"Well, you have really mucked things up this time, Callie," Jessica Hanes said in her most annoyingly dismissive tone of voice. "Only three wallflowers left who haven’t been asked to dance - and we’re two of them!" Jessica’s claim was melodramatic, but accurate. Of the dozen models who had gathered for this special modeling session at the headquarters of Hose Queen Lingerie, only three had not been approached by various Hose Queen representatives and escorted off for some particular assignment.

One was a heavy-set blonde "Emme" wannabe who looked uncomfortably out of place among the svelte, long-legged young women excited about this once in a lifetime modeling opportunity.

And the remaining two were Jessica and her friend, Callie Kline.

Callie reacted to her friend’s criticism with an incredulous look. "How is my fault? Besides, I’m sure they’re going in some particular order."

"Oh, I’m sure you’re right. And I’m pretty sure what the order is: first, attractive young women dressed in fashionable attire that includes fine hosiery; and last, overweight non-model types and bare legged losers."

Callie rolled her eyes. "Sheesh, Jess - are you still on that ‘we should’ve worn hosiery’ bit? I told you I’m not really into nylon, okay? And -"

"Not into nylon!" Jessica practically shouted, then controlled her temper and voice when the plus-sized model glanced at her disapprovingly. "Did you read the big letters on the front of this building - the ones that spelled ‘Hose Queen’? Didn’t that give you some sort of clue why we were coming here?"

"And…" Callie continued her thought, "speaking of reading, since you want to be a model, don’t you ever leaf through a copy of "Elle," or "Harper’s" or "Vogue"? Haven’t you noticed that none - zero - of the models wear pantyhose anymore?"

"I have a theory about that," Jessica calmly retorted. "My theory is that none of those models - are trying to get a MODELING JOB WITH A COMPANY THAT MAKES PANTYHOSE!" She ended the sentence even more loudly than her previous comment, but she didn’t care. If someone told her to be quiet, it would be the first person to have spoken to either of the ladies all night long.

After a few seconds of thought, Callie was ready with a comeback of her own, but stopped when she saw another Hose Queen staffer head toward them. Finally, they would know something.

But the staff person stopped and spoke briefly to the heavy set girl, who then accompanied the company representative down a nearby hallway. Leaving Jessica and Callie completely alone.

"Guess I was wrong. We weren’t tied for last with the fat girl. We have last place all to ourselves." Jessica said, more sadness than bitterness in her voice.

The two young women stood silent for a moment, watching for at least one more staff person to head their way. But they waited in vain.

"Well, I wonder if they’ll even come tell us we’re finished for the night?" Callie thought out loud.

"I think maybe we should just leave, while we still have a smidge of dignity," Jessica offered. Her friend nodded at first, but then stopped and reached into her purse, pulling out a tube of lipstick.

"Or, we could trade that smidge of dignity for the chance to write some profanity on the reception area walls?" Callie pulled out a second tube of lipstick, and handed it to her longtime friend.

Jessica stared at the lipstick for a moment, and then shrugged and took it out of her friend’s hand. "Oh well, dignity is highly overrated anyway."

Just as the two friends were headed for the whitest and cleanest wall, two persons in white lab coats, a male and female, walked quickly into the receptionist’s area and looked around. Both Jess and Callie thought it would be ultimate insult if the two left without even acknowledging their presence. But, the ‘lab coats’ looked Jessica and Callie up and down - from their J.C. Penney hair styling to the painted toenails sticking out of their strapped sandal heels. Then they spent several seconds looking over a typed page on their clear lucite clipboards. Finally they looked up at the model hopefuls.

The male researcher spoke first. "You two are," he looked down at the clipboard again, "Jessica Hines and Callie Kaline?"

Callie started to correct him, but Jessica put her hand over her mouth gently. "Close enough. Are you here to give us our modeling assignment?"

The female researcher thought for a moment. "Well, in a manner of speaking I suppose you could call this ‘modeling’?" She looked at her partner, who thought for a moment, then nodded.

"Yes, it is a form of ‘modeling,’ I suppose." He offered.

"Certainly not in the traditional, fashion magazine, catwalk-swaying sense of modeling," the woman challenged.

"True," the man replied, "But in the context of what we hope to accomplish tonight, and it’s long term implications, I would call this modeling - under the aforementioned conditional definition, of course."

The two Hose Queen scientists looked at Jessica and Callie, waiting for some sort of response. The two young women looked at each other for a few seconds, and then Callie spoke up: "Woo Hoo, we’re models." Jess rolled her eyes.

"Uhh, what exactly do you want us to do?" Jessica asked, after several more seconds of silent staring passed.

"Oh! Oh, yes, we would like for you to accompany us to our testing room. It’s just down this hallway a short distance." The male researcher moved to the side and made a sweeping gesture with his arm. His female associate motioned the girls to follow her, and Callie and Jessica fell into step, with the male scientist following close behind.

The headquarters of Hose Queen was a long and multi-storied building, so it was no surprise that there was no sign of the other models who had been escorted down this same hall earlier. The few doors they did pass were closed tightly, and the only sound was their own padded steps as they walked down the carpeted hallway.

