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Subject: {ASSM} [NEW] Paragon vs. Plastica  2/15  (M/F, F/F, superhero, bondage, D/s, mc, statue)
Date: Tue, 24 Sep 2002 00:10:04 -0400
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Paragon vs. Plastica

by Cobalt Jade (cobaltjade@aol.com)


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. This work may be archived only with the author's 
permission.  Charging a fee for this story, or publishing without author 
credit or this notice violates my copyright.

The complete story may be read at my websites: 

http://members.aol.com/cobaltjade

OR

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/~cobaltjade




Chapter 2: Grand Opening


"Hey, Cinn, do you know where Shana went to?" 

Cinnabar Steele -- also known as Scirocco, the founding member of Team 
Paragon -- shrugged and returned to the newspaper, biting into a jelly donut. 
"Who knows? She's never been one to lead a tame life."

Lori blushed. Cinnabar was putting it mildly. Shana, or Xenon as she was 
known to criminals, often returned from her wild nights on the town bragging 
of her conquests. She'd even confided to Lori she'd gotten her clit pierced. 
Lori couldn't imagine doing such a thing. Ouch! 

Still, the older crimefighter fascinated her. She laughed at ALOSH's -- the 
American League of Superheroes -- regulations and seemed determined to live 
down her image as a "Paragon" of all-American decency. Scirocco kept her on 
the team only because A) she was so good at what she did, especially 
regarding technical matters; and B) they went back a long way together. Even 
Lori had to admit that Shana, despite her appetite for sensual adventure, 
would lay down her life for her friends. 

"She'll be back by Friday," Cinnabar said. "After all, we have that all-hands 
meeting."

Lori nodded. The other members of Team Paragon -- Xenon, Blue Cymbidium, 
Chrystar, and White Rose -- met every Friday night in Cinnabar's loft to 
discuss the week's events and the state of crime in the city. Of course, they 
all had their "mundane" or workaday identities. Lori was a medical student, 
Cinnabar an archaeologist doing research for the Near East Institute. Not all 
their occupations were glamorous, though. Allison, White Rose, drove a cab 
while Noelani was a social worker. Gina was a makeup artist for the movies. 
Shana herself had been a body double and sometime porn actress before 
becoming the owner-operator of her own latte stand. It wasn't unusual for 
superheroes, or superheroines, to team up. It allowed them to pool their 
resources and share information, and also provided a support network in what 
was a very isolated and dangerous job. 

"Hey, look at this," Cinnabar said, flipping her long red-brown hair over her 
shoulder. "They're opening up a new Sexateria store in Hollywood."

"Isn't that the one they were having all that controversy about?"

"Yeah. Remember the protesters? 'Not in MY backyard!' " Cinnabar chuckled.

"They said the neighborhood wasn't zoned for adult entertainment," Lori said.

"Not according to the Sexateria reps. They claimed they were no different 
from a Costco or Barnes & Noble."

"Well, calling the stores Sexateria doesn't help their cause any," Lori said.

"I think it's cute," Scirocco said. She held up the paper to show the younger 
superheroine the ad. A sketchy, Jules Feiffer-like cartoon of a young man and 
woman with a downtown look walked out of the store holding two shopping bags 
from which a few... things... protruded. Above was the Sexateria logo in 
tall, retro-fifties letters. The caption read: WE'RE GOING TO COME... Below 
it, in smaller letters, was: ...to Hollywood, soon, on September 9th. 

"There's a coupon, too," Cinnabar said, mischievously waggling her eyebrows 
up and down. "Ten percent off all merchandise at any store."

"No thank you," Lori said primly. She grabbed the last jelly doughnut off the 
plate. "I've got to run. I've got class today."

"Oh, lighten up, kiddo," Cinnabar said. "They're just doing the great 
American capitalist thing. They're probably plain old decent, law-abiding 
folks at heart."

#

Leaving Xenon locked in the van, Plastica bounded upstairs to her Century 
City condo where she transformed herself, via business suit, wig, and 
glasses, from Plastica into Paula Jean Estes, the effervescent Vice President 
of Merchandising of Sexateria, Inc. She made a call to her head display 
artist. "Hello, Kate honey?" she said, adopting the sexy southern drawl that 
marked this persona. "This is Paula Jean. Listen, I really hate waking you up 
so early, but I've got something you just have to see. Meet me at the dock of 
the Wilshire store in an hour."

