My name is Jane Rayner. For 36 years, I made my living by my wits. I guess, deep down, I knew that someday, somewhere, I’d meet my match. But I resolved to have as much fun as I could while it lasted. And believe me, I did.
This woman put a lot of living into her time. Supermodel, spy.....But that’s all behind me now. I might as well tell you how I ended up in the strange, permanent predicament I’ve found myself in. After all, I have time...all the time in the world.
I’m not happy, but I really don’t feel any sense of pity for myself. I played the game, and this time, I lost the roll of the dice. The ones I do feel sorry for, and responsible for, are my girls -- Monique, Kerri, Sasha, Beverly, Laura and Tiffany.
But I suppose I better back up to the beginning....
I grew up on Long Island, the youngest daughter of a college professor and a lawyer. If you had met me in grade school, you would have seen a shy, bookish little girl with glasses.
It was in junior high that I started to blossom. I was one of the first girls in my class to grow breasts. My, how that changed my life! I knew the other girls’ teasing was really envy...envy at my development, and the boys’ attention.
I was still at the top academically, but now I was one of the most popular girls in school, and with my growing confidence, I went out for sports, as well.
My senior year honors included homecoming queen, captain of the state championship girls’ basketball team, and class valedictorian. Things got even better at Brown University. By the time my senior year was winding down, I was looking for new worlds to conquer.
I had mastered four languages -- French, German, Spanish and Russian, and had basic conversational skills in at least half a dozen others. I had earned my black belt in karate. I had just barely missed qualifying for the Olympic archery team.
And I had absolutely to idea what I wanted to do with my life. With my height (5’9”), silky blonde hair, slim figure and perfect legs, I had done some modeling work. Nothing big, just a few newspaper ads, and a couple of local runway shows. It paid well, but it seemed like such a frivolous way to earn a living.
That’s why I was receptive when the C-I-A recruiter came to campus that spring.
Before I knew it, I was signed up for covert operations, with most of my assignments in the European theater. I’m still to sworn to secrecy, but I can tell you that during those years -- the late 80s and early 90s -- I had a small role in the fall of a couple of little things. Things like the Berlin Wall and the USSR But I shouldn’t brag.
My cover identity was as a model. It worked perfectly. I did runway shows in Paris, photo assignments all over the continent. I had the freedom and the opportunity to travel, and no one suspected my true role.
But about seven years ago, I became restless again. I left the agency and went in search of something else that would challenge me. That’s when I decided to open my own shop.
Rayner Models was a small agency, based in Los Angeles. I soon had a couple of dozen girls in my stable, doing commercials, photo shoots and the like -- mid-range work that didn’t attract too much attention to us. That’s why it was the perfect front for my real purpose -- covert activities. Corporate security, espionage, bodyguard assignments, and so on.
Eighteen of the girls were models, nothing more, nothing less. But the “secret six” -- the ones I named earlier -- they were my operatives, my protoges, my best friends. Each had their areas of special expertise:
Monique, a blonde with a build similar to mine, was the electronics expert. There was no office she couldn’t bug, no computer she couldn’t hack.
Kerri was the martial arts master. Karate, judo, jujitsu, tae-kwon-do, you name it...she was the best. Her jet-black hair and dark brown eyes seemed to suit her fiery personality.
Sasha was the natural-born detective. She could take a footprint, a cigarette butt, and an open window, and figure out who had broken into an office, when, and why. She was my most popular black model, with skin the color of cafe au lait.
Beverly, a voluptuous brunette, was the language specialist. I was proud of myself for mastering four languages; she knew a dozen.
Laura, an Irish redhead, was the master of disguise. She did makeup for the other girls, and was an artist at it. But her real skill was in transforming other members of the team into whole different beings. Very handy if there was any possibility of us being recognized.
Tiffany was....well, she was a young, beautiful platinum blonde and very adventuresome. I shouldn’t have put her on the team. The others, at least, understood the risks. I’m not sure that Tiffany did.
I can’t believe what’s happened to them....what’s happened to all of us.
But anyway, our downfall began a little over two years ago when I took a call from Marc Dixon, third-generation owner of Dixon and Sons, one of the city’s upscale department stores. It takes special knowledge and connections to even know about the hidden activities of Rayner Models, so I was impressed.
I always make sure to look my very best for a potential new client. I always look -- or looked -- good but that day, I was a little prouder of myself. A green Chanel silk suit, very expensive and tasteful. Gold bracelet, necklace and earrings. I wanted Mr. Dixon to know he was dealing with class.
He was a man of unexceptional looks, and no taller than I was. There was absolutely no sexual magnetism there. But his Armani suit, Rolex watch and careful grooming, all confirmed what I already knew --I was dealing with money, and a formidable player in his own right. Dixon may have inherited the store from his father, who had inherited from his father; but he was the one who had doubled its sales in just three years. He was known for bold moves and great merchandising and publicity ploys. I suspected that this was what had brought us together, and I was right -- or so it seemed.
I was escorted into his large, wood-paneled office. He sat behind a mahogany desk that was polished to a mirror shine. He got up to greet me, offered me a drink, which I declined, and then asked me to sit down. I did so, crossing my legs in as sexy a manner as possible.
“Thanks for coming today, Miss Rayner,” he began. “I know your time is valuable, just as mine is, so I’ll get right to the point. I want you and your special team to provide security for me next month. We’ve made arrangements with the United States History Museum in New York to host a special traveling jewelry exhibit of theirs.