Finally, the female researcher stopped at one of the doors, put a key in the doorknob lock, and opened it. The room was about the size of the high school classrooms Jessica and Callie had shared a few years before. Most of the floor was white tile, but there were two large oval rugs in the center of room, and on each was a vinyl padded table, like the kind used in a doctor’s office.

"We apologize for the rather sterile décor," the female assistant spoke up.

"It could be worse," Jessica observed, "At least there aren’t any stirrups." Callie burst out laughing and punched her friend in the shoulder to compliment her joke. The lab assistants smiled in a puzzled fashion, not quite getting the joke.

Callie stopped laughing and looked around the room. "There also aren’t any cameras, or, uhh - what do you call them - oh, yeah, ‘sets.’ For the photography. You know, when we model your hosiery."

"Well, actually Miss . . ."

"Kline. Callie Kline."

"Yes, Miss Kline. As we mentioned before, this isn’t really modeling, per se . . ."

"Uhh, let’s not go through that again, okay? Do you have some pantyhose for us to put on, or not?" Jessica was getting impatient, modeling opportunity or not.

"What Dr. Masters is trying to say, is that we don’t have a finished pair of pantyhose for you to try on. But we do have an exciting new lingerie product that we’d like for you to test." The woman researcher walked over to one of the tables, opened a cabinet beneath it, and pulled out what looked like an aerosol can.

Jessica and Callie gave each other disappointed and exasperated looks. Finally Jessica spoke up. "Look, we really didn’t come here to test deodorant or hair spray, or whatever the hell you have in that can. We came because some guy from your company stopped us at the mall a couple of days ago and asked if we’d like to come to an open audition for hosiery models. I thought it was just a line, but Callie here was excited, and I figured, ‘what the hell, it’ll be a few bucks,’ so we show up in the middle of the night. Right, Callie?" Callie was staring at her friend with a ‘why are you ruining my life?’ kind of look, but said nothing.

Jessica continued. "So we get here with all these other girls. And listen to the head honcho, Ms. Carti-ay, or however she pronounces her name," Callie audibly groaned, "give her inspirational pep talk. And then we watch every other girl get called for this modeling job or that photo session. And we’re thinking, hey, they’re okay and all, but we got as good a lookin’ legs as any of them, especially the heavy chick that got called just before us. But nothing for us. Finally, somebody comes and asks for us, and here we find out that it’s got nothing to do with how we look. You just want us to do some sort of friggin’ taste test, or something, like those folks with clipboards give you down at the mall. Well, I know we aren’t professional models. And I know we came in our bare legs - which wasn’t my idea - but Callie’s right, real models don’t wear hose anymore, anyway. But it still pisses me off that you skip us when the good stuff is passed out, and then just bring us in to use as some kind of damn guinea pigs! That’s not right, and we got no interest in trying out your sample spray - whatever the hell kind of spray it is. Time to go, Callie. You ready?"

Jessica moved toward the door, but her friend stayed still. "Callie? You coming?"

"Jess," Callie said slowly and with uncharacteristic calm. "I appreciate you standing up for us and everything. And I hope you won’t take this the wrong way. But I never want to talk to you or see your face ever again. Okay?"

The longhaired brunette stopped and looked at her preternaturally calm friend. She then turned to the female technician. "I think I might’ve said too much, that time."

The scientist shook her head. "No. I understand all that. But you have it all wrong. This isn’t some kind of cosmetic or hygiene product. We do want you to model hose - the most revolutionary kind of hosiery this company has ever made. And we chose both of you for this assignment precisely because you came here tonight barelegged."

Carrie brightened up. "We have? It isn’t? You do? You did?"

The lady gave Carrie a puzzled look. "Now, I didn’t understand any of that. But what matters is that our labs here at Hose Queen - under the direction of Ms. Cartier," she pronounced the name distinctly while looking directly at Jessica, "have developed a product completely different than any other hosiery product in the world." The scientist proudly held up the can. "We call it, ‘Hose-In-A-Can’!"

The two friends stood silently looking at the beaming lady researcher proudly holding a plain light brown can in the air. Then they gave each other their patented and practiced, ‘what is the best way to get out of here and get home’ look. Finally, Jessica spoke up.

"Nice name. Good thing you didn’t come up with ‘Hose-In-An-Egg.’ You would’ve gotten your asses sued off. C’mon Carrie." Once again Jessica started toward the door, only this time Carrie was right behind her.

"Uhhh, thanks for inviting us, and everything. I guess trying on a pair of pantyhose crumpled in a can isn’t exactly what we had in mind to kick off our modeling career. But, best of luck to you with your, uhh, ‘new’ product." The two girls were almost to the door, when the male researcher called out.

"Oh! No! Wait a minute! You don’t understand."

Jessica kept heading for the door, but stopped again when she realized that Carrie, trying to be polite, had paused to hear the scientist’s explanation.

