 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 an 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 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 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 a little longer, then walked up
Cinnabar's left side. Her luscious 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 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 newspapers.
She creamed again just thinking about it.
This work is copyrighted 2002-2003 by Cobalt Jade (Cobaltjade@aol.com).
This work may be be freely distributed over electronic media provided no
fee is charged for its use. Charging a fee for this story, or publishing
without author credit or this notice violates my copyright.