“The items are absolutely priceless. Diamonds, rubies, emeralds -- so many of them huge, and absolutely flawless. And so many of them with historic connections -- Rockefeller, Vanderbilt, Elizabeth Taylor, Marilyn Monroe... I think you can see why we need first-level security. That’s where your team comes in.”
I nodded. “I see. I assume you would want us to infiltrate the staff....place the girls at certain key vantage points near the exhibit....”
Dixon had stood up, and was gazing out his office window. “Yes, I want them to infiltrate the staff, but not in the way you’re talking about. We have a special process--”
I interrupted. “What’s the concern? We bring them into various departments, one or two at a time, and there’s no chance of them being detected....”
“Not by an ordinary thief, true,” Dixon told me. He reached into his top desk drawer for a file folder. “But by him, yes,” he said, opening the folder and handing it to me. Stapled inside the cover was an 8 by 10 photo of a man I would describe as wickedly handsome; he looked to me like a godfather-in-training.
“This is our dossier on James Calerno, an international jewel thief. He hasn’t made a heist in almost five years, but we have reason to believe that he will be targeting this display. He doesn’t really need the money any more, though I’m sure he’ll be glad to have it. But he’s stolen more than enough to live on comfortably for the rest of his life.”
I arched one of my pencil-thin eyebrows. “Why, then?”
“For the sheer challenge of it.”
Ah, the challenge. That was a reason I could understand.
He went on. “If Calerno has targeted us -- and I have reason to believe that he has -- he’s undoubtedly already monitoring us. The appearance of several new staff in the weeks before the exhibit would surely arouse his suspicions.”
“What do you have in mind, then?”
Dixon took a deep breath, then looked directly at me. “We will disguise them, and you, as mannequins. Through the use of a special spray, your bodies will take on the look of a mannequin. The spray hardens to form a breathable, somewhat pliable plastic shell that will limit your movements. It will also help to support all of you in your poses. The shell can be easily removed, but while they’re in it, no one will suspect a thing.”
I was skeptical. “You expect us to stay on their feet, unmoving, all day? Do you have any idea how difficult that is?”
He had an answer for everything. “Yes, yes, I do understand that. That’s why we’ve developed a specially-modified mannequin support pole, and you will rest against it. We also have a new, pioneering form of pantyhose. It’s been developed by a company I have a controlling interest in called Durasheer. They aren’t on the market yet, but when they are, they’re going to make me millions. They’ll give your legs such support and comfort that they’ll feel great -- even after you’ve been wearing them all day.”
He could see that I was still unsure about this. “I’m aware of your agency’s daily fee. I know it’s high, and I know you are worth every penny. Well, here’s what I’m prepared to pay.”
He took out a pen, and scribbled on a piece of paper a figure that was four times our usual daily fee!
I gulped. “You’ve got yourself a team of mannequins, Mr. Dixon.”
I was already living the good life. But suddenly, that oceanfront place
I had dreamed of suddenly seemed to be within my reach...and who knows
what else? Money can’t buy happiness they say, but it sure as hell can
make you more comfortable.
I went back to the office and called the six on for a briefing. None of them were dressed for modeling work. But despite the sweats, cutoffs, hair held up with rubber bands and lack of makeup, it would have been hard not to figure out that this was a room full of models. Their long legs, high cheekbones, prominent collar bones, slim figures and regal good looks shone through no matter how they were dressed.
I laid out Dixon’s proposal for them. They were all skeptical; well, all but Tiffany, who was actually excited about the idea.
“I’ve done some mannequin modeling, you know,” she said with a toss of her long, silver-blonde hair. “It’s really quite a challenge. I think it’s the perfect cover.”
Monique took a deep drag on her cigarette. (She was the only smoker in the group, despite the popularity of the habit among models. I had stopped telling her it would kill her one day after she fired back that working for me would do it first. Too bad she was right, sort of). “There’s just something about it that doesn’t add up. How much good can we do inside these plastic shells? If we can’t move, we can’t see much...and if we do see anything, how can we do anything about it?”
I tried to calm her fears. “We don’t have to act, unless Calerno actually shows up. We just have to keep watch. We’ll have special signal devices that we’ll be able to activate. As I understand it, they will be in the pedestals we’re standing on. If there’s any kind of trouble, just press your right foot down, and the store cops will come running. Press both feet down, and that sounds an alert that Calerno has been sighted. That will bring the store cops, city cops, and FBI down on Calerno’s head so fast he won’t know what’s hit him.... if he’s stupid enough to show up.”
“But how can they know what we’re signaling about?” Sasha asked.
“Well, I understand they will place minature transmitters in our mouths. We should be able to talk to store security, and to each other. It will involve just minimal mouth movement that shouldn’t be noticed, unless someone is looking directly at you.”
I could see that they were still puzzled, but it was beginning to make sense to them. “And there’s more. If you alert them to shoplifters or any other kind of trouble, there will be a handsome bonus for whoever’s responsible, courtesy of Dixon. He said they’ve been having an unusual amount of trouble with shoplifting lately, as a matter of fact, and he’s wondering if it might be an inside ring. So he wants all of us to keep an eye on the staff, too, including his regular security people.” I paused. “And I’ve got an incentive of my own I’m going to sweeten the pot with. Whoever among the six of you makes the most convincing mannequin will get a cash bonus from me of--” I wrote the number on a piece of paper and the girls passed it around. I could see their reluctance dissolving, as visions of dollar signs danced in their heads.