The man grabbed the can out of his partner’s hand, and walked toward the girls. "You see, there isn’t a pair of pantyhose in the can." He pulled the cap off to reveal a small spray nozzle like that found on a can of hair spray. "That’s what makes this so different. It is a nylon spray. You spray it directly on your legs, and it becomes nylon."

Now even Jessica was interested. "You mean, to patch up runs, or tears in your hose. Like fingernail polish."

"Well, I guess you could use it in that fashion," the female researcher pulled out a plain dark can of the spray from beneath the other table, and joined her male counterpart. "But that’s not what it was designed for. As you hinted at a few seconds ago, Miss Kline, no woman likes to go through the ordeal of tugging and straining to pull on a crumpled pair of pantyhose that came out of a little package, or ‘egg.’ With ‘Hose-In-A-Can,’ you just put the nylon spray directly on your skin, and it becomes form fitting hosiery."

Jessica took the dark can from the female scientist, pulled off the lid and smelled the nozzle. "You’re kidding, right? I mean, is this, like, Candid Camera or something?" The brunette looked around for something that looked like a hidden camera.

"We’re completely serious, Ms. Hanes," said the male scientist, sidling up to Callie to let her look at the light brown colored spray can he had taken from his female partner.

"Jessica, if this stuff really works, it’ll make a fortune," Callie marveled.

Jessica Hanes prided herself on being the more levelheaded of the two, but right now she was seeing the same dollar signs as Callie. The situation needed a strong dose of skepticism right now, but Jessica was hard pressed to think of one. No, wait - of course:

"That’s a big ‘if,’ Callie. They’re still testing the stuff, remember? And they want to test it on us." Jessica turned her attention back to the researchers. "As for fortunes, I suppose that Ms. Cartier will make plenty, and you two will get your share. But the only ‘trickle down’ I’m feeling is the kind you get if you sleep under a urinal."

Callie saw her friend’s point, but again moaned at her choice of expression. "Uhh, to put it another way - what’s in it for us?"

The male researcher thought both queries were impertinent. Lab rats were to get their share of the cheese - not of the glory. "Why, your fee, of course?" He saw the ladies’ expression immediately drop. "And . . . and, our gratitude, of course." It was a magnanimous gesture on his part, he thought. Ms. Hanes and Kline did not seem to share that assessment.

The female researcher quickly jumped in. "There is also, of course, the matter of the can itself." The two models-to-be and her colleague all gave her blank, questioning stares. "I mean, they are rather plain. I’m sure the people in marketing and design will want to add some attractive lettering and graphics. And, of course, a picture of some model wearing the pantyhose featured prominently on the can." Jessica and Callie’s expression brightened completely. "Probably even different girls on the different colored cans, as well. Wouldn’t you agree, Dr. Masters?" She hoped her partner would pick up just enough to make her pitch work.

"Well, I’m not in marketing, Dr. Johnson." Oh no, she thought. He’s going to blow it. "But I would certainly recommend that the test subjects instrumental in developing ‘Hose-In-A-Can’ be given the opportunity to show its benefits to the public via advertising."

Dr. Johnson breathed a hidden sigh of relief. Her usually socially inept research partner had held on to the baton, and crossed the finish line. The excited and hopeful looks on the two test subjects faces confirmed her suspicion. Vanity, thy name is model.

"Well, why are we standing around gabbing," Jessica said impatiently. She held the dark colored can down to her knees. "Do I just start spraying?"

Both researchers jumped forward saying "Not yet!" Dr. Masters explained the delay. "We find the spray works better if we spray it in a limited area, directly on the desired surface, with little interference from other fabrics."

Jessica gave the man a puzzled look, and then seemed to catch on. "Oh. You mean, it would work better if I took my clothes off and sprayed real close."

"Not all your clothes," the female scientist offered, hoping the girls wouldn’t get spooked again. Just from the waist down - and panties are okay, if that makes you more comfortable."

The disrobing bothered Callie a little bit, but before she could say so, Jessica headed to one of the vinyl tables. "I figure with this dress on, I might as well go all the way down to bra and panties." Jessica saw Callie hesitating. "Excuse me, Miss Harper’s Bazaar. Showing a little skin doesn’t bother you now, does it?"

The dare worked. "No, of course not." Callie walked over to the other table and began to remove her sandals, then pull off her cotton top.

It only took Jessica a few moments to shed her shoes and dress, and soon she was clad only in a black bra and matching black bikini panties. Callie undressed a little slower, and seemed a bit more embarrassed. When she finally removed her skirt, Jessica realized why. Callie’s lingerie also matched, but her tan bra was matched by a very tight tan colored thong.

"Woo Hoo!" Jessica mocked a cat call. "I guess if the modeling gig didn’t work out, you were going for some kind of political intern thing, right?"

"Very funny. Now shut up." Jessica laughed a little bit more, but soon realized she only had Callie beat by a few ounces in the ‘fabric currently on my body’ department.

"Well, it looks like we have the perfect color match," observed Dr. Johnson, noting the fact that the models’ lingerie closely matched the can color/hose shade each of the girls held. "If you’re ready, Dr. Masters," her male colleague raised his clipboard and held his pen at ready while he stood next to Jessica. Dr. Johnson did the same standing next to Callie.

