Paragon vs. Plastica
by Cobalt Jade (cobaltjade@aol.com)
Chapter 7: Defenses Down
*Sweet Goddess, no! Please don't let it end like this!*
Cinnabar struggled vainly against the confines of her plastic tomb. The
vibrator squirmed inside her, stimulating her against her will; with every
silent pant she lost precious oxygen. Helplessly orgasming, tears
streaming from her eyes, she could only stare bleakly ahead as the conveyer
belt carried her to her doom. She couldn't have been rendered any more
impotent.
*White Rose, come quickly. I need you!*
She had no way of knowing if the telepath could even hear her. Her only
hope was to send out her silent cry again and again, like a beacon, to give
her friend something to home in on. But the continual orgasms muddled her
mental summons, turning them to gibberish. How had Plastica known sexual
stimulation would quash her telepathic powers? Please, Ishtar, let Allison
trace her!
Shadow fell across her vision as the conveyer carried her inside the
vacuum chamber. *Oh Goddess, no, not this...*
The door closed with a heavy thump, sealing itself. Warning lights
flashed to as the air began to be pumped out. After she was frozen a
polymer spray would hit the cube from all angles, sealing her corpse inside
a sterile vacuum, where she would remain forever as a bauble for the
sorceress to gloat over.
*No! *she thought desperately. *It can't end this way, it can't! Not
as a trophy for that evil woman's playroom... *
The thought of it sent her over the edge. Her insides quaked as another
orgasm hit her, shrill pulses of pleasure that annihilated her again and
again, the debilitating sensations more like death than an affirmation of
pleasure. A golden glow fuzzed the edges of her vision, turning to red,
then a swimming fog of black. She blacked out briefly.
She came to, gasping, realizing the severity of her plight. The chamber
was very cold. The film of sweat that had been generated by her fear had
vanished; all the moisture was being out of her. In another minute
her air would be gone completely.
It was then she realized was faced with the hardest choice she ever had
to make. She could remain conscious and continue to call Allison, but
would lose oxygen as she orgasmed. Or she could put herself into the
metabolism-slowing trance the goddess had taught her. Without breathing,
she could exist in stasis for several hours. The trance had saved her life
before, even though temperatures had fallen to -40 below. It might buy her
some time.
But it wouldn't save her. Her heart fell. The temperature in the
vacuum chamber would approach absolute zero in minutes. When enough
moisture was out of her body, she would die.
What should she do? Should she put her life in the hands of fate? Did
she truly trust in the natural goodness of the universe?
She thought for a second that stretched into hours, then made her
choice.
She could enter the trance; it would buy her ten more minutes of life.
At the rate the chamber was cooling, it might not even be that. She felt
her limbs go numb as the temperature reached freezing, then approached
zero. Her oxygen was nearly gone. Closing her eyes, she mentally chanted
the ancient mantra. If she had chosen correctly, she would wake in safety.
If not, she would sleep forever.
#
Nemiah's wings beat with deep, furious strokes through the cool night
air. His forelegs were extended, claws curled like scythes. Allison rode
his back like a grim avatar carved from ivory and lightning: Cinnabar
needed her. Her calls had been growing progressively weaker and more
fragmented for the last four minutes, but Allison had traced them to their
source: a featureless factory surrounded by chemical tanks, powerlines,
railroad tracks.
BONDMADCHEN MANNEQUINS, the largest of the tanks announced. Plastica's
hideout.
Nemiah landed lightly on the roof, folding his massive wings. Allison
slipped off his back. Cinnabar was inside, but where? The calls hadn't
come for two minutes now. If whoever held her had harmed her -
She saw an open door and sprinted lightly inside, Nemiah following. The
door led to a series of wide catwalks above the plant. She stepped
gingerly onto the metal grate, creeping silently down the suspended
corridors. The silent vats below her melded into darkness. In the
distance was a brightly lit area, and they both headed toward it.
