Noelani waited until Plastica's red sports car was out of sight, then turned her attention again to the room below. It looked ordinary enough, but there was a certain blandess to it...it didn't really looked lived in, despite the scattered clothes and wigs. The only touch out of the ordinary was a row of crystal dishes pushed up against the dresser mirror. Each contained a different color pill: pink, white, green-and-white capsules, black beauties in a lozenge shape.
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 to have an alarm system, so violent entry was out of the question. Noelani was forced to poke around until she found the dryer vent; then she took a deep breath, assumed flower petal form, and whirled down the duct into the dryer. Luckily there hadn't any clothes left in there, or it would have been a tight squeeze indeed. She quickly resumed human form and kicked the dryer door open with her feet.
She looked around; a laundry room, dark and cramped. She activated the phosphorescent fungi cells in her costume, which began to glow a pale green. Not the brightest light in the world, but her eyes were sensitive and adjusted quickly. Cool air on her skin told her the condo had central air conditioning, so she flung a fistful of pollen into the air; within a few minutes the minute particles dispersed throughout the house, glowing like neon where the infrared sensors pierced the rooms. There still could be motion sensors in the floor, but Noelani had the knack of treading lightly...lightly as the fall of a rose petal against a hard marble floor.
She slipped through the darkened rooms like a vine growng 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 modern furniture and housewares. No pristine white dish had ever felt the grease of a chicken enchilada; no heel marks marred the pale wood of the coffee table top. She glanced at the magazines. 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 kneeling with her back arched, conical breasts pointed up to heaven. She gave it a long look, then crept 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, striped by a band of light from the steetlamp. 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: Plastica's signature. 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, and 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 exploded between her legs. 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, breasts pointing towards the ceiling. The same position as the Sorayama poster in the living room.
*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 hovered there, 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," Arctica 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. "She left here twenty minutes ago. She said she was going home."
Arctica 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."
Arctica zipped off, leaving a trail of ice crystals in her wake.
"Damn, she's heavy," Tiger muttered as he helped Iza load Cinnabar in the van.
"She's a supergero; solid muscle, remember?" Plastica snapped. 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. Pretty helpless, now. She'd make a good mannequin.
But this particular prize did not belong to her. "Get back to the factory before she comes to," she said. Tiger hit the gas.
It was around midnight before they came home. Tiger carried Cinnabar inside and placed the bound superheroine on a worktable. Iza and Phanxine hovered at his back. Plastica had told them of her plan but not about Kaylashat's part in it, as the Countess didn't want her existance 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 dissapointment; but Plastica had made it clear to them at the start that she preferred privacy when working. She also had other reasons for being alone with the superheroine. Using her knife, she quickly slashed off Cinnabar's blue jeans and long-sleeve knit top, then slit the straps of her bra. Her tits burst free...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. She couldn't resist pinching Cinnabar's nipples. They quickly rose to full erection, ignorant their owner was still unconscious.
Plastica grinned. This would be even more fun than she'd thought.
With a few delicate twists she shredded Cinnabar's panties. The proud auburn bush of the superheroine now lay open to her inspection. Plastica inserted her finger, teasing her clit, and was rewarded by a smear of wetness on the clear vinyl tip of her glove. "Jeez Louise, this l'il piece o' poontang is ripe," she giggled in Paula Jean Estes mode.
She glanced at the clock: Playtime over. Working swiftly, she rolled Cinnabar onto her stomach and drew her wrists and ankles up over her back, binding them together with a transparent plastic rope so she was hogtied. Happily, she was limber enough to accomplish the pose. Her body was slim yet powerful, a true athlete's build that took many hours of daily training to keep in shape, and Plastica found herself admiring it. Too bad she belonged to Kaylashat.
After a few more preparations, Plastica touched the control pad to summon the crane. It glided over on the ceiling rails, lowering a hook. Another touch, and the crane bore Cinnabar up and over the factory floor suspended by her arms and legs, her back a lovely bow.
The crane halted over a tank of liquid chrysteel, its nude burden swinging gently. Plastica bounded up the stairs to the platform. So far, so good...barring the arrival of another superpower to rescue her, or some unforesoon power manifested from Cinnabar herself. Which wasn't likely, as she was still unconscious, but stranger things had happened when superhero's lives were in danger. She touched another button. "Welcome to the dollhouse, Scirocco."
Cinnabar's eyes snapped open. She was still groggy from the drug and couldn't fight the bonds that held her. Plastica snickered at her struggles as the crane slowly lowered her, the viscous crysteel first closing around her belly, then her buttocks and limbs until she was completely immersed. What a surprise she was going to get! Plastica felt her nipples grow hard just thinking about it. With an evil laugh, she jabbed a red button marked PLASTIFY.
A warning siren began to bleat as the valves containing the solidifying agent opened. Then came a hiss, a whoosh, a muffled *crack*
The four sides of the tank folded down. Scirocco, the Deser Storm, the Wind of Vengeance, was now sealed forever in a four-foot cube of clear diamond-hard plastic.
"Beautiful." Plastica whispered.
Cinnabar's skin had taken on a sensuous glossy sheen within the cube, glowing in soft shades of ivory and tawny gold, while her red hair drifted around her in frozen stasis. With her back bowed and head up, her body formed a perfect O of womanhood. Perfect...and preserved for eternity. "Oh, beautiful!" Plastica whooped again. Never had she dreamed the process would be so easy!
