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Subject: {ASSM} [NEW] Paragon vs. Plastica  6/15  (M/F, F/F, superhero, bondage, D/s, mc, statue)
Date: Tue, 24 Sep 2002 19:10:05 -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 6:  Cinnabar Cubed


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 co
nditioning, 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 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 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.

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