Together they looked down on the scene below, lost in the shadows at the
top of the plant. Almost directly below them was a large vacuum chamber;
plumes of white vapor and a flashing display pad indicated it was in use. A
broad conveyer led up to its entrance. Allison looked far to her right and
saw a metal worktable on which the torn remains of Cinnabar's clothes were
scattered. Her gaze went back to the machine. A metal ramp led from the
chamber's far end, at the end of which was a unsealed crate carrying a
Federal Express sticker addressed to a location in Greece. In a chair
before the crate, leaning back with her long legs propped up on the ramp,
was a tall, slim woman nude but for a pair of black vinyl boots and gloves.
A bag of half-eaten potato chips lay beside her. She was reading a bondage
magazine, one hand idly stroking her crotch.
Plastica. It could be no one else.
In an instant Allison knew what had happened. Cinnabar had been
captured, and she was inside that fiendish *thing,* but in whatever state
of transformation, she couldn't guess.
She had to stop it!
She slipped onto Nemiah's back, giving him a terse mental order. With a
roar he sprang from the catwalk and landed on the top of the chamber,
ripping through the layers of metal, composite and plastic with his
diamond-hard claws.
Freezing vapor flew from the ruptured pipes, and the chamber itself
exploded as it repressurized. Allison quickly threw up a force bubble to
protect them from the shards of flying metal. Cinnabar flew past them in
the flaming debris, sealed inside a clear cube of plastic. || Grab her,
Nemiah! ||
Nemiah's wings working desperately to hold his balance. He managed to
catch the ring in his jaws and flew up, up, far faster than the growing
conflagration, to smash through the skylight and leap into the night air.
In a few seconds he was well away, the night air whistling through his
feathers. Allison clutched his back, his speed too great to ride as
gracefully as she usually did. Had Plastica survived the explosion? More
importantly, would Cinnabar survive whatever that bitch had done to her?
|| Cinnabar? || she ventured tentatively in mindspeech.
No reply.
Cinnabar's eyes were open, but she looked like she was dead. Allison
extended a hand to touch the plastic cube. The surface was very cold;
perhaps she was only frozen. In the distance, she saw another factory, one
that made bread. It was in full operation this time of night and clouds of
warm steam billowed out of its smokestacks.
|| Nemiah, fly there, || she said. || Fly back and forth through the
steam. ||
Nemiah flew into the warm vapor, in and out, warming the plastic gently.
After many tense minutes Allison heard Cinnabar's faint mental call. ||
White Rose? ||
|| I'm here. And Nemiah, too. ||
|| Thanks, || Cinnabar said. || I was getting worried. ||
|| What happened? || She knew her tone sounded incredulous. || Cinn...
why do you look like a plastic keychain ornament? ||
Cinnabar gave a weak laugh. Though feeble and forced, it was the best
sound Allison had ever heard her make. || Plastica stunned me at the bank
machine and took me here, to turn me into a lucite trophy. ||
|| We'll get you out of there, || Allison said with determination.
|| That will be difficult, || Cinnabar said, her mental tone faint and
sad. || This... this shell, it's hard as steel, and molded around my
body. I can't eat and I can't drink. If I don't get out of it soon, I'll
die. ||
|| We need Shana and her chemical lab, || Allison said.
|| Shana is Plastica's prisoner, too, || Cinnabar reminded her. || We
need help.||
|| Right, || Allison said grimly, knowing they had to send for experts
from outside the team. Always a risky business, as it meant exposure. ||
Don't worry. We'll find a way. ||
#
*Damn.*
Plastica kicked at a piece of twisted metal, sending it skittering
across the floor. The vacuum chamber was a hulking, smoking mess. Luckily
the factory's sprinkler system had doused it before nearby the plants
called in an alarm. Blobs of flame-retardent foam covered the wreckage,
courtesy of the back-up firefighting system. When working with volatile
chemicals, you could never be too safe. Luckily her laboratory, and her
mannequins, had been at the other end of the building and escaped damage.
Still, it was a helluva mess.