It was not surprising that Laura, the disguise expert, was most curious about the whole mannequinization process. God, how I wish I had listened to her.
“Plastic spray? Special pantyhose? You know my expertise in this area, and I’ve never heard of such things.”
I shrugged. “He’s got a lot of corporate R and D people....he pumps a lot of money into the department. This is brand-new, cutting edge stuff. Almost no one in the store knows about the process...just two members of the visual merchandising staff who have been specially trained.”
Kerri laughed. “Visual merchandising? Sounds like a pretty fancy name for people who put clothes on mannequins.”
“Don’t laugh too hard,” I told her. “Unless any of you can come up with a good reason why we shouldn’t take this job, they’re going to be dressing all of you -- and me.”
The arrangement was that the seven of us would undergo the process, to be stationed at the display or at key points on the routes to it. I would be positioned on a slightly elevated display that would command a view of most of the floor. The security crew would have no knowledge of our team, or their special mission.
A few days before we were to go to work, we were asked to attend a special briefing from Sandra and Michael, the visual merchandisers. They both appeared to be in their mid-20s; Sandra had a punk look, while Michael was noticeably effeminate. Quite a pair, but they really seemed to know what they’re talking about.
“I assume Mr. Dixon and Ms. Rayner have given you the basics,” Michael began. “I will try to provide a little more detail. Now girls, unless you’re claustrophobic, I think you’re going to have a lot of fun.” He paused, and looked around the room. Smiling impishly he said, “You all were just born to be mannequins!
“Now, the first thing is the spray. To be properly prepared for it, you have to have your entire body shaved, except for your eyebrows, and the hair on top of your head. That means everywhere else,” he said, arching an eyebrow.
“How come?” Laura demanded.
“Well, the spray does bond with your skin to a degree. When it comes time to remove the plastic shell, it could be painful, very painful if it took any hair with it. You’ve got to understand, that every square inch of your body, except for your scalp, will be covered.”
Kerri piped in. “What about... you-know-where.”
That was when Sandra smiled, and held up a strange-looking device. It appeared to be a dildo, with a curved piece of plastic attached to the base. “This will be inserted into your vaginal canal,” she said matter-of-factly. “We do it before the spray is applied. If you are going to pass for a mannequin at close inspection, you have to appear to be sexless. Believe me, this little number does the job.”
Sasha said, “Looks like the dildo that keeps on giving.” Oh, how she was right.
“Isn’t this carrying it just a little too far?” Kerri asked. “I mean, we will be wearing clothes on the floor, right? Who’s going to be checking out our crotches?”
“Well,” Michael said coyly. “Mr. Dixon suggested that we change the outfits on at least a couple of you while you’re on the floor. Just in case anyone’s got any suspicions, that’s a way to prove to him that you’re really mannequins.”
“Oh come on,” I said, “I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“Well,” Michael lisped again. “It’s what Mr. Dixon wants. And he is the one paying your fee, right?”
I sighed. “Right,” I reluctantly agreed.
Laura, ever the skeptic, wanted to know about how our eyes would be disguised. Look, even if we can keep from moving for ten hours at a stretch, there’s no way you can avoid blinking!”
Sandra said, another special spray, and an advanced contact lens, would keep our eyes moisturized, while preventing them from blinking. “It even gives you the glassy-eyed look of a mannequin,” she added.
Michael took up things from there. “Now, we don’t want too much in your systems, so the day before, I advise that you eat very lightly, and not drink too much, for obvious reasons. You don’t want to have to pee if you can help it! The morning we get started, you need to be here by 6 a.m., in order for us to have you ready for display by the time the store opens. That morning, you might have a breakfast bar or a cup of yogurt, but it’s best not to have anything to drink at all.”
As we were leaving, Beverly said, “Thank God this job is only for three days. I know we’re all going to make a lot of money, but I personally can’t think of anything more boring than standing perfectly still all day long.”
Tiffany, ever the happy one, said, “Now look, we’re helping to
protect some very valuable jewels. And even if our bad guy doesn’t show
up, you get to watch the whole world go by. I’ve done this before, remember?
If you like people-watching, you won’t be bored!”
The seven of us showed up at about quarter of six that morning. We all had complied with the instructions, and had made sure we were completely free of body hair. Most of us had chosen waxing as the easiest, and most thorough route. “Does anyone else feel kind of funny without any hair?” Tiffany asked. “I don’t know about you, but I kind of feel like a mannequin already!”
Sasha was in a foul mood; we soon learned why. “I had the damnedest time getting my pussy shaved. I hate the feeling. And my boyfriend’s not too crazy about it, either. I’ll just be glad when it grows back.”
The rest of the team seemed a bit on the sleepy side, though Kerri did manage to pipe up with, “The money, girls, think of the money. Let’s hope for plenty of shoplifters!”
Laura began singing the Beatles’ classic, “I don’t care too much for money, money can’t buy me love....” Kerri fired back with, “Maybe not, but you can have a hell of a lot of fun with it!” Through all this grumpy, sleepy banter, Sandra and Michael seemed bright and chipper. “All ready to become beautiful display pieces, ladies?” Michael asked with a chuckle in his voice.
Monique excused herself for a last cigarette before the process began. She slipped out a nearby employee’s entrance to light up. I came with her, just for a minute of fresh air (well, as long as I wasn’t downwind from her.) As she stood there puffing in the pre-dawn light, something in the distance caught her trained eye. She dropped the butt and quickly reached into her purse for her infra-red binoculars.
