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From: CobaltJade@aol.com
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Subject: {ASSM} [NEW] Paragon vs. Plastica  1/15  (M/F, F/F, superhero, bondage, D/s, mc, statue)
Date: Tue, 24 Sep 2002 00:10:02 -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 1:  Xenon Trapped


Xenon scanned the darkness ahead of her, but saw only old cranes, tubing, 
vats, and other industrial detritus. She flipped her visor over her eyes, 
which let her scan the area with its infravision capabilities. Nothing. 
Still, she had to cautious. Plastica -- the former Dr. Polly Mehr, a resin 
and plastics expert -- was known for her traps. 

She'd found only that morning about the connections between the villainess 
and Sexateria, Inc., the largest chain of adult novelty stores on the West 
Coast. Tracing a series of dummy companies, Xenon also discovered the 
Plastica owned this abandoned mannequin factory. Whatever she was up to, it 
was clearly no good. Xenon would give her positronic suspensor ray and 
monomolecular lasso to put her behind bars.

She spotted a round trapdoor in the floor sealed by a metal cover. She used 
her halesium torch to cut it open. Waving the smoke from the fumes away, she 
stared down into a long, eerily lit shaft. Thousands of green LED lights 
striped the walls, disappearing into the gloom below. It looked the tunnel 
straight to hell.

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained," she quipped, and started to descend.

Ten feet, twenty, then thirty. At the bottom she turned and got her bearings. 
She was in a tunnel with an low arched roof and a flat floor covered with 
cross-treaded metal. Tracks to carry a rail car of some sort lay in the floor 
to her right and left. The walls were lit with stripes of green light. Quite 
different from the wreck of the former factory mannequin factory above. 
Whatever the tunnel was used for, it had been used recently.

She started to walk, all her senses on red alert. The high stiletto heels of 
her ankle-length boots made sharp tapping noises against the floor. As with 
most superheroines her feminine features were exaggerated to the point of 
parody: tiny waist, 38 DD breasts, long shapely legs, and a rock-hard, 
sculpted ass. Her costume consisted of a sheer white body stocking with two 
white leather triangles over each breast. Another triangle covered her 
crotch, extending in a thong between her taut, muscular buttocks. Her utility 
belt rode low on her hips, and on her arms she wore long gold gloves. A 
short, voluminous cape flared from her shoulders; it looked like gold lame, 
but was actually a variant of kevlar designed to stop even assault rifles. To 
top all that, she had the face of a goddess -- full, sensuous lips, sapphire 
eyes, and curly platinum-blonde hair that spiraled over her shoulders, a 
color enhanced by the silver spangles that glittered in her bodysuit.

She was a sight, and she knew it. Even when unobserved, it was second nature 
to her to move with allure. Her muscles stretched, contracted, stretched as 
she walked in a half-crouch, the firm globes of her ass rubbing tautly 
together. Her nipples inflated with tension, pressing against the leather 
that cupped her ample breasts.

Ahead of her she saw a frame-like structure shaped like a five-pointed star. 
It filled the whole tunnel, and she would have to step through it to go any 
further. Odd, she thought, but nothing about it looked like anything more 
than a metal frame. She stepped through.

Too late! Thin metal tentacles shot out from each point of the star and 
wrapped around her wrists and ankles. They pulled her taut, suspending her in 
the center of the star like an insect caught in a spiderweb. A feeble gasp 
escaped from her lips. Then the frame shot into motion, speeding her along 
the tracks through what remained of the tunnel, and up a steep incline. She 
jerked to a stop in a dark, high-ceiling room. A bank of spotlights 
immediately snapped on before her so she was forced to turn her head away and 
blink.

As her eyes adjusted she realized she was in a laboratory of sorts, sterile, 
with stainless steel walls. She fought in futile habit against her bonds.

"Welcome to LA, Xenon." She knew that voice. It belonged to Plastica.

The lights in front of her dimmed enough to reveal a tall slim woman who 
walked slowly towards her. Whereas Xenon's figure was lush and athletic, 
Plastica had gone the opposite, opting for a supermodel's poise and 
litheness. She wore a white lab coat over her trademark clear vinyl catsuit 
and her long hair -- electric blue, in this incarnation -- was swept up in a 
chignon on her head. A pair of sexy harlequin-framed glasses perched on her 
nose. "I'm so happy you found the time to drop in."

"Cut the chit-chat, Plastica," Xenon said. "I know all about you and 
Sexateria."

"Then you should know you've also been trespassing on private property, so
mething you superheroes never seem to understand. I'm a free citizen with all 
rights due under the law."

Xenon only gave an angry toss off her head and pulled on her wrists and 
ankles, but she remained spread-eagled inside the star. 

Plastica chuckled at the sight. "How long did it take you to find out about 
my operation?"