She hung up the phone, beaming with satisfaction, and slipped on a string of 
pearls. Paula Jean was a fun persona, but as an executive Plastica had to 
dress more conservatively than she usually did. She smoothed the creases out 
of her pale green Donna Karan suit and went downstairs to have a quick cup of 
coffee. Then she went back to the van.

She couldn't resist a peak. Xenon lay on her back, her legs canted up because 
of the round, wheeled base of the stand. Plastica threw in a couple of 
blankets to help cushion her. The last thing she wanted was for her new 
mannequin to chip its finish. 

"Comfy?" she said lightly. Xenon didn't answer. 

Traffic was heavy on Wilshire, as it always this hour of the morning. 
Plastica drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. She couldn't wait to see 
Kate's reaction. Though she had a fair amount of control as VP she left most 
of the day-to-day aspects to her assistants. She clicked the security gates 
open and drove the van up to the dock. It only took a little bit of 
maneuvering to wheel Xenon up the ramp to the receiving area inside.

Kate Spolington, the head visual merchandiser for the Wilshire store, arrived 
a few minutes later. In contrast to her boss she dressed as flamboyantly as 
only a VM could in LA, her slim, toned body a perfect showcase for the 
hottest young designers. "Oh -- " she gasped when she saw the mannequin. 
"It's so... real." She couldn't help running her hand over the smooth plastic 
skin. "Where did you get it?"

"Oh, it's a secret honey," Plastica said in her southern drawl. "A new 
company, let's leave it at that. This one's an experimental model. They're 
not taking orders yet, but they will be. If we like this one, they'll give us 
a good deal."

Kate nodded, now running her hands over the mannequin's torso. She seemed 
particularly taken with the large breasts and their nipples. She walked 
around to the mannequin's rear, then tried to bend one of its arms. "Oh," she 
said with disappointment. "You can't move it."

Plastica's face fell. Damn, she'd forgotten about that. Xenon was as rigid as 
a two-by-four.

"Do its head or limbs come off, maybe?" Kate said, grasping Xenon by the neck 
and pulling.

"Better be careful, honey. It's on loan." Kate dropped her hands. Plastica 
realized what faux pas she'd made. What good was a mannequin if you couldn't 
pose it? She'd have to go back and rewrite that part of the formula.

"Well, it is an intriguing pose, even if you can't move it," Kate mused. She 
glanced down at the thick pole emerging from Xenon's plasticized pussy. "That 
pole gives the idea of penetration. She looks like she's having one helluva 
orgasm."

Plastica laughed. "Exactly!"

"And with those arms and legs spread out, she looks like she's been caught in 
a spiderweb, or some kind of bondage scene... Hmm, I could do an interesting 
theme around that. Fake cobwebs, the helpless heroine stuck in the middle."

"I was thinking of the B&D department myself," Plastica said.

"Or leather gear, right. It'll be attention-getting if nothing else. Sure to 
turn heads." She touched Xenon's shoulder, sending her scooting forward on 
her rollers a little. "And so light? Oh yeah, we've got to have this. Our VMs 
will LOVE it!"

"I'm glad you like it. We'll be getting more in the future, for all the 
stores," Plastica said. It was the perfect setup... money would go out of 
Sexateria Inc. and into the dummy corporation she'd set up to take care of 
the mannequin business. She'd be practically operating within the law.

"We should get the posable kind, though. Does this company have a catalog? 
I'd like to look through it -- find out about prices, ordering lots. We have 
to be sure to have some racial diversity, too -- Latinos, Asians -- "

"I'll be taking care of that," Plastica said abruptly. Still, Kate had 
brought up an important point. She amended her words with a smile. "With your 
advice and support of course." That should satisfy her. If Kate got too nosy 
about the source, she might have to be turned into a mannequin herself. 
"Let's take her... er, it, inside. I want to see how it looks in the store."

Kate placed her hands on Xenon's waist and wheeled her through the doors.

#

*I am a mannequin.*

She knew her name  --  Xenon  --  but not any other information about 
herself. She was in a store full of books and magazines with pictures of 
naked people on them. The two women chatted as they wheeled her past long 
counters under which strange objects gleamed brightly. Xenon knew one of the 
woman. She had done... something... to her, but she couldn't remember what it 
was. It wasn't important. She was a mannequin now. Remembering was too hard. 