"We recommend that you begin with the soles of your feet, and then spray up the leg. You should be able to reach the back of your calves and thighs with a sufficient amount of spray. It spreads very nicely. But if you require some assistance in harder to reach places, we’ll be glad to help."

Dr. Masters thought he was sounding helpful, but Jessica and Callie looked at each other and grinned. "Yeah, I bet you will, Doc," said Jessica suggestively, adding an exaggerated wink at the now flustered clinician.

Callie hung her legs over the side of the table, and aimed the tan can’s nozzle at the bottom of her feet. "Should we shake the can first? Or just start spraying?"

"No, you shouldn’t need to shake it. And you don’t have to apply the spray thickly. In theory, the thinner the coating, the more sheer the stocking when it forms." The lady doctor jotted down Callie’s questions, then looked at the attractive blonde subject, smiled, and quickly nodded.

Callie took a deep breath. "Okay. Here goes nothing." And the girl started spray the soles of her feet. "Hey, this stuff isn’t too bad. I mean, I thought it would come out real cold against the skin."

"Oh, it used to be," Dr. Masters commented, "that was a common complaint in other tests, so we made the adjustment this time." Masters was again trying to be helpful and friendly, but the sharp look his female colleague gave him was a warning against having too loose a tongue.

While the male researcher hoped his comment would be brushed off, Jessica momentarily stopped her spraying. "’Other tests?’ Other models have tried this stuff?"

"Well, not this particular formula. We have made certain changes, and, uhhh . . ." Masters was stumbling, but his fellow researcher tried another tack.

"Well, you could say ‘models,’ but that’s not really the exact concept we’re looking for. I guess you could say there were other ‘models’ in a rather broad rendering of that term, but I think it would be more accurate to describe them as ‘consumer testers,’ rather than the classic, or media-defined, sense of model . . . ."

"Never mind, we get the point," an exasperated Jessica groaned, and continued to spray the top of her foot and up her ankle. The male researcher mouthed a silent thank you to his partner.

Since she had not interrupted her spraying with questions, Callie was up to her knees by now. "You’re right about that ‘spreading’ effect. I hardly sprayed the back of my legs, and it still covered them completely." The shorthaired blonde finished behind her knees and paused a moment to inspect her progress. "It’s lighter . . . thinner than I expected." She had expected something like a shaving gel or even foam, but this looked more like a cooking spray as it bubbled on her lower legs.

Jessica was almost halfway up her leg as well. "Hey. I think there’s something wrong with my spray."

A worried expression quickly arose on Dr. Masters’ face. Dr. Johnson also edged closer to Jessica’s table. This was much too soon . . . .

"See all these specks," the brunette pointed to tiny silver crystals in the black spray. "Callie’s spray is completely tan color. Maybe this spray is old or something."

Both scientists breathed a sigh of relief. "No, Miss Hanes. Those ‘specks’ are supposed to be there. Your can contains a glitter-laden nylon - silver on black in this case. Miss Kline’s is just a regular tan shade."

"Oh, I see. Well, I can understand that. Mine’s a bit more dressy. Upscale. Right, Callie." Jessica was goading her friend, and expected to hear Callie begin to complain about unfair treatment. But instead, there was an exclamation of surprise from the other table.

"Oh my, God, Jess! It’s true! Look at my feet!" Callie held up her right foot in shock and awe. Just as the researchers had said, the spray had not only dried, but fused together into a nylon sheathe, fitting perfectly around the young woman’s attractive foot. It appeared as if she had just started putting on a pair of expensive, sheer hosiery. Callie continued to watch as the nylon-ing effect spread up her legs.

"I know it’s rather amazing, Ms. Kline," said Dr. Johnson. "But you really should finish spraying.

"Oh yeah, yeah." Callie started spraying her upper legs and thighs. "I can’t wait to see what happens next."

The conversion was happening to Jessica, as well. But not only had feet become sheathed in black nylon, there was a bright silver glitter to them, as well. "This stuff is fantastic!" She cried, as she continued to spray. "You guys are going to make a friggin’ mint off this."

The scientists wrote the girls comments down as quickly as they could. But as the models reached the middle of their torsos, and began the spraying of the front and rear of their panties, the researchers stopped writing, and began to observe very carefully.

Callie finished first. "Well, that’s it. I guess now I just wait." She put the can down on the table and stood up. "Not only do these pantyhose look good, but they feel really good. It’s almost like they’re massaging my legs. Do you feel that, Jessica?"

"Yeah, I sure do." The brunette finished spraying her rear end, and watched the glittering nylon move past her knees. "I guess that’s maybe because you spray it right onto the skin, instead of just sliding fabric over your legs." She looked at Masters for confirmation of her theory, but noticed he was looking intently at Callie. Jessica looked too, and was both shocked, and a little embarrassed. "Girl, you look kinda . . . well, like you’ve just been . . . well, just had a good time. Are you alright?"

