"Are you sure you want to go through with this," asked Jack, smiling innocently at the exotic form standing before him. "If you want, we can stop now."
Monica paused half a second, then beamed brightly at him. Her diminutive frame fairly glowed as she stood in the center of Jack's spacious special-effects studio. She had recently emerged from the shower, clean-shaven and utterly denuded of any hair save her head and her eyelashes. Even so, her short hair had been swept back and concealed underneath an opaque latex membrane, smoothed and affixed to her pale, flawless skin by the judicious application of spirit gum.
"Oh, no, I'm ready... trust me." She grinned, the soft, rounded features of her face momentarily sharpening into a pair of dimples. "You've spent far too much time on this already for me to back out now."
Jack nodded, and motioned for her to stand next to a long, low workbench strewn with a myriad assortment of odds and ends from his line of work. Jack was one of the premier special-effects people in Hollywood. Not many knew his name or his company, but that was alright. He was a specialist that other special-effects comnpanies hired when they needed something beyond their expertise. They got the credit, he got the money. An acceptable arrangement, he often thought.
With a devilish smile, he took her arms and carefully pulled them behind her, bending them at the elbows so that her hands nestled between her shoulderblades. Not many women were limber enough to hold that pose for a few minutes, much less several hours, but Monica had long been into yoga, aerobics, gymnastics and bondage -- atttributes which all jigsawed nicely into the perfect model for Jack's needs -- as well as a wonderful girlfriend and lover.
In addition to his flawless work, Jack was also known around the Hollywood set for some of his rather elaborate tastes. Of course, in Hollywood, another eyebrow raised was hardly noticable. One of these little quirks, however, was eagerly awaited, and that was his penchant for Halloween and costume balls. Often his best work was not seen on film, but rather in the exclusive and extravagant parties thrown by the media elite.
Taking a slim leather strap from the workbench, he fastened it tightly around her shoulders, pinned her hands to her back and her forearms to her spine. Monica smiled and giggled a little, then shuddered ever so slightly. This band was followed by two more down along her arms and torso, and then topped off with a liberal dose of baby powder. Pulling a swatch of latex from the bench, he unrolled it to reveal what appeared to be a gently-tapering cone of rubber, about a foot long. He began to slowly pull it onto her arms, starting at the elbows and working his way up. As he came to each leather strap, he'd unbuckle it, let it drop to the floor and then proceed. After a few minutes, Monica's arms were tightly bound to her back, doubled up on themselves as so to still present an unobstructed view of her shapely derriere.
Jack patted her rear as he spun her around gently, so that he could see her from all angles. Satisfied, he then got the next item -- a curiously-fashioned rubber corset. Another dusting of baby powder, and he proceeded to slip it over her head and down her torso.
This corset, however, was built differently than one would expect. In the front, two large cutouts exposed her modest but well-formed breasts. The corset was design to fit on her in her current state of restraint, however, and slid over her trussed arms with some difficulty. Her shoulders and neck were left bare, as were her sex and her rear, but her arms and midsection were covered by the heavy latex.
Jack next started to cinch the specialty corset, securing it by a clever web of cords that spiralled around her body, pulling her arms into her back and compressing her waist into a dainty waspish figure. As he pulled, her breasts seemed to jut out a little further, and she supressed a slight moan.
He smiled, and rested a bit, and wiped her brow with a paper towel.
"You all right?"
She nodded, and leaned forward slightly to kiss him on the cheek. "I'm fine... let's keep going."
He nodded, kissed her back and continued. After about another ten minutes or so, the arduous task of lacing the corset was finished, and he motioned for her to spin around so he could once again examine his handiwork. Sure enough, from a distance, one could only with some difficulty ascertain that Monica had any arms at all -- a slight oddness in the back of course, due to her pinnioned arms beneath the corset, but that would be concealed soon enough.
He lazily let his fingers brush against one of her aroused nipples as he walked by her and retrieved the next item. He returned with it -- an odd saddle-shaped piece of padded metal, heavily festooned with straps and bands, and sprouting a large, three-inch-diamter solid pipe of steel that extended from the bottom a good foot and a half. Stepping up to Monica, he tapped the inside of her legs with his fingers, and smiled, "Open up."
She parted her legs and let him slide the device up to her crotch. He carefully aligned a large hole in the saddle up with her sex, then pulled straps over her shapely hips to fasten the device on like a bizarre pair of panties.