So she absorbed her surroundings without analyzing them, neither intrigued 
nor upset at this strange turn in her adventure. The women had to turn her 
sideways to get her through doorways, as her arms and legs were splayed in a 
giant X. The pose was exposed and undignified, but Xenon didn't worry about 
it. She didn't feel her limbs anyway. Nor did she feel the thick pole that 
protruded between her legs. The pole ended in a set of rubber wheels that 
made slight squeaking noises as she was pushed, limbs akimbo, through the 
empty aisles, an endless loop of porn videos heaving and grunting above her. 
But that didn't matter either. She was a mannequin. She belonged in a store.

They came at last to a section that sold lingerie and parked her next to a 
rack filled with satin teddies and bras. There was another mannequin near her 
posed in a more natural position, its limbs drooping in erotic languor. "No 
comparison," the flamboyantly dressed younger woman said, looking from Xenon 
to the other. "I know they're Adel Rootsteins, but this one just looks more 
real, more... frozen, for want of a better word,. I'd like to keep it here to 
watch peoples' reactions."

"Do that," the taller woman said. Her voice chilled Xenon, though she didn't 
know why. "Have some of your assistants circulate among the shoppers to 
overhear the comments. I'd like to hear them." She glanced at her watch. "I'm 
going to get some coffee now; I'll be back at nine. More people than usual 
will be at the opening today because of those coupons, so advise the staff."

"I will," the younger woman said as her boss left. She began to dress Xenon 
in a pair of sheer white stockings, hooking them to a frilly garter belt 
around her waist. The sensual lingerie reminded Xenon of something, but she 
wasn't sure what. Had she owned garments like these? Worn them for pleasure? 
Her concentration imploded; it was much easier to watch the woman dress her. 
Now she was hooking a strapless bra around Xenon's breasts, the push-up kind 
more akin to two shelves. That done, she picked out a pair of satin panties 
and made a curved cut through the crotch, gluing the ends back together when 
the elastic was around Xenon's hips. After that she sprayed Xenon's scalp 
with some kind of adhesive and pressed a blonde wing into it, fussing with a 
crimping iron for a bit. She applied some cosmetics to Xenon's face, then, 
grinning mischievously, set a pair of star-shaped sunglasses on her nose. And 
left her alone.

*So this is my new home,* Xenon thought, while having no memory of her 
original one, or the adventures that had brought her there. The thought had a 
final and depressing ring to it. She knew she had been... someone, or 
something else, and as human as the woman who'd dressed her. A tiny spark of 
hope flared into life. *Maybe someone will see me and remember who I was. 
They'll take me away from here...*

Xenon could only wait. She stared out at the empty store, hot California 
sunlight beginning to stripe the floor. Without stimulation her mind faded to 
an empty movie screen. Then the curtains lowered and she thought no more.

#

Despite Cinnabar's assurances Lori found herself worried. Shana's latte stand 
wasn't in its usual place that day. Of course she might have run into some 
emergency, as crimefighters often did. Lori tried to tell herself that was 
the case, but in her heart she knew something was wrong. 

When she had first joined Team Paragon Cinnabar had taken her to the West 
Coast ALOSH -- American League of Superheroes -- headquarters for orientation 
to the responsibilities of her new position. To impress the danger of her new 
job upon her she took Lori to a room where a costumed superheroine like 
herself stood staring into a TV screen. She ignored them completely. As Lori 
came closer she saw the young woman was not breathing. Indeed, she wasn't 
moving at all. "Who -- ?" she blurted.

"Her name was Photon," Cinnabar whispered. Not is; *was.*

Photon stood with her legs slightly apart, arms at her sides with her palms 
facing outward. Her eyes were wide, lips slightly parted in a blank yet 
somehow trapped expression. Lori went closer, walking around to her side... 
and her hands flew to her mouth. "Oh God, no..." 

"A criminal genius named Catwalk captured her," Cinnabar said in a low voice. 
"She was using the persona of a designer in the fashion industry."

"But she's..." Lori sputtered, unable to look away from the awful 
reality...that Photon was as flat and two-dimensional as a figure cut from 
cardboard.

"Catwalk invented a device called the transdimensional reducer. She turned it 
on Photon so she could play with her 'life-sized, living paper doll.' "

Lori felt hot tears well up in her eyes. "Can she hear us?" she whispered.

"I don't know," Cinnabar said sadly.