The standing blonde had leaned back against the edge of the vinyl table, her eyes closed, and occasionally gently biting her lip. "Oh, man, Jessica. That massaging has moved way up my leg. Waaayyy upppp." Callie shuddered a little, and Jessica smiled in disbelief. She was about to tease her friend about liking her new pantyhose a little too much, when she began to feel a caressing wave move up her glittering thighs and toward her gradually nylon covered crotch. She started to rub the outside of her hosed legs, but the area was too sensitive, and sent a wave of orgasmic pleasure coursing through her body.

Both models realized that they were in ‘public,’ so to speak, being observed by two other people. Reason and modesty dictated that they put a stop to these feelings - or at least take them into private. But as the moments passed, reason and modesty lost more and more ground until they were completely subsumed by lust and pleasure. Callie was the first to pick up the can in the brief pauses between streaks of passion, and began spraying her upper torso as well. She was afraid the scientists would stop her - after all, she was only supposed to be testing new pantyhose. But they stood still in deep observation. They probably couldn’t have stopped her, anyway. She wanted to feel what she was feeling over her entire body.

Jessica did the same, only instead of spraying Hose-in-a-Can over her brassiere as Callie had done, the shapely brunette quickly unlatched the black garment, threw it to the floor, and sprayed the glittery solution directly on her perfectly shaped breasts.

Both young women continued to spray their entire bodies - arms, necks, hands. Jessica rubbed the black hosiery spray onto her face and in her hair, as if she were a participant in some sort of bizarre and perverse minstrel show. Callie simply sprayed her face and hair liberally, almost forgetting to close her eyes as she covered herself from head to fingers.

And just as the spray-induced pleasure coursed through both girls’ midsection and breasts, the tan and silver glittered nylon sheaths grew from stockings to pantyhose to nylon bodysuit. The moans of sexual stimulation continued unabated as the spray created long sleeves and then nylon gloves for the models. Drs. Johnson and Masters silently watched the process, their pens down and clipboards lowered. But as a nylon mask began to form over Jessica’s face, there was a change in her demeanor. Masters noticed it first, looked at his colleague, and briefly nodded in the model’s direction.

"Callie," Jessica started, her voice muffled by the silver specked black nylon covering her mouth. "Something’s happening."

"You’re telling me," Callie panted, almost exhausted by the pleasurable massage that had now spread into her face and hair, as the tan nylon had formed a hood over her entire head.

"No, not that," Jessica said, in a tone part puzzlement and part panic. "I feel - heavy - all over. Weighed down. Do you feel that?" She asked Callie, then turned to the scientists. "Should I feel that?" She pleaded for a reassuring answer.

But none came. Both researchers were writing furiously on their clipboards. Each would glance at Jessica, then Callie, for a few seconds, note the time on their watch, and write again. Masters and Johnson were quite interested in Jessica’s condition - but not in her plight.

"No, Jess, not heavy. I feel light. I feel as if every burden was being lifted from me." Callie’s voice was high and airy, like a flower child spinning in a flowery field.

The scientists stopped writing for a moment, and put rubber gloves on. Dr. Johnson put her protected hand lightly on Callie’s nyloned arm. "I think you should sit on the table now, Ms. Kline."

"But I feel fine, I - oooohhh . . ." Callie started to slip, like her feet were being pulled out from under her. The female researcher helped her up onto the vinyl table, which was not difficult since Callie was becoming much lighter. She gently guided Callie’s upper body to lie back, and as her head lowered Callie noticed Johnson lifting her legs onto the table as well. They looked beautiful in their tan hose. Callie wondered why she ever disliked wearing pantyhose. But there was one thing wrong with Hose-In-A-Can. It made the pantyhose too big. All Callie could see at the end of her legs were two empty stockinged feet, slowly falling to the side as the model lie completely prone.

A different scene was playing out at Jessica’s table. Dr. Masters also put his hand on the model’s arm to steady her, but was not attempting to sit her on the table. "My feet. Stiff. Stiff all over." Jessica said in a halting voice. She wanted to lay on the table, but could not seem to move her feet. As a numbing stiffness spread quickly through her body, the model did manage to bend her neck and look down toward her feet. At first she saw her nylon encased breasts, the silver specks sparkling even brighter than before. The black nylon mesh on which the silver lay extended down her stomach and waist, but as her gaze reached her thighs, there seemed to be as much silver as black in the nylon’s hue. The silver glow increased as she looked at her knees and upper calves.

At first she thought it was just an optical illusion. The silver glitter simply shone brighter the farther her gaze. But when her eyes found her ankles and feet, she knew that wasn’t the case. Even through the nylon mesh covering her eyes, she could see what had happened. There was no sign of any black shade in the feet or ankles. They were colored completely silver.

But even that knowledge, combined with the stiffness and immobility she felt, didn’t fully register, until Masters knelt down, and tapped her right foot with his pen. The sharp click she heard, and the slight pain that she didn’t feel, made it all clear. Her feet and ankles were not just silver shaded. They had been turned to solid silver. And the silver was moving up her calves and toward her knees, as rapidly as the Hose-In-A-Can spray had turned from liquid into nylon fabric.