"Not long. The computer records were very clear -- to one who knows how to 
look. Whatever it is you're planning, you won't get away with it."

"Will I?" Plastica asked rhetorically. She produced a portable scanner and 
ran it down the length of Xenon's struggling form. Its sensor lights shifted 
color and intensity, emitting a series of teeping sounds. "This says you're 
in excellent health, which means an excellent candidate for my process. 
Perfect." Plastica wrote a note on the clipboard she carried, looking briefly 
like the MIT grad she'd once been.

"What 'process?' " Xenon said.

"The Sexateria stores carry the fullest range of adult novelties in America, 
except for one thing -- sex dolls and mannequins. It is simply impossible to 
find products in this line that meet the high standards the chain has set for 
their other merchandise. Therefore, I had to invent a means to make them 
myself. And you, Xenon, will be my first subject." 

A large silver globe descended from the ceiling and hung above Xenon's head. 
Depending from it were dozens of wires, flexible tubes, nozzles, and jointed 
arms that gave it an insectoid appearance. Four robot arms snicked out of the 
globe, unfolding joint by joint like the legs of a spider. Each sported a 
pair of blunt-nosed scissors at its tip. They began to cut off Xenon's 
superhero costume.

Xenon cursed, thrashing wildly as the electric scissors hummed against her 
skin, but it was to no use. Her costume fell to floor in shreds. First her 
tights fell, then her panties and sleeves, then her cape. Her tits came last, 
bouncing free from the underbra that supported them. Her struggles made them 
heave most impressively, the nipples wobbling back and forth like corks stuck 
in jello. Plastica grinned unashamedly at the sight. "Come on, Xenon. You 
were born to be a sex doll. It's not such a bad fate." 

Xenon flushed with humiliation, her creamy white flesh now a pale pink. "I 
suppose you will kidnap your victims like any common criminal?" she said 
sarcastically.

"This is LA, sugar-nips. There's an endless supply of fresh, healthy pussy, 
easily lured by the promise of acting or modeling jobs. There are always 
runaways, too, and men looking to get of their wives. Or their troublesome 
girlfriends. Whatever way we go, there will always be lots of meat on the 
shelf." Plastica laughed, touching another button. The spider legs 
disappeared, replaced by eight hoses that snaked out of the globe and 
positioned themselves equidistantly around the nude and spread-eagled 
superheroine. They began to spray her with a fine, cool mist that dissolved 
into a thick white foam. They continued to spray her until she was liberally 
coated with the stuff, looking like a cake covered with creamy icing. Her 
skin tingled and began to burn as the chemical penetrated her pores. A few 
seconds later, a shower of warm water washed the foam away. To her 
mortification Xenon saw she had been rendered completely hairless from her 
scalp to her pussy.

"You silicon-titted bitch!" she spat, doubly embarrassed as her hairless 
pubes now showcased the gold clit ring she had taken to wearing. 

"Naughty, naughty," Plastica giggled. Xenon glared at her defiantly, but she 
knew she looked ridiculous without her costume and hair. She felt 
increasingly helpless as the cool subterranean breeze played across her 
depilitated flesh. 

"A messy step, but necessary," Plastica explained. She had doffed her lab 
coat and glasses and now stood revealed in all her transparent glory. Her own 
nipples were stiff and pink beneath the clear vinyl catsuit, while her pussy 
-- as bald as Xenon's now was  --  steamed up her crotch region with a thick 
film of condensation. She clicked over to a lever in her high-heeled 
transparent plastic sandals. "And now, my dear, it's showtime."

She pulled the lever. Four thin metal poles lowered from the orb, two in 
front of Xenon, two behind. Each pole was pierced with a series of holes. "It 
was *so* nice to have known you, Xenon," Plastica said in a mock-genteel 
tone. "I've never had a guest with quite your sense of... style. But the 
visit's over now. Take one last look at yourself... if you can." She gestured 
at the mirror placed at the side of the console. Xenon turned her head, 
unwilling to face her altered looks; sheared of her hair and eyelashes, only 
her tits and pussy still marked her as female. 

"Goodbye forever, Xenon," Plastica gloated, pulling the final switch.

A loud hissing noise came from the poles. A second later, they began to spray 
her with a thick, pink gas. *She can't do this to me,* Xenon thought 
desperately. *I'm a superheroine... a member of Team Paragon. She can't turn 
me into a mannequin.* She threw every ounce of her strength into fighting the 
bonds that held her. 