Luckily she'd been able to outrun the blast even in her four-inch spiked
heels, flinging herself around a corner before the thing exploded. But she
had lost Cinnabar.
The bottom fell out of her stomach fell as she remembered Kylasha.
Plastica had promised her a trophy, and that trophy had been stolen from
her. Kylasha might badmouth her to other criminals, or, god forbid, enact
a revenge. Plastica had to get the cube back before Cinnabar died from
dehydration and began to decay. Or the other members of her team figured
out a way to free her.
Iza and Phanxine peeked timidly around the corner; they'd heard her
screaming and made themselves scarce. Now they were back, to see if there
was anything they could do. There wasn't. But like the best toadies they
would continue to try to curry her favor, in the hopes she might drop them
a crumb or two of consideration. "Boss?"
Plastica grunted. "About time you idiots got back."
"Boss, what do want us to do? Do you want us to go down to the Fairfax
address and clean it out?"
Plastica considered. Team Paragon could have found out about her
mannequin-making operation; after all, they'd known where the factory was.
But with their leader helpless, Plastica thought it unlikely they'd be
taking any action, at least right now. "Go ahead," she decided. "But be
cautious. Keep processing, but call me immediately if you notice anything
or anyone suspicious."
They nodded and left, less cocksure than they'd been few days before,
when the operation was daring and new. Plastica gave the wreckage one last
look, sighed, and went to get cleaned up. She had to put in an appearance
at Sexateria as Paula Jean, and she was smudged all over with soot and had
a few first-degree burns on her face and arms. Even her hair had been
singed, which meant a haircut and dye job until she made herself a new set
of follicles. Implanting all the individual hairs took ages.
She tried to look on the bright side. At least Cinnabar was out of the
way, which meant that Team Paragon was rudderless. Heartened, she jumped
in her lipstick-red Maserati. If Plastica wanted to get her back, she
could. After all, she wasn't exactly going anywhere.
#
"We can't just sit here. We have to do something."
All heads turned toward Gina. Her fist slammed the table.
"Look at her!" Gina waved her hand at Cinnabar's silent, entombed form.
"If we don't do something now, next time Plastica will do something worse.
To any of us, not just poor Cinn!"
Lori glanced guiltily away from the cube. All morning they'd been
frantically trying to cut into the plastic, trying acids, carbide-steel
saws, sonic drills, all to no effect. The material was indissoluble; not
even the diamond-tipped drills had made much of a scratch. And all the
while Cinnabar kept staring at them, eyes wide, knowing that she was
trapped, and that she was doomed.
Only Allison could communicate telepathically with Cinnabar -- the two
sharing a mind-link from years ago -- and through her, Cinnabar told them
to put in a call to the West Coast branch of ALOSH. But even their experts
were stymied. After working all day the scientists had only managed to
break off only the tiniest chips for analysis back at their labs. As for
Cinnabar, all they could do was set up a portable stasis field that would
keep her alive until a cure could be found. She now shimmered inside a
second cube, the stasis generators humming gently to keep her there.
Inside, she would neither blink nor breathe nor age. She would stay in
there forever if a solution couldn't be found.
It was repeat of what had happened to Photon, only this time the victim
was her friend. Lori's worst nightmare had come to life. She felt tears
come to her eyes. *No!* she thought. *I won't give up, none of us will!*
To make things worse, Noelani was missing and hadn't called in.
"This is too strange," Allison said. She didn't have to say there were
only three of them now. Cinnabar was out of commission, and so was Shana;
that left her as third in command, a position she was uncomfortable with.
"Where did you leave her, Lori?"
"She was at Paula Jean's condo," Lori said. "I flew off to warn Cinn,
and she stayed behind in case Plastica came back."
"Plastica never went back," Allison said. "That's obvious. Maybe
Noelani went chasing someone else."
"Or is with Plastica," Lori said darkly.
"Plastic Fantastic is opening their new agency tomorrow," Gina said.
"I'll pose as a and let myself be captured. Once I'm in the
mannequin factory I can look around."