"Are you noting the time, Doctor?" Johnson called to her male colleague, who seemed to be using his pen more to follow the hardening of Jessica’s legs than to record his observations on his clipboard. The female researcher simply shook her head when Masters failed to reply, and continued her note taking. When Callie’s knees faded into tan nylon, and joined the rest of her lower legs lying flat on the vinyl couch surface, Johnson quickly wrote the time, and noted that the conversion process seemed to be significantly slower than in the last test subject who used the tan spray. The researcher glanced at Callie’s nylon-encased face, and could see increased breathing activity, suggesting that as the conversion approached the model’s sex, pleasurable stimulation was increasing.

Even in her increasingly sluggish state, a similar effect was being felt by Jessica. Although she could hardly speak, she sounded a loud and familiar moan as her pelvic area hardened into silver. Masters tried to remain clinically detached, but could not contain a pleasurable moan of his own as he glanced at the perfectly molded, silvery cheeks of her buttocks. As the silver spread up her lower back, Masters realized that the girl was now more statue than human.

Masters also noticed that as the hardening of her sex sparked what appeared to be a massive orgasm, the silver spread even more rapidly. The same thing happened to Callie, as the previously methodical rate of conversion into nylon from toe to waist was rapidly increasing from waist to breast. Johnson wondered whether the speed resulted from faster circulation as sexual activity increased the pulse rate, or whether increased nerve and sense activity expedited the conversion. Whichever the case, the researcher glanced quickly back and forth from her watch to Callie’s face, hoping to note the exact time when the conversion reached the girl’s life giving organs. When the blonde model’s nylon-encased breasts seemed to disappear, one last breath issued from inside the nylon hood covering her head. Complete conversion was mercifully only a few seconds away.

As the male researcher watched Jessica’s breasts, neck, and arms begin to harden, Masters fought the impulse to position the model in a more artistic pose than her current arms-at-sides stance. But that would detract from his job. As he watched her gloved hands turn to silver fingertips, the doctor glanced back at the lovely girl’s face, and saw that the transformation was complete. Jessica Hanes was now a solid silver statue, from head to toe. Masters jotted down the time, made sure that Jessica would not topple, and walked to Callie’s table to join his colleague.

Dr. Johnson was writing furiously on her clipboard, occasionally glancing down at the long, human shaped length of tan nylon that lay flat on the vinyl table. Looking at what Callie Kline had become, and then glancing back at the sculpted result of Jessica Hanes’ hose-in-a-can, Masters couldn’t help but feel that the girls who used the glitter spray fared better than the others.

Johnson read his thoughts. "It’s a remarkable result - both of the test subjects, I mean."

Masters was still looking at Jessica as he nodded. "I suppose you’re right. Guess it’s just the art lover in me that prefers the glitter." He looked again at the fabric form of Callie Kline. "I also think the glitter models come out better in the end."

"Usually," Johnson assented. "Although I heard that Ms. Cartier was getting tired of all the gold statues. Had the last one melted down into ingots."

"I heard that, too. That’s why I developed the silver," Masters added.

"That’s what I thought. You’re just an old softie, Masters." Johnson walked over to Jessica’s new silver form, and began a brief inspection. Masters did the same with Callie.

"I wonder if they retain any sense of being human in their new forms?" Dr. Masters speculated, as he noted the outline of Callie’s attractive face in the sheer fabric at the top of the body-length nylon sheath.

"What do you mean?" Johnson responded, running her rubber-gloved hand slowly, and somewhat sensually, around the base of Jessica’s silver breasts. "Thought? Consciousness?"

"No, not really that. More like - awareness. Of their new form," the male researcher’s thoughts wandered a moment, and then he was aware of Dr. Johnson’s presence beside him at Callie’s resting place.

"My, how liberal arts of you, Dr. Masters," she laughed, both at her comment, and at her colleague’s reddening face. "Perhaps there is still some spark in the statues," she continued, glancing toward Jessica’s silver still form. "But I don’t think so in the nylon. At least, I hope not, particularly when they’re simply reduced to nylon fibers, and then liquified into the next can of spray."

Johnson lifted up the legs of the nylon bodysuit that moments before had been Callie Kline. "You know, I thought about stopping her from spraying her upper torso, this time. I thought she might make a nice pair of pantyhose for Ms. Cartier."

"I don’t think so. Look." Masters pointed to the right foot of the stocking. While there was only a slight trace of the outline of Callie’s foot, the red nail polish the pert blonde had worn to highlight her bare and sandalled feet was very visible in the toe portion of the nylon.

"No, I suppose you’re right." Johnson looked at her watch. "I guess we should confirm Ms. Hanes’ final destination, and call the moving people. Shall I call, or would you rather?" Since Masters had invented a new spray to insure the survival of his "artwork," Johnson knew the answer to her question before she asked.

"I’d better call," confirmed the male scientist, heading for the phone. "I don’t want those idiots in maintenance to slap a "metal foundry" shipping label on her by accident."

