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Riding Magenta
by Nate Walis
natewalis@hotmail.com / DeviantArt
© 2012 - Nate Walis - Used by permission
Storycodes: M+/f; drug; kidnap; latex; encase; inflatable; sextoy; catsuit; insert; climax; nc/reluct; X
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Riding Magenta Nate Walis M+/f; drug; kidnap; latex; encase; inflatable; sextoy; catsuit; insert; climax; nc/reluct; X

The door of the limousine finally slammed closed, sealing Magenta inside and the baying hordes of paparazzi outside the car. She flopped back onto the seat and let out a breath of sheer exhaustion and relief that the evening was over and another premiere was behind her. Magenta was always amused by the fact that there were millions of people who would have swapped places with an actress of her fame and glamour, but she wondered if they really knew how much sheer hard work went into it on a daily basis.

As the limousine pulled away, she slipped her heels off and curled her legs up under her so that she could massage her feet. Through the opaque nylons that she wore, the soles of her feet were too numb to feel sore and she rubbed feeling back into them simply to feel the aches that were hiding under the surface.

Magenta was hoping that she could make it into her hotel without arousing much attention, counting the blocks until the building came into sight in anticipation. But then the limousine made an unexpected turn and she realised that they were headed in precisely the wrong direction.

She pressed the button for the intercom.

“Billy,” Magenta was still young and uncorrupted enough to want to know the people that worked for her by their first names rather than their job title, “why the sudden detour?” Her voice was light and she was in a joking mood. “Did you get a sudden craving for some sushi?”

There was nothing in reply but silence.

“Billy?” a note of concern had crept into her voice as she saw the streets down which they were driving becoming more and more deserted and further from the bright lights of the urban centre.

“For the love of…” Magenta hammered on the frosted glass that separated her from the driver.

Her only reward was a sudden and surprising sound of hissing, which seemed to be coming from every corner of the space in which she was travelling. Although Magenta could see and smell nothing more than her own perfume starting to mix with the fine beading of perspiration her situation was creating, she was well versed enough in the lore of Hollywood to jump to the conclusion that the sound was that of some kind of gas being pumped into the back of the limousine. Magenta was soon convinced that she was feeling dizzy from something; though she was clear-headed enough to wonder if it was actually gas or she was convincing herself that it was and making herself feel sick as a result.

Sure that she would get no help from whomever was driving the limousine; Magenta grabbed one of her shoes and in desperation swung the thin metal heel at the nearest window. But the effort was in vain as the shoe simply bounced off the glass, jarring her arm as it rebounded.

The irony of the strengthened glass being intended to keep her safe and now trapping her in the car was not lost on Magenta and as she slumped in her seat, her last thought before she blacked out was bizarrely to wonder if the designer of the glass had ever imagined a starlet in a designer dress attacking his invention with dangerously fashionable Italian shoes.

But then there was nothing but darkness.

While Magenta was unconscious, the limousine reached its destination and pulled into an industrial compound so quiet and dark that it might have been deserted. But that was not the case as when the vehicle came to a halt before the large doors of a building that might have been anything from a warehouse to a factory or even a laboratory of some kind; they slowly opened to allow it entry.

The interior of the building was dark as night and once the limousine had come to a stop; the sound of the doors closing behind it was the only sound. Their final closure was accompanied by the sound of air pressure being regulated as an air-tight seal engaged around the doors.

Only when the seal was in place did the harsh white illumination flicker into life and reveal that the limousine was parked in the centre of a large room devoid of any kind of feature save for the doors through which it had entered and another, smaller door in the adjacent wall. The room itself was a stark space, the walls lined with white tiles and the floor bare concrete. Save for the low humming of the lights, the room was as silent as the grave.

After a few moments, the silence was broken by the sound of another seal being opened and the smaller door swung outwards into the room. A pair of figures clad from head to toe in what looked like pure white hazmat suits emerged, wheeling a medical gurney across the concrete floor towards the limousine.

The driver, whoever he was, made no effort to exit the limousine at their arrival. But the smooth metallic sound of the vehicles doors being unlocked at their approach confirmed that the person in the front of the limousine was in league with the men in the suits.

The pair wasted no time in opening the door to the rear of the limousine and one gazed in for a few seconds as if gauging the condition of Magenta as she lay slumped on the back seat. Satisfied with who knows what, he motioned for his colleague to bring the gurney as close as was practical and they began to lift her prone form gently out of the limousine.