She had left a metal ring protruding from the top of the cube and this the crane hooked again, carrying the entombed heroine to the conveyer belt. Plastica bounded up to face her. Cinnabar's eyes were wide, her lips slightly parted. Despite its hardness the chrysteel was permeable to oxygen and it was the only thing that was keeping her alive. She was probably taking in the factory, the hissing plumes of steam, the tanks...then the horrid realization of how she was trapped. The chrysteel had penetrated every crook and crevice of her body, trapping her like a fly in amber, and to Plastica it was the most beautiful sight in the world.
"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.
Giddy with her triumph, she made a slow inspection of her prisoner. Yes, the job was perfect: the surface of the cube was smooth and flawless, its dimensions exact. She walked around to Cinnabar's rear. Yes, it had definitely been a good idea to shave her pussy before dipping her...and an even better one to glue the soles of her feet together. It stretched her knees as wide as they could go, providing an unimpeded view of her exposed sex. Anyone, friend or foe, could inspect the pink folds of her labia now, speculate on the pearly nub of her clit, the modest brown pucker of her anus. She congratulated herself 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. Oh, wonderful! This was too good...a dream come true.
Plastica stood at the side of the cube with her legs spread, chest out, hands on her hips, an imitation of the superheroine she had just captured. The camera clicked to capture her moment of triumph for posterity. Then she took 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, which now ran thick with her hot, rich cream. She sat with her back against the cube and drew her knees up, spreading her thighs. Her fingers went to work. "Ohhh..." The fact she was masturbating next to the helpless superheroine egged her on.
She rubbed her pussy faster, harder. Her body began to smolder; her thumb struck pizzicatos on her clit. Then it hit her, a series of delicious shocks that set her insides spasming. Her body jerked, her legs lifted: "Oh, ooooohh oh oh...AAAHHHH!"
She fell back against the block, knees drawn up, skin tingling. That had been *fabulous.* She waited a few seconds for the tremors to disappear, panting. What was it about plastifying women that made her so hot? Was it the fact they were so helpless and at her mercy, or did she secretly wish to trade places with them?
No matter. Plastica faced her captive again. It was time to explain a few things...not that it really mattered. "Let me introduce myself, Cinnabar. My name is Plastica, and Kaylashat hired me to assasinate 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 castle."
Cinnabar's face did not change, but a wild panic flared in her blue-gray eyes. *She knows,* Plastica thought. Her own eyes narrowed. *What really happened between those two...?*
But that was not her place to know. She switched back into triumphant villain mode. "There's only one slight problem with that, Cinna-buns," she said. "You're still alive. While there is a lot of appeal in keeping you trapped like this, you'll 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. You'll be flash freeze-dried, then coated with a polymer resin to keep you fresh and lifelike for eternity."
She paused to let the news sink in. Cinnabar still stared.
"However, since I'm *much* more humane than Kaylashat the Damned, I've given you a present to make your transformation into a piece of bric-a-brac more tolerable." Plastica flicked on the remote to activate the vibrator buried deep within her prisoner's pussy. The dildo was completely sealed inside her by the close set of the plastic, and Plastica knew the close confines of her prison were only amplifying the sensations. She imagined she saw Cinnabar's lips tremble faintly as the stimulation began.
Plastica sighed. Such a lovely sight. It inspired her to rub herself again, in full view of her captive. She imagined the vibrations humming through her own body, the hard squeeze of plastic pressing on her skin, cocooning and entombing her, forever...
But her second orgasm would have to wait. She hopped off the conveyer belt and pulled the large lever that protruded from the floor. The mechanism made a grinding noise as it jerked into life. Slowly, inexorably, the encubed superheroine began to glide to her doom. At the end of the belt was the waiting vaccum chamber, where eight silo-sized tanks of liquid nitrogen were more than enough to freeze her.
And the beauty of it was there was absolutely no way for her to escape. Zilch. Zero. A plastic keepsake...forever. It wasn't such a bad fate. At least she'd be an object of admiration.
Head down, Plastica quickly keyed an email:
How do you like your new trophy? Expect delivery around noon the day after tomorrow.
She glanced up as Cinnabar entered the vacuum chamber, the perky globes of her ass bidding a final farewell as the foot-thick door sealed itself. Warning lights flashed to red as the air began to be pumped out of the chamber. After Cinnabar was frozen a polymer spray would hit the block from all angles, sealing her inside a sterile vacuum that would preserve her for eternity. She probably wouldn't suffer much. She might even black out before then, from her continual orgasms.
In fifteen minutes the chamber would repressurize and unseal. The conveyer belt would carry Cinnabar out of the chamber exactly the same way she had gone in, except she would no longer be alive. She would travel on for a few more feet, eyes wide, thighs spread, then slide gently down a ramp of metal rollers to the wooden crate that waited her at the end of the line. Federal Express would take care of the rest. Thank God they did night pickups now.
Plastica sighed again. She felt oddly melancholy. Perhaps it had all been too easy. She cheered herself with the thought she might come across Cinnabar again one day when Kaylashat tired of her toy. In a dusty second hand shop, perhaps...under several layers of tattered quilts and old newspapers.
On to Chapter 7: Defenses Down
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