"While you’re doing that, I’ll straighten up," his female colleague offered in a helpful tone, but with a well-planned ulterior motive in mind. Johnson first picked up the remains of Callie and Jessica’s clothing, placing all but Jessica’s bra in a bag marked "BLAST FURNACE." She then put the black undergarment in a separate brown bag. "I’m going to take Ms. Hanes’ brassiere back to my lab. I want to compare its nylon fibers with the fibers in the bodysuit." That seemed a little strange to Masters, but he shrugged thinking maybe the female researcher really liked the design, and wanted it for her own. Besides, he was on hold with Ms. Cartier’s secretary, and didn’t want to be in the middle of a discussion with Dr. Johnson when he finally had the boss lady’s attention.

In fact, Johnson did have something special in mind for Jessica’s bra, but it wasn’t for wearing. A little gaudy for her taste. But the bra provided an excuse for an additional bag. And the lady doctor had definite plans for that.

"Yes ma’am. Yes. You won’t be sorry. She’s very beautiful." Masters hung up the phone. "Well, Ms. Cartier agreed to give our Ms. Hanes a trial run in her private gallery. Of course, she could still wind up as a silver tea set." The proud ‘artist’ inspected his ‘creation’ one more time. "But I think she’s a keeper."

"Well, you said she wanted something different than gold," Johnson offered.

"True. But she was thinking more in terms of marble."

"Sorry, Ms. Cartier. We don’t carry that flavor. Are the movers coming?"

"They should be here any moment." Masters looked at his watch.

Okay, Johnson thought, time for the last step. "Why don’t you go out and meet them at the elevator? Let them know you spoke directly with Ms. Cartier. I’ll finish up in here." The lady researcher mentally crossed her fingers.

"Good idea. Thanks." Masters opened the testing room door and left.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Dr. Johnson quickly walked over to the table where Jessica’s silver form stood. The statue’s legs were almost in front of the storage doors at the base of the table, but Johnson hoped there would be just enough room to open the door and reach in. She knelt down and reached behind Jessica’s silver legs. Johnson opened the storage door slowly, keeping her hand on the door’s edge so it would not scratch the back of the statue’s leg. Damn! The statue was too close. There was not enough space to reach in. Johnson stood up, and waited a moment, listening for the sound of Masters and the movers approaching. There was none. So, carefully, Johnson put her hands on either side of the statue’s waist, and tried to gently move it a few inches out from the table.

The statue was extremely heavy, and didn’t seem to budge. There was obviously enough silver here to make several tea sets. Which is what Johnson hoped would eventually happen. If Magdalena Cartier tired of her glittery souvenirs, she may never want the glitter spray to be used again. And it would remain in the table cabinet. Unopened. Unused. But most importantly, uncounted. Ignored and forgotten, so that no one would miss one can of gold glitter Hose-In-A-Can spray. And one can - plus a relatively inexpensive and unlikely to be missed prostitute - was all Johnson needed to become very wealthy and very independent. Independent enough to get out of the turning women into nylon business once and for all.

Greed is a powerful stimulant, and the thought of her future riches gave the lady researcher a blast of additional strength. Just enough strength to move the statue a few inches further away from the storage doors. Once she made sure the statue was stable - she did not want to suffer the ironic demise of being crushed by one female statue before getting the chance to create another - she knelt down once more and again slowly opened the cabinet door. This time, her hand and arm were able to reach in, although she couldn’t see what she was reaching for.

She grabbed one can and pulled it back. No it was another silver spray. She set it aside and reached to a different area. Surely this one would be gold - damn it, no, this was a off-whiteish color with dark streaks. Probably one of Masters’ failures as he tried to create the silver spray. Before she reached in a third time, she heard voices in the hallway. Distant, but getting closer. The movers. She was almost out of time. The next reach - had - to - be - right. Yes. It was the gold spray.

Holding the can in her hand, she quickly shut the door. Jumped up - brushing against Jessica’s silver breast, but steadying the wobbling figure. Then rushed over to the other table. She opened the brown bag containing Jessica’s black bra, put the can inside, and rolled the bag closed, just as the movers opened the door wheeling in a large metal cart.

"Over there, next to that table," Masters directed, realizing as he said it how stupid it was, since there was only one silver statue in the room. "Please, be careful."

The movers spent a moment or two arguing over who would pick up the bare-breasted top end, but finally lifted Jessica into the cart, covered her silver form with a soft cloth, then headed toward the door.

"Don’t forget. It’s going to Ms. Cartier’s private gallery on the top floor." The men left, and Masters wiped his brow. "Glad that’s over. I can’t believe I haven’t taken these off yet." He removed his rubber gloves. "They must think I’m the biggest jerk ever."

"Probably not," Johnson comforted her colleague, finally catching her breath from her last minute escapades. She, too, removed her gloves. "At least you got them headed in the right direction."

"Yes. But, they’re not very bright. I had to tell them three or four times the statue was going to the gallery." Masters paused, then looked out the door. "You know - I’m still not sure they’re going to get it right. I better go with them. Do you mind, Dr. Johnson?"