Lori tore her eyes away, ashamed at her show of repugnance. In contrast to 
the rest of the complex, which was sparse and functional, Photon's room was 
furnished with soft carpets and drapes, and fresh flowers were everywhere. A 
stereo system with a CD player sat in one corner and photographs and 
paintings covered the walls; there was even a table with a fresh meal laid on 
it. Clearly the medical staff were making every attempt to provide visual, 
audio, and olfactory stimulation to their two-dimensional patient. A comedy 
starring Julia Roberts was even playing on the VCR. But Photon showed no 
reaction. The passage to two dimensions had frozen all signs of life. 

"She's been that way for eight years," Cinnabar said. "The transdimensional 
reducer was destroyed along with Catwalk's hideout; our scientists here are 
still trying to figure out how to reverse the process. In the meantime, we 
keep Photon here. The staff move her from room to room, play the movies and 
music for her, take her outside sometimes. They have to be very careful. She 
weighs only ounces now, so gust of wind could blow her away like that." She 
snapped her fingers.

"I'm sorry," Lori said to the silent figure. Cinnabar took her outside.

Lori knuckled her tears, thinking of Photon frozen on her stand, her fiery 
orange hair as coifed as when she had woken up that fateful day, her one-piec
e unitard unwrinkled by the motions of her body. A fresh, shiny paper 
doll...forever. "Why did you show me that?" she sobbed.

Cinnabar remained implacable. "So you understand exactly what you're getting 
into."

Lori never forgot the lesson she learned that day. 

Still, she tried to put her fears out of her mind. She still had the coupon 
from Sexateria that Cinnabar had forced on her. She took it out of her purse, 
grinning. Why not? 

In a half hour she was at the Wilshire store. Business was brisk, going by 
the amount of people that passed in and out of the doors. To her relief most 
of them looked perfectly normal, not leering old perverts or bleached-blonde 
nude dancers. They could have been students on her campus or workers in the 
office building across the street. Relieved, she decided that if they could 
walk in without embarrassment, she could too, so she walked through the 
double doors into the cool hiss of the store's air conditioning system.

A polite young man carded her to verify she was over eighteen, then sales 
assistants bombarded her with samples and coupons: free condoms, a coupon for 
a free video rental, a catalog. "Welcome to Sexateria," they said, with 
identical smiles. "We hope you enjoy shopping here."

She picked up a shopping basket of high-tech chrome wire. The store surprised 
her. She'd expected either adult-bookstore tackiness or the overdone frippery 
of a Victoria's Secret. But whoever designed Sexateria had a puckish sense of 
humor about it. Crazy retro-fifties lettering marked the walls announcing 
each department, and there were humorous if risque displays like a Jolly 
Green Giant-sized dildo hanging from the ceiling. Lori was reminded 
irresistibly of Disneyland and the unique California penchant for 
cartoonization. Even the sales staff looked hip and ironic. Both male and 
female employees wore dark pants and tuxedo shirts with shocking pink bow 
ties, as if they were laughing at themselves and at the whole idea of a 
Sexateria store. "We're having fun with this, and so should you," they seemed 
to say. The casual atmosphere must have worked on everyone else, too, for 
they were shopping exactly as if they were in a Kmart or Ralph's. So Lori 
felt free to browse the merchandise too.

The media section was very large and included a bookstore with separate 
health, self-help, and gay and lesbian sections. There was a large selection 
of art books and, of course, erotica; she discreetly put a copy of "Beauty's 
Punishment" in her basket before she left, the first of her purchases. She 
decided to skip the video department, however. Signs boasted it carried 
largest selection of porn in LA; but going by what was playing on the 
monitors, most were exactly as tawdry as their boxes suggested. Across the 
aisle were several long racks of magazines perused by desperate-looking men. 
She decided to skip that as well.

Next came the safe sex department, which included condoms, contraceptive 
sponges, enema bags, and other essentials. Next door was a large medical 
section which had everything from aspirin to herbal aphrodisiacs. There was a 
fully functional pharmacy, a post office, even a Starbucks.

*This store has everything,* she thought.

The sex aids department was laid out like a jewelry store, long rows of cases 
overseen by discrete, helpful attendants. Free flyers were available in 
cardboard holders: "Choosing a vibrator"  "The myth of cockrings"  and "Just 
what are buttplugs, anyway?" She discovered that silicon vibrators were 
superior to latex ones and that it was better to work your way up from 
smaller buttplugs to larger ones as your anal muscles stretched. Some of the 
other equipment made her cheeks burn.