Soon Magenta was laid out on top of the gurney, her wrists and ankles strapped down firmly but not brutally to the surface so that she would remain in place.

Once their prize was secured, the men wasted no time in wheeling her back to the smaller door and through it to wherever they intended to take her.

As the seal on the smaller door hissed back into place, the limousine stood still and inert in the otherwise empty room.

The gurney made its way through a maze of white rooms and corridors, each sealed from the next by the same airtight doors. The men pushing Magenta along changed at regular intervals, exchanging unheard comments and consulting notes on white clipboards before taking stewardship of the unconscious actress and wheeling her ever onwards.

All of the men wore the same hazmat suits and none of them were hurried in their actions, secure in the knowledge that the air in the building, air which they were not breathing, was mixed with the same compound that had rendered Magenta unconscious in just the right quantity to make sure that she stayed under while she still breathed it.

Eventually her journey ended in a chamber that resembled a cutting edge operating theatre, complete with table, complex medical machinery and liquid crystal displays on the walls that spooled medical data.

The final pair of men undid the straps holding her down and lifted her onto the table. One removed the gurney from sight while the other began to remove Magenta’s clothing in a manner more akin to a person stripping a mannequin than one undressing a lover. This in itself was a feat of some note: the man was doing with dispassionate professionalism what countless men in the developed world would have paid large sums of money to even watch.

Even a casual observer had to admit that once the man had removed Magenta’s black dress and for a moment left her wearing only her underwear and nylons, the woman’s reputation was well founded.

The body that had commanded so much attention on the silver screen was still very impressive in the flesh, the balance that she struck between cultivating the curves that were summed up in her breasts and her full thighs were contrasted with the slim and by no means emaciated shape of her stomach.

But none of that seemed to matter to the man in the suit as he simply removed her bra and panties and then rolled off her nylons.

Next he carefully removed her jewellery and cleaned her face of makeup before collecting all of her effects in a clear plastic bag which he sealed and placed on a trolley in the corner of the room.

While the first man busied himself with something in the same corner, the second arrived at the side of the table with a small tray of implements. The first of these was a razor, which he used in the same clinical manner as his colleague to shave Magenta beneath her arms, around her groin and in any other place that he could find errant body hair. Satisfied that he was done, he pulled an insanely tight cap over the top of her head and concealed her hair beneath it before retreating from the room followed moments later by his colleague and twin.

Magenta lay alone in the room as a series of light beams swept over her from head to toe and the display panels on the wall began to fill with data relating to her physical form. The beams were the sensors of complicated diagnostic tools, all collecting and collating data on her as she lay there. Within minutes they had completed their work and three dimensional images of her anatomy began to appear on the screens alongside long lists of data relating to her physiology and state of health.

A new collection of men in white suits entered the room, but these were dressed in lighter protective gear that more closely resembled theatre robes than the hazmat suits of the first. Nevertheless their faces were still hidden and they moved with dispassionate purpose. Two made their way to the screens and began to interact with the data via a touch screen interface, two leant over Magenta as if checking the work of the men who had left the room and the final two pushed a sealed box of stainless steel into the room before them.

Without a spoken word, the men began their work in concert with one another and moving in perfect harmony.

The steel box was opened and one man removed an orange garment from within, which he shook to open out as he brought it to the table. Once the garment had been shaken out, it was clear that it was a kind of leotard made of a smooth material that reflected the light like plastic but stretched like latex. It was orange in colour and sported several features that marked it out as something very much out of the normal.

The first and most noticeable was the fact that a hood was attached to the garment that would totally enclose the head of whoever wore it. In addition, a pair of what looked like horns sprouted from the top of the hood. These were shaped in the manner of a series of slightly squashed spheres, on atop the next and each smaller than the one before.

Equally strange was the attachment that dangled between the holes in the bottom of the leotard so that it would sit between the legs of the wearer. Whatever the thing was it was well concealed beneath a sheath of orange rubber and so its purpose remained a mystery.

One thing that was certain about the leotard was the fact that it was intended for Magenta and the men wasted no time in slipping the garment on over her head as soon as it was brought to the table. In no time at all it was pulled snugly over her head, chest and then fastened between her legs with a tool of some kind that seemed to fuse the material together without the need of a mundane fastening.

Now that the garment was in place, more of its strange features became apparent to the eye. It was clear that this was no simple affair of rubber or lycra available on the open market; this was an item that had been made to fit Magenta specifically. Indeed the details of the mask which the hood stretched over her face were an almost exact likeness of her own features. Perhaps the lips pouted more and her own had never been a dark shade of orange designed to contrast with the colour of the leotard, but those were her lips all the same.