Dr. Johnson looked at the empty space beside Jessica’s table, and how accessible those cabinet doors were now. "Oh, no, you go ahead." She cursed to herself, wishing she had guessed that her obsessed partner would accompany his statue all the way to her pedestal in Cartier’s art gallery.

"Thanks. Oh, I meant to tell you that I didn’t see any notation on fabric density on your clipboard. Maybe you should get some sort of reading before you take Ms. Kline - I mean, the bodystocking - down to the lab?"

"Oh, you’re right," Johnson said as she looked at the clipboard. "Guess my mind was elsewhere." Yeah, she thought, on the fortune I’m going to make using this spray. "I’ll get that reading while you head upstairs."

Masters nodded, then rushed out the door toward the elevator. Johnson shook her head, hoping her oversight didn’t arouse any suspicion. She picked up the tan nylon, and carefully felt its thickness on various points up and down its length. It was a little thicker where the imprint of Callie’s thong panties had become part of the bodysuit, and in the breast area where Callie’s overstimulated nipples had been so engorged that they did not meld into the nylon has the rest of her breasts and body had done. But that seemed to happen to all the test models, for some as yet undiscovered - and probably unimportant - reason.

Johnson heard more commotion outside the door, and put Callie’s nylon form back on the table. Dr. Masters reentered the room.

"I probably don’t need to tell you this, but I hope you put your gloves back on. I saw you remove them when I did, and there may still be some lingering effects of the spray . . . ." Masters stopped short when he looked at Dr. Johnson’s bare hands, and then at the panicked look on her face.

"Oh, God, I forgot. I mean, surely it’s been long enough for the effect to subside. I mean, oh, God. I don’t feel anything happening." Johnson was clearly beginning to panic, turning her hands this way and that, looking for any sign of nylon beginning to form.

Dr. Masters rushed over to a cabinet against the wall, and removed a plastic bottle. He put it in the still muttering Johnson’s hand, and walked her toward the door.

"Now, calm down, Dr. Johnson. Take this solution down to the lab. Take off your clothes, get in the shower, and apply this solution liberally on your hands and arms, and wash the rest of your body with an astringent - including your hair."

Dr. Johnson grabbed the bottle like her life depended on it, and rushed out of the testing room door. Time was of the essence.

After she left, Dr. Masters lost his sense of urgency. First he looked inside the rolled up bag containing Jessica’s black bra. As Ms. Cartier suspected, there was a can of gold glitter Hose-In-A-Can. Masters tsk-tsk’d a few times, then strolled over to the cabinet from which he had extracted the special ‘solution.’ It actually contained some clear hand soap, which any chemist worth his or her salt would immediately recognize. Except, perhaps, a chemist who believed her hands might turn into nylon gloves any minute.

Masters then removed a large hypodermic from the cabinet, and a bottle containing a special drug. While the soap solution was harmless, the drug in this bottle was not. It contained a powerful tranquilizing agent that also left its user highly suggestive to hypnotic suggestion. Masters filled the hypodermic with a large dosage, and then replaced the cap on the syringe, placing it in his pocket. Even a panicked Dr. Johnson might become suspicious seeing him walk in the lab door carrying a large needle.

Then the researcher carried the can of gold glitter spray back to its cabinet beneath the vinyl table. He opened the same door that Johnson had opened minutes before, and replaced the can. After looking about a moment, he removed an off-white colored can with dark streaks. The same one Johnson had grabbed inadvertently in her search for the gold glitter. He held it up for a moment, then removed its large cap, making sure the spray nozzle looked operable. Satisfied, he placed the can in his other lab coat pocket, and shut the cabinet door.

Dr. Masters then walked to the test room door, turned out the light, and locked the door behind him. Standing in the hallway, he glanced once more at his watch. Dr. Johnson was surely in the middle of her shower now. As he headed for the lab, he patted both lab coat pockets, making sure he had what he needed.

In one pocket was the syringe containing its powerful combination drug. The tranquilizer would make Dr. Johnson extremely pliant and manageable. And the hypnotic agent would make her susceptible to Masters’ directions, and very easy to pose.

And in his other pocket sat his newest development - even newer than the silver glitter spray. This was a new shade of Hose-In-A-Can that created a lovely off-white opaque nylon bodysuit, followed by a fast-acting, marbleizing agent that sent paralyzing and hardening brown lines coursing through the opaque nylon and into the wearer’s skin itself. The final effect was certainly less shiny than gold or silver, but had a more classic look about it.

It was all part of the deal he had struck with Magdalena Cartier. His first silver statue would not be sent to the smelter for tea sets, platters, or jewelry. She would, instead, be given a permanent place in Ms. Cartier’s gallery of beauty. And in return, Ms. Cartier would get what she desired: revenge against anyone who would use her company’s secrets to betray her; and a marble figure for her statuary collection.

And the clever, intelligent, greedy, and quite lovely - sans her lab coat and professional gear - Dr. Johnson, would quench both desires quite nicely.