“I don’t fucking believe it!” she muttered to herself as she zeroed in on the man on the rooftop across the street. “It’s Calerno.”
“I don’t believe it,” I told her. She handed me the binoculars and said, “Look for yourself.”
Though I only had the briefest of glances, as he quickly disappeared, I could see she was right. It was James Calerno! That meant we would all be on heightened alert. “But why would he risk showing himself?” I asked. How I wish I had pursued that question!
Instead, I immediately notified Dixon, who didn’t seem overly concerned. When I asked him why, he just smiled and said, “I’ve got the best security team around on the job. He shouldn’t even get into the store, and if he does, I know your girls will do their job.”
After the brief meeting with Dixon, I went back to the room where the other six girls were being already being prepared. By this point, each of them had stripped naked, inserted their special dildos, and put shower caps over their hair. The storeroom where the transformation was taking place was large and a bit drafty; I noticed that most of the girls’ nipples were erect.
They had also put on fitted bra cups to give their breasts support.
“Real mannequins don’t wear underwear, so you won’t be either,” Sandra
I quickly stripped and tried to insert my appliance; the damn thing wouldn’t go in! “Hey!” I called out. “Did any of the rest of you have problems getting this thing in?” All I heard was mumbling and I saw a couple of heads shaking “no.” Sandra came over, with a look of real concern on her face. “A woman your age is still tight?” she whispered to me. “You’re putting us on, right?”
“No, damn it,” I hissed. “This thing will hardly go in....it feels like it wants to expand and fill me up completely.” But then, with a determined shove, I finally got the thing inside me. “Thanks for your help and understanding,” I said to Sandra in as sarcastic a tone as I could muster. Quickly, I attached my bra cups. If the rest of the team was going to endure this, then by God, I would too!
The first step was to have each of us stand, legs apart and arms outstretched, for the coating. The spray was applied everywhere, except to the face. The room was cold, and the spray striking your body felt even colder. It stung just a little bit, and had a slightly gooey feeling. Each of us had to keep that position for about a half hour to let the coating begin to harden. As that happened, it felt as if your skin was starting to tighten.
It was an amazing process to watch, and to experience; all of us had pretty flawless skin, but the coating seemed to obliterate every tiny scar, freckle or other imperfection. And as it dried, we each began to take on that plastic sheen that real mannequins have.
Then, each of us was allowed to sit for a while, even though we were beginning to stiffen up considerably. Nose and ear plugs were inserted, along with the communicator device, and our faces were covered with the spray. Then our eyes were sprayed, and the contact lenses inserted. Then we were helped to our feet again, and put into a pair of the new Durasheer hose.
I knew I was supposed to set an example for my team and be the good soldier, but I couldn’t help complaining again. “God, these are tight! Between the plastic coating and these hose, it feels like my legs are slowly having the life squeezed out of them. And having that thing inside, sealing me up...it’s all damn strange.”
Dear, cheery Tiffany said, “Oh...I don’t....know. It all....feels pretty good....to me.” They were the last words she spoke. The last words any of us ever spoke. The coating on our faces was beginning to harden.
“Better not speak any more, ladies,” Michael said. “Your coating should be firming up.”
Sandra and Michael seemed pretty low-key about it all, but as I gazed at the group, I was taken aback. I remember staring at the others in amazement and saying, to myself “My god, we really do look like mannequins.”
It was as if Michael could read my mind. “Yes, you all look amazingly real, dear,” he said. He and Sandra were bringing in the clear plastic bases and support poles, and, one by one, positioning us before the plastic had a chance to completely harden. The usual mannequin support pole, which would have inserted inside of a real mannequin, instead had a small padded support at its end. Our feet were positioned on top of the signal devices.
Next, Sandra and Michael took out mannequin paint to complete our faces, putting color above our eyes, and on our lips and cheeks. I remember wondering what Laura was thinking at this point. Was she admiring the skill of her fellow disguise experts? Too bad I’ll never know. I could have asked her then...now, of course, it’s too late.
Before too much longer, seven beautiful, complete mannequins were standing in a row . Dixon showed up at this point. As he walked up and down, examining each of closely, he muttered to himself, “amazing, absolutely amazing.”
Then he spoke to us. “You know your job, ladies, and you know our target has been spotted in the vicinity, so I expect you to all be on maximum alert. Remember why you’re doing this -- why you’re going through all this -- money! If you’re smart, good, and just a little lucky, I think you will all find this assignment to be very rewarding.”
It was now 9 a.m., time for the other visual merchandising staff to arrive for work. They would take us, position us at strategic locations at and near the display, and dress us. As far as they knew, they were real mannequins, nothing less, nothing more.
The store was giving away a trip to Hawaii that month; my elevated display was a desert island setting, and I was in sunglasses and a one-piece swimsuit.
Monique was placed in a formal wear display nearest the jewels on one side. She wore a shoulderless dress with a form-fitting, sequin covered bodice, and a floor-length, full skirt in velvet. They piled her blonde hair atop her head in a very elegant upsweep. She looked truly stunning!
Sasha was on the opposite side of the jewels, wearing a lace-covered bridal gown. I knew her boyfriend had been pushing her to get married and give up the covert life, something she was resisting. “If only he could see her this way now,” I thought. “Wearing just the kind of dress he wants her in.”