The saddle was smooth and contoured to match her hips perfectly, and she squirmed with anticipation as he tightened the straps that held the apparatus to her. He stepped back and she grinned at him, shifting her weight from one foot to the other to ensure a proper fit. To an outside observer, it now looked as if she were wearing a stainless steel pair of panties, except that this pair had a formidable metal pipe affixed between her shapely thighs.
As Monica gently writhed her hips against the metal saddle, Jack went behind the workbench and wheeled out the next apparatus -- a pole about two and a half feet tall, set on a wide base of five casters, much like the wheels on an office chair. He pushed it over to her with his foot, and she looked down expectantly at the little item. A wrinkled mass of rubber lay coiled around the base of the pole.
Monica was a small, waifish girl -- barely five-foot three in office heels, and her slight build did not go unnoticed by Jack as he lifted her up, aligned the pole of her saddle with the pole of the wheeled trolley and slid it into the other. It dropped in about three inches, then stopped. Jack pulled out a rather menacing looking wrench and tightened the connector ring that stood at the junction of the two pieces, and a few turns later, Monica was firmly attached to the casters. She groaned quietly to herself, her weight now supported by the pole that extended from the base of her saddle, and squirmed a little. Due to the length of the pole, her tiny feet barely brushed the ground, and all she could do was just sort of sweep her toes innefectually across the cool tile floor of the studio.
Jack put a stop even to that element of freedom she had with a wide leather strap. Holding it in one hand, he bent Monica's legs up at the knees, pressing her feet up to her backside as she hung, seemingly impaled on the wheeled pole. With a flip of his wrist, he looped the strap around both her upper thighs and her ankles, and with another pull, fastened her securely into that position.
Next was the baby powder again, and then he bent down to retrieve the rubber garment coiled about the base of the pole upon which she sat. He pulled it up and over her bent knees, tugging here, stretching there, until it held her knees tightly to the pole and her calves tightly to the back of her thighs. She wiggled her toes at him, secured as they were against her backside, as he went back to the workbench and retrieved a rather sizable dildo.
He dropped to his knees before her and reached inside the single opening at the front of her metal saddle. Sliding a finger across her sex, he grinned up at her fluished face as he withdrew his finger, glistening with her moisture. Deftly he licked the honey from his finger and then slid the large phallus into Monica's sex, almost casually.
She gasped abruptly, and tried her best to wriggle about. However, her current situation allowed her little freedom, and the best she could manage was again to wiggle her toes fiercly while rolling her head around amidst short gasping breaths. She calmed down momentarily as the phallus reached it's full depth, then shuddered several times more as he began to turn it, screwing the base of the dildo into the matching hole of her saddle. He tightened it securely, then stood up again.
Returning to the thick rubber wrap that was around her thighs, he continued to unroll it up her body, pressing her feet against her ample rear and covering the myriad cords of the corset beneath the flawless sweep of latex. He continued to pull it up her fettered torso, a zipper being seen amongst the fold just at waist level. He stretched the rest of the garment up, slipping her exposed breasts into formed cups in the rubber, and then zipped the closure up fully, encasing her body completely in the restrictive latex from her neck all the way down to her knees.
Standing back, he smiled and reached out to gently turn her around on the free-rolling wheels her perch was mounted on. Monica presented a flawless column of gleaming obsidian latex, a limbless, immobile torso of shiny black topped by the delicate face of a smiling yet aroused young woman.
Satisfied, he retrieved the last two prosthetics that he would be applying to her trussed body. The clamshell pieces he set on the ground next to her were of hard fiberglass, fitted with snap-close latches along the edges and padded where appropriate for their purpose.
They were in the shape of a woman's torso and head, fashioned with an attractive waistline, full rear and ample breasts. The form had no arms or legs either, much like the randy young woman it was destined to go on. Jack lifted the back half up and laid it against Monica's backside, gently pressing it against her so the friction of the rubber padding inside and the rubber sheath she wore would hold it on until he could lift the front section into position.