But perhaps the designer had intended to exaggerate her features. The fact that the leotard had seams that resembled those of fused plastic, the same seams also ringing her face and breasts and the way in which it forced her fingers together like the clawed hand of a doll. All of these seemed to hint that she was being transformed into a subtle caricature of herself done in the medium of latex, that she was being turned into a doll made in her own exaggerated image.

One of the men attached a thin hose to an unseen valve in the leotard while another activated a pump which sucked the air from the inside of the garment. Within moments it was pulled tightly against Magenta’s body, the shiny material stretched against her flesh like a second skin.

Pressed against Magenta’s body and deprived of air, the surface of the material came alive as the cellular adhesive became active and bonded with her skin in a matter of seconds. For all intents and purposes it was now a true second skin that would move and stretch as did her own. Every detail of her upper body was recreated in the orange material, her lips, eyelids, eyebrows, nails and nipples all picked out in the darker, almost burnt brown, contrasting colour.

A wig now emerged from the steel box and once it was attached to her smooth scalp, just behind her horns, the hairpiece almost perfectly recreated her own hair that was buried beneath the hood. For all intents and purposes she seemed to have regained her curled locks that fell somewhere between honey and strawberry blonde.

But the men did not stop there.

One leg at a time they raised her still naked lower limbs off the table, bending them at the knee until Magenta’s ankles met her thigh. It was an easy task due to the relative youth of the actress and her time spent in the ballet studio and her body offered no resistance. Once her limbs were in the desired position, the men bound them in place with bands of rubberised plastic than pulled together tightly and refused to loosen their grip.

While most of the men busied themselves with retrieving something from the box, one of them parted Magenta’s pouting lips and slipped a complicated object into her mouth. With great care he eased the thing deeper into her mouth and then down her throat where it lodged in place and formed an artificial seal in her windpipe. As soon as Magenta took another breath a valve in the object opened and allowed her to breathe normally. Whatever the purpose of the object, it was not revealed by so mundane an action as breathing.

Finally the men returned to the table with the item that they had been removing from the steel box and set about the last element of their task. Two of them carried what looked like a sack or deflated balloon and though it was a perfect match in colour for the smooth skin that now covered most of Magenta’s body, it was made of a far more robust material.

Magenta’s bound legs were raised and slipped inside the new object just like she was being placed in a sack. But the interior was only deep enough to swallow her to the waist and the men stopped there and began to seal the edges of her leotard and the top of the object together with the same device which had sealed the gusset of the former together. Soon Magenta’s legs were lost inside the flapping object and the seal had been closed so that it appeared to be a continuation of her orange skin.

The thin cord which had removed the air from the leotard reappeared, but this time when it was connected to the orange rubber that encased Magenta’s legs it was performing the opposite function. With a pressurised hiss of gas it began to inflate the object like a ball and as it took shape it became an ever larger sphere of orange rubber. Magenta’s legs were contained inside the inner skin of the ball while the space between them and the outer layer inflated like a pressurised tire. Once the ball was fully inflated, her legs were held in a vice-like grip and there was no way she could have moved them if she had been able to try.

The men made one last sweep of Magenta’s body before nods were exchanged all round and they left the actress whom they had changed into a bizarre creature of inflated latex and rubber still unconscious on the operating table.

Soon the men in hazmat suits returned and wheeled Magenta off to another unknown destination.

Magenta woke with the slightest feeling of nausea dissipating from her stomach and lay quite still for a moment before the memory of her ordeal in the back of the limousine came flooding back to her.

She made to stand up, but found that her legs would not respond.

So she was tied and bound, wonderful.

Magenta tried to grope around and found to her surprise that he arms were free, so she wasted no time in propping herself up on her elbows and taking stock of her situation. She was a quick thinker and even before she sized up her situation she had concluded that she must be tied or chained to something by the heels. Why else would her kidnappers leave her hands free?

Of all the things she might have expected to see when she finally got a good look at her surroundings, the last was a fairly large orange ball right in front of her eyes.

At first she thought she was in some kind of gym or exercise studio where the object might be used for aerobic workouts, but when she rolled over onto her side she was baffled by the fact that the ball moved as well.