Laura and Beverly were both fairly close by in career wear; both in very elegant silk suits. Laura held a cell phone in one hand and a briefcase in the other; Beverly was holding an issue of the Wall Street Journal. They both looked ready for a board meeting. I remembered Beverly’s worry about being bored; I hoped she would be able to see the newspaper page, if things got quiet enough and she had nothing else to do.
Kerri and Tiffany were at the entrance to the floor, in sportswear. Kerri wore a multi-colored spandex workout suit. They had placed a headband around her head, and slipped hand weights onto her plasticized fingers to complete the effect. Tiffany was in a cute white tennis outfit, racket in hand. It was our understanding that they would be changed into swimsuits at some point mid-day.
We all blended perfectly with the rest of the store’s mannequins, I thought.
Just before the customers arrived, I tested out the communicator. “Everyone hear me OK, girls?” I heard a chorus of grunted “Yeahs,” and “Uh-huhs.”
Soon it was 10 o’clock, and the store was open. The security staff was on heightened alert due to the sighting of Calerno. The jewelry display, and Dixon’s skillful promotion of it, had brought large crowds to the store.
The store hadn’t been open 10 minutes before Tiffany spotted a shoplifter. She pressed down with her foot, and the signal device and communicator worked like a charm. Store security was on-scene in less than a minute. I watched the whole thing with a sense of satisfaction. Dixon, who was there on the floor, looked very pleased.
About 45 minutes later, Monique signaled; it turned out an employee was dipping into the till! It looked like this would be a very profitable assignment for all of us, even if Calerno never set foot in the place. “Good job, ladies,” I told them proudly.
“I am bored out of my skull,” Laura mumbled.
“Now, now,” Tiffany chimed in.
I watched as a couple of beefy security guards confronted the girl. She was a tall, athletic-looking brunette, who appeared to be in her mid-20s. I couldn’t hear too clearly, but from what I saw, it was clear that she was becoming extremely upset, almost hysterical. Tears were running down her cheeks.
The guards seemed to be trying to get her off the floor as quickly as possible, to avoid a scene. As they passed through the sports display, she suddenly broke free, and went careening straight into poor Tiffany. One of the guards toppled backward into Kerri. Both girls ended up on the floor, Tiffany on her side, Kerri on her back. To their credit, neither of them broke their poses.
Six more guards soon came running and subdued the out-of-control employee. Dixon looked genuinely alarmed. He climbed up onto my display, and made a pretext of checking things over. He whispered to me. “This is not good at all. I wouldn’t be surprised if it turns out to be some kind of diversion that Calerno is responsible for.” He paused.
“As for Tiffany and Kerri...we were going to change them anyway...I better have Michael and Sandra take them back for clean-up and touch up. We don’t want their secret revealed, if we can help it.” Dixon pulled a phone out of his pocket and gave the two their marching orders. Tiffany and Kerri were carried off the floor and out of my sight.
The crowds were heavier than ever during the lunch hour, but there were no more incidents. As the clock inched past 1 p.m., I began to wonder about Tiffany and Keri. Within about 10 minutes, I saw them being wheeled back onto the floor on hand trucks by a couple of teenage boys who were on the visual merchandising staff. The girls were still naked! I couldn’t understand why they hadn’t been dressed before being brought back out; it seemed like having them in the back had made a change on the floor unnecessary. I wondered how they felt.
My puzzlement turned to anger when I noticed these punks starting to feel up the girls! My God, I thought, how sick to get your jollies like that! But then, I started to wonder what it felt like, to have warm human hands touching you while you were inside this plastic shell....within a couple of minutes, each girl was in a bikini, and they were being carried up to my display.
After they were positioned, the two punks turned to me. The one with the shaved head turned to the one with the double earrings and said, snickering, “She’s got too good of a body to be wearing a one-piece. Don’t you think she’d look better in a bikini, too?”
“Yeah,” double earrings laughed. And soon shaved head was stripping me. My, God! I was about to get felt up! Jesus, I was 36...these punks were in their mid-teens; I was old enough to be their mother, for God’s sake! How dare they!
But then, I felt a hand on my plastic-covered breast, and the first shiver of ecstasy shot through me. I couldn’t believe how wonderful it felt! By the time they reached my nipples, I was beginning to wonder how I would recover enough to focus on my job...this was like a multiple orgasm to the tenth power. “Too bad she doesn’t have a plastic pussy,” shaved head muttered. But as he stroked me in that area, I couldn’t believe the feeling! I was exploding like I never had in my life I feared I would lose consciousness. Eventually, though, they tired of their game, and slipped me into the bikini.
But now, shaved hair noticed my padded support. He said, “Man, that’s weird, having her resting against a padded seat.” He pulled the padding off, revealing the blunt end of the mannequin pole.
I saw double earrings getting an evil look in his eyes. “Let’s give this plastic baby a thrill. Since she’s never going to have a man inside of her, the pole can fuck her!”
Shaved head starting laughing. He pulled down my bikini bottom and began stroking my sexless crotch. “Come on baby, come on, you know you want it, you want a man inside of you, a real man....too bad there’s no place for him to put it.” Now they were both laughing. Little did he know the thunder he was sending through me with his every touch.
Together, they picked me up and slipped me onto the pole. God, the indignity! I had never felt so degraded and...so wonderful....all at the same moment. I couldn’t figure out what was going on in my body, or my head.