"Too dangerous," Allison said with a heavy shake of her head. "You know
what her plasticizing gas can do."
Gina laughed. "I'm Chrystar. Do you really think it will me?"
"All right," Allison said, though Lori could see she felt ambivalent
about it. She closed her eyes briefly. Lori thought she was trying to
communicate with Cinnabar, but that was impossible through the stasis
field. "Go ahead, but be careful. I'm going to make a call."
Lori glanced at the silver business card that waited in front of the
phone. FEM-FANTASTIQUE, INC., it said, in foil script. A team of
superheroines on the East Coast. The director of ALOSH had recommended
them as they'd had lots of experience in dealing with villains like
Plastica. Allison began to tap out the number. "Lori, I want you to go
back to the condo, see if you can find any traces of Noelani. She may be
on to something , or --"
She didn't have to finish: *Or she may have wound up like Cinnabar.*
"All right," Lori said. It would give her something to do besides worry.
#
This was too good.
Plastica gloated over the plasticized form of Blue Cymbidium. What a
pleasant surprise she'd had when she got back to the condo! It was such a
simple trick she wondered how any of the bitches had fallen for it, but
maybe IQ was inverse to T&A. Which the half-Hawaiian, half-black beauty
certainly had, in abundance.
Plastica had fresh plaskin bandages on her face and hands, but for the
sake of her art she would suffer a little pain.
She picked up her scissors and cut off Blue Cymbidium's blue-violet
leotard. She was the most exotic -- and sensuous -- of the Team, with her
coffee-and-cream complexion and slightly slanted sable eyes. She was also
the most petite, though her muscles bespoke of extensive martial arts
training. Plastica wouldn't want to face her in a fight, but then, she
didn't have to. She had other means of dealing with her enemies.
The spangled fabric fell to the floor, exposing luscious, uptilted
breasts with dark brown nipples. Happily the superheroine hadn't lost her
long, dark hair. Plastica eliminated her pubic bush with a shot of
depilatory foam but let the superheroine keep her thigh-high leather boots.
She looked so much more kinky that way.
In fact...
Struck by another idea, Plastica began posing her. Her limbs responded
with resistance, but the movement was smooth and not stiff. She let Blue
Cymbidium keep the kneeling position but straightened her back and tilted
her head back slightly. Her face was now upturned as if looking to
Plastica for an order. Plastica then bent Blue Cymbidium's arms behind her
back and tied her wrists together with a length of rough rope; this was for
effect only, as Plastica knew she couldn't move on her own. Then she
buckled a slave collar around the superheroine's neck with a leather leash
that trailed down between her breasts, to lie on the ground before her in a
perfect liquid line.
She stepped back to assess her work. Yes, much better. The
superheroine looked the perfect slave, wrists crossed and tied, posture
erect yet abject. Now for her face. Plastica pinched the Hawaiian
beauty's eyelids closed and added the hint of a pout to her large, luscious
lips. She looked like she was swooning in a stew of sexual submission. It
tickled Plastica to think the real Blue Cymbidium would be filled with
horror if she saw the she made.
"You're a work of art, honey," she said. "Better than Michelangelo,
better than Rodin."
She donned her respirator hood and work gloves, then turned on the
compressor pump. She lifted the nozzle of the airbrush gun and began to
spray. The superheroine's smooth brown flesh was soon speckled, then
spattered, then coated with bright blue-violet paint that covered her
completely. Plastica walked all around her, changing direction and angle
to spray her hair, her nipples, the crack of her ass. The paint was a
chrysteel derivative; once it was dry the hard, shiny shell would hold the
superheroine fast, encasing her forever in a glistening second skin.
Submission in Blue, that's what she'd call it. It went perfectly with
Blue Cymbidium's pose and even her name.
Laughing, she set the nozzle down and wheeled the Blue Cymbidium
sculpture over to join the Xenon one. She'd always known visual
merchandising was the perfect art form.
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. Charging a fee for this story, or publishing
without author credit or this notice violates my copyright.
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