Magenta pulled herself up as far as she was able on her elbows and almost cried out in surprise when she saw the point where her own perfectly shaped abdomen and stomach emerged from the surface of the ball. She followed the line of her orange skin until she was looking down at her own breasts and their contrasting, burnt brown nipples and the seams that ran around them. Tentatively she reached around to touch them, thinking that she might be dreaming, but when she saw that her hand was the same colour and her fingers had been fused together she yelped in shock.

Or she would have yelped, but the sound that came out of her mouth was more like the squeak of a child’s toy than the cry of a human being. Magenta grasped her throat and tried to speak, but again she only made a squeak no matter how hard she tried. In her windpipe, the object placed there while she was on the operating table cut off her vocal chords and replaced her voice with a simple squeak whenever she tried to speak.

Magenta tried to move, but unaccustomed to her new form she succeeded only in rolling onto her belly with the bulk of her ball looming behind her.

She noticed that the floor of the room in which she was being held was some kind of white tiling that was slightly soft and warm to the touch. She spotted a wall in front of her that was covered in the same material and made a fantastic effort to pull herself up from the floor. She managed the feat and gripped onto the wall for dear life as the ball shifted beneath her torso, threatening to spill her back onto the floor at a moments notice.

Gingerly Magenta experimented with her balance and soon discovered that there was some kind of counterweight set into the bottom of her ball that if she was careful, would allow her to stand upright after a fashion. She experimented further and in the space of ten minutes was satisfied that she could remain upright if she concentrated, but moving around would be another thing entirely.

She scanned the room and could see no obvious exits, indeed apart from the tiles that covered the walls, floor and ceiling, the only thing in the room was a mirror mounted on the wall opposite the one to which she clung for support.

The paranoid part of Magenta’s mind jumped to the conclusion that it was a one way window and she was being watched even now. But the largest part of her mind was stunned by the sight of the reflection that looked back at her from the other side of the room.

Magenta would have known her own face and body anywhere, no matter what colour they might have been. But this was not the woman she had seen in the mirror every morning, this was some kind of fetishist’s tribute to rubber and the female form made shiny flesh.

From the tips of the horns that jutted from her head, past her pouting lips and naked nipples and all the way down to the rubber balloon that had replaced her own legs, Magenta had been transformed into something that could be described as a toy. She had been stripped of her imperfections and rendered in rubber, but at the same time robbed of her voice to object, her hands to fight back and even her legs to run away. There was nothing left of her but the exaggeration of all that made her sexually desirable taken to a surreal extreme.

Magenta was unable to think straight, and instead she turned herself in front of the mirror and examined the extent of her new body. Whoever may have been watching behind the mirror was treated to an intimate show as her mitten hands were rubbed against the lips to feel their texture, the breasts were weighed for the sake of establishing they were not simply inflated bags of air and finally the hands ran around the seam of the ball, probing where Magenta’s own sensation ended and the inert rubber of the thing began. She noticed that the curve of her buttocks melted into the shape of the ball behind her and when she gripped the horns on her own head it was akin to hitting just the right spot to achieve maximum pleasure during sex.

Finally the pieces fit: the colour, the ball, horns on her head that were handles… she had been turned into a human space hopper!

It was almost too ridiculous to believe, but here she was in all her rubberised glory.

So was this it, she wondered, would she spend the rest of her life as a human sex toy?

A slave to the whims of whoever did this to her?

She felt that something was wrong in her own head when amongst the thoughts of her peril, there popped into existence the smallest notion that she had been standing around for far too long and it was high time that someone came in there and rode her… after all, that was what she was for!

Magenta shook her head, shocked at the realisation that she had just actually been on the verge of admitting that she wanted to be used as a plaything.

It was wrong, it was a violation!

But on the other hand, she sized the room up; she bet she could bounce as high as the ceiling if she just had the chance.

Before Magenta had the chance to realise that the desire to be played with was becoming stronger all the time, there was a barely audible click and a section of the wall to her left slid back and revealed a hidden doorway.

She watched as a figure stepped into the room, clad from head to toe in black latex that disguised every detail of his person save for the fact he was male and probably worked out more than average.

Magenta looked him up and down as the door slid shut behind him. She noted his confident stance and his strong limbs as he made his way towards her and then came to a halt perhaps four feet from where she wobbled on her ball. She sized him up as someone quite capable of making her bounce as high as high as she was able and she decided that she wanted, no, needed to be bounced.

After all, what else was she for?

She raised a hand in front of him and with some shyness, made an up and down motion that she hoped he would understand better than her desperate squeaks.