Once they were gone, I could turn my attention back to the girls beside me. “Tiffany...Kerri...are you two OK?” My words were met with silence. I felt worried, but tried to convince myself that nothing was seriously wrong. Minature electronics like this were very susceptible to trouble. Theirs could have been damaged when they fell over...hell, mine could have quit.
Things were quiet for a while until a little girl, who appeared to be about six, wandered up to Laura and Beverly. She was poorly dressed, a little dirty, and just seemed to be out of place in an upscale store like this. And where was her mother?
Before anyone could stop her, she had grabbed Beverly’s newspaper and Laura’s cell phone. Her mother, who looked like she had just stepped out of the line at a soup kitchen, finally came running up and grabbed her. In the commotion, both Beverly and Laura got knocked over. Like Tiffany and Kerri, they managed to hold their poses.
It seemed like the only disturbances at the store that day would involve me and my girls, not the jewels!
About an hour later, Laura and Beverly were back. At least I think it was an hour...I was already finding it difficult to keep track of time. It didn’t seem like very much longer had passed at all before I saw Calerno on the floor! He walked right up to the display, opened the case, and took Elizabeth Taylor’s wedding diamond!
And I was going absolutely crazy. First, I tried to use my foot signals. Nothing! Were mine defective? As precious seconds passed, and it looked like Calerno was going to get away, I decided I had to break cover and move.
Only I couldn’t move at all. I was completely frozen. My God, I thought, they used too much of that damned spray! I expected Tiffany or Kerri to go after him then, but they didn’t, either. Were we all in the same predicament? And why hadn’t any of the store security spotted him walking in and making off with it right under their noses?
Calerno was gone as quickly as he came. And I was going absolutely crazy!
Finally, the 7 p.m. closing time rolled around. By the time the last of the staff cleared out, it was a little after 8. We would finally be out of these plastic shells, and then I could let Dixon know what happened, raise hell with Michael and Sandra....I began to get a bad feeling when I saw Michael staring me in the face.
“Hello, Jane,” he said. “I hope you’re enjoying your new state. You’re going to have a lot of time to get used to it.” He pulled down my bikini bottom and began fondling me. “I know what this is doing to you,” he said with a sick grin. Just as I was building to a climax, he stopped. “I know what it’s doing to you when I do it...and when I stop.”
If the feeling of being played with while in this state was wonderful, this was absolutely horrible...to be brought to the brink....without any opportunity for relief or release...it was sheer torture! But soon, My thoughts shifted away from my own predicament.
As he turned me so I could see Kerri and Tiffany, I began to sense a horrible, sick, empty feeling spreading through me. Something was different about them. When I saw the pivot points at their necks, shoulders, elbows, wrists, waist and on a leg, I knew. The hollow plastic sound when he tapped on their breasts only provided confirmation.
Somehow, they had been turned into real mannequins! Good lord! They must be dead! I wanted to scream; I wanted to cry; but I couldn’t lift a finger or blink an eye.
For the first time....well, since I had been that shy, bookish little girl with glasses...I felt utterly helpless and defeated. God, how I wanted to cry. But I couldn’t even do that.
As I was being wheeled into the back area where our transformation had started, my mind was reeling. Things began to make sense when I found Dixon there waiting for me.
“Hello, Jane,” he said with a smirk. “Welcome to your new life. By now, I’m sure you’ve figured out that several of your girls have been transformed into actual mannequins. And I’m sure you’re absolutely furious. But believe it or not, we are not killers. Even after the process is complete, your life force remains within the mannequin. It’s an amazing process.”
Michael spoke up at this point. “As you’ve realized, the spray doesn’t form a removable shell; it actually bonds with your skin and begins the process of converting your body to plastic. The pantyhose helps to accelerate this, while slowing your regular metabolic functions to a crawl. We’ve processed four of the girls so far -- Tiffany, Kerri, Laura and Beverly.
“When they were brought back here, we gave them an injection that accelerated and completed the change. Within an hour, they were solid plastic, and we were able to cut them apart to install their new joints. I’m sure none of them are happy about what’s happened to them, but I can assure you that we’re not sadists. The whole process is actually painless, as hard as it might be for you to believe.”
Now Sandra chimed in. “As a matter of fact, we had a nice little surprise for them. Remember the dildos? They’re powered by a long-life battery and can be used to provide them with endless sexual stimulation. I can assure you that they will find their new lives quite pleasurable, as you will too.”
Dixon picked up the twisted tale at this point. “You know that Dixon and Sons has developed a reputation for having the most realistic mannequins in the country. Well, now you know how.” He paused. “You and those four will be the subject of the utmost attention and care by the visual merchandising staff. You will never grow old, never lose your beauty. And you will enjoy endless pleasure.... really not a bad trade-off for what you’re giving up, I think.”
They kept talking about the five of us becoming mannequins. What about Monique and Sasha?
I was momentarily distracted from that thought by the sight of the sales clerk who had been caught stealing earlier that day. She was bound and gagged, tied to a chair. “As Miss Adams has learned, I don’t appreciate disloyalty on the part of employees. Sandra, Michael, you know what to do with her.”
I had to watch as they stripped her, inserted a dildo, and began shaving and waxing her skin. It looked like she was proud of her body and had kept it fairly clear of excess hair. Once they had inspected her skin and convinced themselves that every stray hair was gone, they began spraying the coating over every inch of her body. Being a spectator to the process instead of a participant allowed me to appreciate the thoroughness and care with which they went about it.