After he did so, he clipped the two snaps at the sides of the neck together to hold it on, then adjusted it slightlly. Monica's face beamed at him from an appropriately-shaped cutout in the face of the shell. He adjusted it a few more times, then started pushing the remaining clips together, working his way down her torso. As he did so, the shell acted as yet another corset, compressing her already-trussed body one level further, concealing her body with it's contorted arms and pinioned legs beneath a smooth fiberglass shell that perfectly mimicked the female torso. Jack noted to himself how lucky he was that Monica was such a small woman; trying this with a woman of avergae stature and build would result in a finished model that was slightly too large to be believable, what with her arms and legs hidden inside the apparatus. However, by starting with a petite lady, the resultant effect was near-perfect.
Jack finished clicking the hidden latches together; at the bottom the clamshell stopped flat, and the smooth plane of the underside of the torso met tightly around the center support pole, hiding the truth of the design even there. Monica was now perfectly immobile -- her one remaining degree of freedom was held fast in the snug fit of the clamshell as it swept up from her body, around her graceful neck, and around her head. Only her face left any indication that the item before Jack held a human being within it's confines, and that was next on his agenda.
"Say ah," Jack quipped as he held up a soft foam rubber gag. Monica briefly stuck out her tongue, then opened her mouth to allow him to insert it. It was not overly large, but enough to keep her mouth filled while not changing the overall shape of her face. When she had worked it into a comfortable position with her tongue, Jack set a small tub of thick liquid next to her and pulled a heavy foam brush coated with the substance out.
Gently, he began coating her face and head with the sticky goo -- a special-efects variation of liquid latex, it was more opaque and thicker than the commerically-obtained versions. He paused before coating her eyes, and smiled at her as she regarded him one last time. She grinned and shut her eyes, allowing Jack to gently paint her eyelids shut.
Her entire form, with the exception of the pole supporting her, was covered in three smooth coats of the opaque white liquid, and between each covering Jack brandished a hair dryer like a marksman, setting the material up so that it was ready for the next coat. After applying the final coat, he double-checked to make sure she was still breathing okay through the tiny openings at her nostrils, then let her sit for a half-hour to cure.
When he returned, her form was glossy and flawless. She barely heard him return, and smiled at him, the rubbery, pale face stretching and bending to present him with a happy greeting.
After inspecting the layer of rubber, he inserted a y-clip tube to her breathing passages and trailed the far end of it to the other side of the room. He then put a filter mask over his own face, got a different pail and brush, and said loudly, "Give me that beautiful smile, my dear."
She smiled a bright, tight-lipped smile, her eyes and mouth sealed shut by the flexible latex coating she had been given. The new brush went up to her face and coated it gently with a thin, shiny resin. He continued to do so for the rest of her head and body, again with the exception of the pole, and dried her with the assistance of the blow dryer again. He then repeated it.
With each coating of the shellac, Monica's bright smile became more permanent, the clear sealant hardening to a plastic-like solidity. After three more coats, he left her form to dry fully again.
When he returned, he pressed a finger against her dimpled cheek. It stayed firm, as solid as if she had been cast of plastic in a mold herself. One final coating, he thought to himself, and pulled out an airbrush system.
Monica was spray-painted a nice even skintone color, covering the shiny lacquer with a soft, human sheen once more. Features were drawn then painted on the blank tableau of her face -- bright inquisituve eyes over her closed, hidden eyelids, delicate arching eyebrows, full red lips, eyeshadow, blush and highlights.
The crowning touch was a form-fitting cover that fit over her rigid, constricted form. It was made of padded grey cloth, with a rather coarse grain to it, stretching from her shoulders to her underside. Jack smiled as he snapped the elasticized material into place around the frozen figure. A scrap of cloth draped over the dummy's shoulders and deftly pinned on by a couple of sewing pins, and voila, he thought. A picture-perfect tailor's dummy.
Almost anticlimaticly, Jack donned his own costume -- a false moustache, tweedy clothes with a vest and the shirt sleeves rolled up, a long measuring tape looped over his own shoulders. The perfect stereotypical tailor to accompany her for the evening.
Gently he lifted his precious mannequin up, made his way to the garage and proceeded to lay her down in the back of his minivan.
"Ah, my darling, you are indeed a wonder to behold," he said loudly, so that the entombed girl within could hear him, "and no doubt will be the talk of the party."
As he climbed in the driver's seat and hit the remote for the garage door, he paused and spoke again to the dummy, grinning mischievously.
"And if you behave yourself, I may just decide not to sell you to an actual tailor..."
Deep within her constricting rubber-and-plastic shell, Monica shuddered inwardly and climaxed for the first of what was to be several times that night...