Are you here to bounce me?

He nodded and made the same gesture.

Magenta squeaked despite herself and turned to proffer her back to the man in black.

Gently he took her handles in his palms and she felt the weight of his body press down on her ball as he tested her for his own comfort and hers. The pressure activated the strange device that had been placed between her legs when she was sealed into the leotard and the phallus penetrated Magenta’s body for the first time.

She cried out with another squeak as the very purpose her new body had been designed for gave her a shot of pleasure and another as the man in black began to actually ride her around the room. Every time his weight pressed down, Magenta felt the experience as almost a bolt of sexual energy that spread through her whole body. What should have been an experience of utter degradation had become one of ecstasy the likes of which she had never felt before.

Magenta’s hands found her breasts and she stroked her own body in an attempt to enhance the feeling as much as she was able. But all too soon for her, the speed at which they were bouncing around the room became less and less and eventually the man in black brought her to a standstill. He gently released his grip on Magenta’s handles and eased himself up from her ball, making sure that she did not fall prone as he did so.

Unable to make any verbal protest, Magenta turned and clung to him as he tried to make his way back to the hidden door. Her mitten hands grasped at the latex of his body-stocking and soon she had both arms wrapped around his waist and was being dragged with him. Each step brought a small tremor for her ball and a cruelly shrunken version of the pleasure she had enjoyed when he was riding her.

In her state of confusion, she really was desperate not to have him abandon her. Magenta was convinced there and then that what they had just done was now her purpose in life, if she was denied that then what was she good for?

Desperate for his attention, Magenta hauled herself up his body and forced him to stand face to face with her. She read a degree of sympathy in his body language and smiled, though she felt like she was on the verge of tears. Her hand slipped down and stroked his groin, it was a desperate thing to do, but she was willing to try anything if he would just stay and ride her again.

At first he shook his head slightly as if to say no, but when the first tear ran down her cheek she sensed something break inside him and he gave an equally slight nod.

He bent his knees and picked her up around the waist, carrying her to the nearest wall where he pressed her back against the warm tiles. Then he pressed himself against her, pushing down on her ball and forcing the device inside to respond to his motion. Magenta clung onto him, realising that this was as close to actual sex as her new body allowed them to come.

Strange as the experience was, this was nothing like being ridden. Magenta sensed that the man in black was doing all that he could to make her the centre and the object of the whole thing. He was as devoted and attentive as any lover she had experienced and he took as long as she needed, never hurrying her along on the way to her conclusion.

Though it seemed impossible, Magenta was certain he brought her to a climax as a woman rather than as a living sex toy. Afterwards he left her falling into a deep, irresistible sleep and departed through the hidden door. Magenta’s last conscious thought was a hope that he would come back soon and ride her again.

The sound of the alarm shook Magenta out of her slumber and sent her hand darting out from under the covers to swat it into silence.

It was too early and she was doing nothing this morning apart from recovering from the night before; she had not been ridden like that in so long she had forgotten what it felt like.

Ridden?

Magenta sat bolt upright and ran her hands over her body. She felt only familiar flesh and all four of her limbs present and accounted for. She stepped out of bed and found that she was back in her hotel room, dressed in her underwear, but otherwise alone and intact. Had it been some kind of dream?

If so then she was afraid that she was loosing her mind. She decided that there was no way she was calling the police and telling them what she still remembered about the whole thing, that would be career suicide. Magenta decided that she had to simply deal with her ordeal and move on. Nevertheless, she was unsure as to why she felt nothing at all negative about the experience and always disturbed by the unshakable feeling that she wanted to be ridden from time to time. Was that so much to ask?

He thumbed the remote and started the recording playing once again, watching the whole thing from start to finish. Part of him wondered, as it always did, if he was an evil man. Yesterday he used his resources to abduct a woman and turn her into his own personal plaything. But her let her go. Today he would use the same resources to found an institution or prevent a community from being torn up for a soulless development. Did it all balance out?

He suspected that the answer was no. Perhaps it was the fact that he had wanted to turn Magenta Jackson into a human space hopper and ride her that made him evil. Perhaps it was the fact that he had actually gone and done it.

What really worried him was the reaction she had given him. In the past his conquests had been anything imaginable, but never had one of them seemed to revel in the experience and beg him to do more. He wondered what kind of a person thrived under those circumstances and why the idea that someone might want what he had given them really scared him so much.

17.01.12

See more from Nate Walis at his Deviant Art site

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