They separated her toes, to make sure the space inside was thoroughly coated. Between the fingers, under the arms, behind the ears; there wasn’t a square inch that they missed.
But it was different in one significant way from what we had gone through that morning. We had been blissfully unaware, thinking it was a reversible process. Not her. She knew that she would never move again, never speak again. The terror in her eyes was so painful to watch. I wished I could close my eyes, or turn away. But of course I could not.
“She’s going to have plenty of time to pay her debt to me,” Dixon said. Her legs will make a nice pantyhose form, and we’ll use her torso to display bras. Her arms and head will go into storage. Who knows, if I forgive her someday, I might have her put back together. But then again, maybe not.” He laughed; it was a deep, evil chuckle.
At least, I consoled myself, Calerno had outsmarted him!
By the time the salesclerk was ready for the next step in her transformation, I realized that my time had come too. Sandra gave Miss Adams her injection at the same time Michael gave me mine.
“This will take about an hour to work,” he said. “When it’s done, you will be plastic from head to toe.... nothing more, nothing less. Just a hunk of plastic... a thing.... you’ll never be a real woman again.”
God, he seemed to be taking a sick delight in rubbing it in. Other than the slight prick of the needle, I didn’t notice anything happening at first as a result of the injection. But maybe 10 minutes later, something started churning up inside; it was as if my organs were dissolving or solidifying. It wasn’t really painful, in a physical sense; more like the feeling of a lot of butterflies in the stomach.
As the final injection continued to do its work, I found that my curiosity about Sasha and Monique was about to be answered, as they were carried into the room and stripped. “I have slightly different plans for these two,” Dixon told me. “We used a different version of the spray on them, and we have a different injection for them.”
I watched in fascination and horror as their dildos were removed; then their mouths were pried open. As Michael administered their injections, he explained, “This formula doesn’t turn their insides into hard plastic. Instead, they become pliable, soft plastic. In short, the ultimate love doll! It’s really amazing...they have strength in just the right places, and give in just the right places. Their skin has the feel of real skin...after all it is -- or was.”
Dixon had a crazed, lustful look on his face. “Monique will be quite a plaything for me!” Even though she was paralyzed, I swear I could see Monique’s fear and disgust. “Now you may be wondering about my plans for Sasha,” Dixon said. “She’s going to be a gift for a good friend of mine!”
I heard the door open, but of course could not turn. Soon, however, the new arrival entered my field of vision.
It was James Calerno.
He and Dixon threw their arms around each other and began laughing.
I wanted to scream! I wanted to cry! I wanted to kill them! I wanted to kill myself for having been too stupid to realize they had been working together all along! Oh, what a sick, perfect plan. Dixon gets some new mannequins; Calerno gets the jewels; and each takes home a new sex toy.
The two bastards drank a toast to their victory, while Michael and Sasha continued to process me and the former salesclerk. Michael carefully marked lines on her, then activated a small circular saw. As I heard the high-pitched whine, I once more prayed for the means to look away. But again, I could only watch helplessly. Miss Adams was soon bisected; then her head and legs were removed. They were placed in boxes, and carefully set aside.
Sandra turned the legs upside down and slipped a pair of Durasheer hose over them. “There,” she said with a sense of satisfaction. “The perfect panty hose form. She did have a nice set of legs.”
Michael had a lacy white bra, and was fastening it around the poor girls’ breasts. “There,” he said “She’s just the right size for this. Not too big, not too small...we really should have done this to her a long time ago, Mr. Dixon, don’t you think?”
Dixon and Calerno looked over the pieces of the woman who had started the day as a salesclerk. “Very good, very good.” He spoke to the forms as if they could still hear him; maybe they could. “Just think of this as giving your all for Dixon and Sons,” he said.
While all this was happening, the fluid was finishing its work on me. “Miss Rayner should be ready about now, shouldn’t she?” Dixon asked.
I had a sense that whatever had been happening inside of me was indeed complete. Michael walked over to me, and rapped his knuckles on my breast. The hard, hollow sound told me that I was right. He took a finger, tapped on my cheek, and I heard the same empty sound.
He slipped his right hand behind my back, then tipped me backward with his left. This was a strange feeling. I must now weight just a few pounds, I said to myself. “Yep, she’s ready,” Michael finally said. He took his marking pen and began drawing dotted lines at key locations on my skin.
Soon, Michael took the saw to me. Although I knew it wasn’t supposed to hurt, I couldn’t help but feel afraid. I heard the saw, thought I smelled a slight odor of burning plastic, but I really didn’t feel a thing, thank God. It was so strange to be in pieces....it seemed my consciousness was in all my parts. I was still aware of everything around me.
Michael was explaining for me, “Well Jane, I don’t know why I’m explaining all this to you...you’re not a person anymore, just a store display dummy....but I think it helps to add to your sense of loss...so I guess I’ll keep letting you know about every phase of your conversion.
“Anyway, I’m now installing the metal connectors that will allow us to bend and pose you. And make it easier for my visual display helpers to dress and undress you.” Within a few minutes, he was done with the hardware, and I was in one piece again -- more or less. Michael carried me over to a full-length mirror so I could see the results of his evil handiwork.
I could feel the anger and sadness welling up inside of me. But I had no way to express it, just as I had no way to deal with the sexual tension that was raging inside of me...until Michael began stroking my sexless crotch. “Feels good, doesn’t it? You don’t have to thank me now, it can wait ‘til later.” Thank him? God, what a sick bastard! But as his fingers did their work, I felt a wave of pleasure and relief that at least brought me a momentary sense of calm.