She glanced at her watch. Had it been an hour already? 

She still hadn't seen the clothes, so she took the escalator to the second 
floor. There were men's and women's bathing suits, sleepwear, underwear, and 
other garments that had no function except a fantasy one -- frilly maids' 
outfits, leather Harley Davidson caps, tear-away briefs and panties. She 
giggled as she held up what looked like a shiny black jockstrap with leather 
suspenders attached. What would her boyfriend look like in this? Cal was so 
straight; he never wore anything but white briefs.

After much deliberation she picked out a boned satin corset to try on, the 
garment as fully functionless and decorative as only a piece of boudoir wear 
could be. She couldn't help grinning as she regarded herself in the mirror. 
The elasticized corset cinched her waist, making it even narrower, and above 
it were two underwired cutouts for each breast, with stiff shelves of fabric 
that held them erect. The legs were cut almost to her waist, sexy black lace 
filling in the vee, and the back they tapered down to a cute little thong 
that disappeared between her cheeks. She had to keep her own panties on, 
which ruined the effect, but she couldn't believe how slutty she felt. Oh, 
Cal would like this! She did a few steps of a va-va-voom dance, imagining a 
pair of pasties glued on her nipples. Suddenly, to her surprise, she felt a 
warm spurt of liquid stain her panties. No wonder the attendants made you 
keep your underwear on. 

She glanced at the price tag to bring herself down to earth. Sixty-five 
ninety-nine. She made a face. Even with her coupon it was too much. She 
should wait for a sale.

On her way out of the dressing room she saw a small group of shoppers had 
gathered around an unusual mannequin. It wore a white satin panty and bra 
ensemble with stockings, a feather boa, and a pair of kitschy star-shaped 
sunglasses which hid its face; its lips were puckered as if to say "Mwah!" 
accompanied by a sexy kiss. The shape of the eyewear was echoed in the pose, 
its head, arms, and legs each forming one point each of a giant star. 

Lori couldn't take her eyes off it. It looked so... real. Almost as if a 
living person, someone she knew, had been spread-eagled and stuck on a pole. 
She noticed a display of the same star-shaped sunglasses had been set next to 
the mannequin. Half of them were already gone, even though they were 
ridiculously overpriced.

Lori frowned. Why did it seem so familiar...

 From clothing she passed through shoes  --  mostly black leather, with 
absurdly high heels  --  then furniture. First came waterbeds and special 
mirrors, then the padded benches and frames of the bondage world. *No thank 
you,* she thought, moving on to the next department, and the next, and then 
the aisle that would take her down the escalator with her purchases.

On the way she passed a simulated castle dungeon showcasing a selection of 
bondage wear. The strange mannequin had been moved to the entrance, where the 
staff was dressing it in a new outfit. Curious, Lori stopped to watch. The 
mannequin was already wearing a pair of thigh-high vinyl boots to which they 
added a corset and nipple clamps. Lori thought the ensemble looked very 
uncomfortable. She noticed the two clamps were connected by a chain... for 
being yanked by? Too kinky for her... yet the light touch of the chain, 
moving with one's breathing, must feel erotic against exposed skin.

As she mused the dressers the continued to work, removing the mannequin's wig 
and sunglasses to fit on a leather bondage hood. 

Lori gasped.

The face was Xenon's. Startled, blank, and very, very, trapped.

She only had a brief look before the hood slid into place, the handlers 
zipping it up like magic. Lori shook her head. *Am I dreaming? *

Then the handlers stood aside to fit on a leather thong, and she saw, between 
the thing's legs where the pole emerged, a tiny gleam of gold on the 
realistically modeled genitalia... a clit ring. Then the panties were tugged 
into place and fastened to the corset, and the boots, with a series of straps.

Lori stepped back, her mind reeling. A clit ring. Who would bother to put a 
clit ring on a mannequin?

And in the back of her mind, whispering, Who would bother to model realistic 
genitalia for a mannequin, either?

Her head felt light. Clutching her purchases, she made her way to the 
registers, trying to convince herself she'd made a mistake. Sexateria was a 
store specializing in sexual items; why wouldn't their mannequins have 
realistically modeled genitalia? And why wouldn't those organs have 
piercings? But that didn't explain Xenon's face, or her wide blue eyes!

She was so flustered she forgot to use her coupon.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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