But the gas continued to hiss, surrounding her in warm, soft pinkness. It had 
a sweet, cloying smell reminiscent of flesh. Xenon felt it dissolve on her 
skin, enter into her pores. She breathed it in before she knew what she was 
doing. The effects were immediate. With a shock she realized she was growing 
sexually excited. Her nipples protruded, her clit swelled. Her head grew 
light. Waves of modulated warmth passed through skin into her muscles, and 
more waves spread outward from her pussy and clit through her inner body. She 
felt mired in a luxuriant warmth, swimming in it, simultaneously heavy yet 
light... like an orgasm without all the excitement. Lethargy crept over 
limbs, her mind oddly unalarmed by the changes occurring in her body. 
Breathing became unimportant. Her heart ceased to beat. Spine, limbs, muscles 
 --  all ceased the minute rhythms of life, becoming rigid and compact. 
Tendons stiffened, bones locked. She could no longer turn her head. She could 
not blink, and her mouth went dry. Her skin hardened, taking on a slightly 
glossy finish. Her pores vanished and her coloration became an even 
pink-ivory tone, a darker blush on her nipples and pussy. Her eyes remained 
an icy blue, though she could no longer move them in their sockets. All this 
she saw in Plastica's mirror. She was turning into plastic. She was becoming 
a mannequin.

With this realization came an allover tightening, a sensation of her skin 
stretching tautly over her bones, or whatever substance now made up her body. 
Tightening, stretching, firming  --  rock-hard, then diamond-hard, and 
finally beyond hardness at all, as she became numb all over. The pent-up 
energy inside her rushed through her like a wave, causing her the most 
intense orgasm she'd had in her life. It was also her last.

She no longer thought, she only *was.* Though a tiny part of her remembered 
what had been done to her, and that part *screamed...* 

#

The gas dissolved, sucked back into the globe by a high-speed exhaust fan. 
The new Xenon stood revealed. She looked like she'd been captured at the 
moment of orgasm  --  eyes vacant, nipples erect, lips frozen in a sexy purse 
as if emitting a surprised, feminine "oh." Though she was forever beyond 
speech, now.

"Perfect," Plastica whispered. Her experiment was a success. 

She walked over to inspect her new mannequin more closely. The superheroine's 
once-creamy flesh was now hard and unyielding, an even pinkish-tan color in 
tone. Her tits had become two stately domes each as rigid as it was inflated. 
Plastica was pleased to see the minor details had been rendered to 
perfection: the tiny bumps of the areolae, the twin crease of the pussy... 
and the pea-sized clit, barely visible through the lips, its ring a wink of 
gold. 

"I suppose you're wondering what I'm going to do with you," Plastica said 
rhetorically. 

No answer. 

Plastica shrugged; she hadn't really expected any. But, she would continue to 
inform the heroine of her fate, just in case her mind was still functioning. 
"Since you're my very first creation, you'll be a display model for 
Sexateria's flagship store. Enjoy it, Xenon. Because you're going to be on 
the floor for a long, long time... at least until Sexateria goes out of 
business. Then you may find yourself discounted at a closeout sale. Or 
scrap." She pinched Xenon's nipples, giving each rigid knob a swab with her 
tongue. She gave them each a nip, too, which left no toothmarks on the hard, 
shiny plastic. 

Xenon gave no sign she hated it, and no sign she enjoyed it. Her wide blank 
eyes continued to stare, their shallow depths registering neither anger nor 
despair.

Plastica detached her from the frame. The process had reduced Xenon's weight 
to twenty pounds, making her handling a snap. After a few cosmetic touch-ups 
she carried Xenon to the wheeled stand that awaited her, propping the rigid 
superheroine against the wall. She coated the end of the pole with a liberal 
amount of superglue, then picked up the superheroine by the waist and impaled 
her upon it. Slowly she twisted Xenon back and forth, working her down the 
pole to keep her upright. 

When she had finished she stood back to admire the X-shaped  --  and X-rated  
--  sex toy she had made. No one would recognize Xenon without her 
distinctive costume and hair. With her glossy plastic skin and superhuman 
proportions no one would know her as human, either. She was only a mannequin. 

The final and utter depersonalization of the once-mighty superheroine gave 
Plastica an odd satisfaction. She unzipped the plastic at her crotch enough 
to finger her sex, wondering, idly, what it felt like to be so rigid herself. 
She stared into Xenon's blank eyes as her orgasm built. The spasms surprised 
her with their depth and intensity.

She zipped herself up. Xenon was still staring. Nothing had changed on her 
face, which wasn't surprising. Was her mind still intact? Plastica realized 
she'd never know, short of administering an antidote. Which she hadn't 
invented as yet, and, frankly, never might.

She grabbed a wide-tipped magic marker from her desk. Across Xenon's shiny 
bald scalp she wrote, in indelible black ink: EXP. SUBJECT #1. A good 
scientist always kept records of her successes so she could duplicate them.

Then she wheeled the former superheroine upstairs to the van that would take 
her to the store.

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