He then turned me so I could look at Calerno and Dixon, who were checking over Sasha and Monique. Both girls were seated in chairs. It appeared as if they were still alive, but unable to move....it was like each of them was in a trance; but this was a trance from which they would never awake.
Each man began squeezing and kneading his girl’s breasts. They seemed to have just the right amount of “give” to them. “Absolutely fuckin’ wonderful,” Calerno said. “This is an unexpected bonus. Sasha, you and me is going to have lots of good times together.”
Dixon didn’t say anything to Monique. He just continued to feel her up and look her over with a lustful expression on his face. At that point, although Monique and Sasha were each still in one piece, I bet they wished they could trade places with us who were destined for a life on display.
I tried for a minute to imagine what their new lives would be like... tossed in a corner of one of these creep’s bedrooms or stuffed in a closet most of the day...then taken out and placed in bed at night to be fondled and fucked in whatever manner their owner desired. God, they probably wouldn’t even bother to wash them out when they were done. I felt a shudder in my empty insides.
Dixon then looked me over in my finished mannequin form. “You kept yourself in great shape, my dear. For that I thank you. You and your ladies will make wonderful permanent additions to our staff.” He paused. “I’ve got some more surprises for you. You and the other four new mannequins will be headless during your first two years on display. I wish it didn’t have to be this way, but We don’t want anyone recognizing you.” With that, I felt him removing my head, and placing it in a box.
It was the strangest sensation. I was aware of my head being in the dark container, yet I could still see and hear from my headless body. This nightmare was getting stranger by the moment.
“And I’ve got another surprise for you in a couple of years, when you get your head back, Jane,” he told me. “But I think I’ll let that wait. Let me assure you, though, you won’t just be standing around forever.”
I spent two years on display, headless, wondering what the surprise would be. I didn’t want to hold out any hope of being restored to human form. Yet what did he mean by me not just standing around?
That thought returned to me frequently as the next couple of years passed. In the meantime, I had to cope with life as a display piece. Being a headless mannequin was a special form of torture. I’m not sure exactly where my sense of vision was located, but I could only “see” clearly when I was undressed.
Anytime I was clothed -- which was most of the time -- I was effectively blinded.
I could still hear and sense what was going on around me, but I soon lost all track of time. I didn’t have any real idea of how quickly or slowly time was passing.
I began to really look forward to the ocassions when I was changed; not only could I finally get a look at the world around me again, but the every touch of human hands on my body sent shivers of orgasmic relief through me.
Between those times, I spent most hours crying out mentally for any kind of touch to provide me with a moment of pleasure. I never saw shaved head and double earrings again, after the day of my transformation; but I swear to God I even wished for their hands all over me.
Because otherwise, it was a terrible feeling; being on the brink of orgasm, but unable to find any sense of relief. There were times -- lots of times -- when I thought I would lose whatever was left of my mind. I found myself wondering what had happened to the rest of the girls, and how they were dealing with their new lives.
I was sure that Sasha and Monique hated being love dolls. And Kerri, Laura and Beverly couldn’t be too pleased with being mannequins. But every now and then I thought of Tiffany... poor, sweet Tiffany, who had looked forward to a day of mannequin modeling. A day that would now stretch into an eternal lifetime. Somehow, I sensed she was happy in a way that none of the rest of us could be.
It reached the point where I looked forward to being moved around
and changed just for the sense of variety it brought to my existence. Michael
made sure I spent time in most every department; sometimes I was in a swimsuit;
often I modeled formal wear, and did a lot of time in the career wear department.
I came to appreciate the different weights and textures of the clothes I wore; the tight slickness of spandex; the lightweight, soft elegance of satin; the comforting touch of cotton.
From time to time, the dildo inside me was activated; sometimes just for a few hours, sometimes for days at a time. It was wonderful while it lasted, awful when it was turned off. A whole additional way of controlling and torturing me.
Was this all my life had been reduced to? I actually spent nights praying for the return of my head. Somehow, I thought I would feel less like a thing, an object, more like a complete person, if only I could be whole again. I wondered what that would feel like.
Yesterday, I was taken to the work room, saw my head taken out of storage, and found out. I couldn’t believe that two years had finally passed. In some ways, it seemed like an eternity; in others, it had gone by oh-so-quickly.
Dixon had promised me a surprise when I got my head back; I wondered, and feared what it would be.
Michael had an array of electronic gear spread out on a workbench.
“I’m sure you’ve gotten bored with just standing around,” he said. “Well, Jane, I’m sure that during your career you heard of robot modeling or living mannequins? Mr. Dixon is having me install motors in you. That way, he can use you in animated displays. I think you can expect to be one of Santa’s helpers this Christmas. Imagine, carrying the same box back and forth for days at a time...”
Yes, imagine. Just when I think my nightmare can’t get any worse, they find a way to do just that.
I tried to picture myself, my legs moving again, bending over, reaching for a box, straightening it up; turning my head on a predetermined cue to flash a frozen smile at the watching crowd.... and repeating that cycle endlessly. Endlessly.
The really sad thing about this is. I don’t think I’m ever going to wake up, as much as I try to convince myself that it’s a horrible dream.
I know that it’s really happened.
As sure as I know that rat Dixon is fucking his Monique doll right
now, I know it’s happened!