Every Magician Needs an Assistant

With the benefit of a cheap flight deal I arrived in the hell-hole of tower block hotels and gaudy bars. The place was a garish mess of neon signs, street hustlers and cops wearily kicking comatose drunks on the ankle to get them to shift.

When evening came the place was worse. Music blasted from every doorway and teams of badly-dressed tourists staggered along the road searching for the cheapest form of alcohol. Shops selling vests with pictures of British Bulldogs were making a fortune.

I hadn't made notes of where the performances were to be, but as I studied the chalked boards and took cards from scantily clad girls outside the bars advertising the night's drinking, I came across a familiar name: Magical Marvin with assistant Juicy Lucy.

Juicy Lucy? That's one classy stage-name - what in the world was that about.

* * *

I entered the bar and bought a drink-ticket. The time of the entertainment wasn't advertised and drinks were poured liberally against a pre-paid ticket. I prepared for a long night as the DJ gave endless announcements for the forthcoming entertainment. A bachelorette party from a northern English town was in competition with a group of London lads over who could consume the most spirits from a bottle held high in the air. No-one seemed to care how much was spilled as their clothes became soaked.

T shirts were removed to be wrung out, the ladies obviously unconcerned about being seen in their underwear. They couldn't have a conversation anyway against the loudspeakers pumping out decibels like they were going out of fashion, so stripping passed as a friendly flirt.

A couple of the women were not wearing bras but brazenly poured drink over their exposed breasts for the lads to lick off. It was a subtle seduction technique for a female twice the age and weight of their intended victim and I'm guessing here but it's likely that one or two of the ladies would be returning home in a fertilised state.

The evening came and went; by 3:00am I was about to call it a night. Then an announcer called everyone's attention to the forthcoming entertainment for the hundredth time. The DJ made some space clear at the front of the bar and a young man with a microphone introduced himself as 'Magical Marvin'.

He was a miserable specimen; skinny and greasy haired with black jeans, but at least he had a white shirt and a bow-tie. He started off with a tape recording of canned applause which some people even joined in with.

Marvin had a line in appallingly off-colour jokes; including one about having sex was much like spreading butter. Possible with a credit card but much easier with a knife.

There was an intake of breath from the crowd and he never really won them back after that. He continued with several gags concerning the size of his mother-in-law's belly and the enormous breasts of a girl he'd seen on the beach. Then there was a routine about girls farting as they got in and out of stretched limos, followed by a rambling story about archaeologists finding an Egyptian sarcophagus that contained a chocolate mummy wrapped in gold foil -- and then announcing that they had found the Pharaoh Roche.

At long last Marvin brought on his assistant 'Juicy Lucy' otherwise known as Kirsten. She was dressed in a cheap beach wrap and floral bikini He cracked a joke about his last assistant (called 'Slobberonthisyerbitch') being from Serbia, then he tried to get people to pick a card (any card)...

'Juicy Lucy' danced around and produced a long black balloon from the front of Marvin's jeans, sucking it out with her mouth then pushing a long needle right through without it bursting.

She performed a long dance whilst unfastening her bikini top to bare her breasts, then an even longer show about removing the rest of her clothes. Eventually my wife was in front of a couple of hundred leering drunks, quite naked and showing them her shaved pussy.

She approached a woman wearing a bikini top and without much persuading obtained a nipple-ring straight from the woman's breast. Marvin placed the ring into a small box, which was returned to the girl. When she opened the lid she found that it contained only a condom - which was probably of more use to the woman than the nipple-ring.

Kirsten did a lap around the room without a stitch on for all to see, then Marvin without much skill and dexterity managed to pull a string from her vagina, tied to which was a line of flags of the world. At the end of the string was the missing ring.

At this point I nearly vomited.

The rest of the audience were not much impressed either as Kirsten got dressed and the two left the bar. Already people were pouring more booze down their throats and the DJ had pumped up the volume back to the max.

I made my way outside, my ears ringing from the noise and stood behind Kirsten as Marvin packed his gear into a suitcase. More drunken tourists were passing along the street but something made her turn around and see me.

Tears and recognition filled her eyes. "Can I come home?"

* * *

"Ladies and Gentlemen, please put your hands together for the one, the only, the quite exceptional Kirsten."

We used our proper names. It was much better than some corny made-up stage-name that just made people sound like strippers -- or worse. 'Sweaty Betty' sounded somewhat unattractive and unbelievably 'Sticky Vicky' was already trade-marked and used by a lady in Spain. Yes, that's right; you can use your favourite search engine for further information.

I had considered something like 'Eric Withakay' for my stage-name. It's the sort of joke that I find amusing. "So you spell that E-R-I-K?" No, I spell it with a C; my name is E-R-I-C, Eric Withakay. Very droll. Kirsten had told me to grow up and stop being silly, so that was that and we stuck with our normal, sensible names.

She gyrated into the room, wrapped in a black feather-trimmed robe. Her blonde curls were hidden by a brunette wig and as the music boomed across the room the room was in darkness with just a spotlight picking her out. She hesitated and the robe rose in the air and flew away, leaving her in a bright yellow dress, long and slinky. Her feet skipped swiftly in high heels as she floated across the floor, her old dance skills resurrected.

I had resumed my youthful interest in illusions, developing a stage act but avoiding those tedious card tricks. Kirsten had taken classes and become proficient in several disciplines including belly-dancing and burlesque, now we had a budding career that would soon enable me to finish my job in that company with their ridiculous motivational meetings and mission statements.

She stopped dancing as the music was cut and I dashed across to catch her wrist, dragging her to a spinning cartwheel. I buckled a leather strap to each limb as she pretended to struggle to escape. She was bound hand and foot to the wheel, feet wide apart with more straps across the neck and waist. I span the wheel and she turned upside down, her long yellow dress falling open due to a hip-high split. Bright red panties flashed into view and disappeared again repeatedly. The audience silenced their applause and watched steadily.

I cracked a long leather whip. After several practising cracks it snapped in front of her face, causing her to flinch. Then another snap shredded the shoulder stitching of the dress on the left; the next shredded the right. More whipping followed and I stopped the wheel. When the straps were undone the dress fell away, completely destroyed. Kirsten stood again in her heels, a black and cream laced corset, the red thong panties and stockings. The yellow dress remained abandoned on the floor.

The music recommenced with an upbeat tune and she danced a Charleston, bending over to show her cleavage and toned butt. As she danced, I wheeled a cabinet into view. From the cabinet I took an old-fashioned milk churn.

I removed the lid and took it to be examined by two members of the audience. Then another two members were led onto the floor and allowed to examine the churn. They were then instructed to hold onto the side handles.

Kirsten climbed into the churn, which looked too small to contain her. With my hand on her head I pushed her down until the lid could be forced into position. The two guys holding the handles heaved the churn in the air, so that the solid underside could be seen. When it was lowered and the lid raised, Kirsten climbed back out. She had lost the wig, corset, stockings and heels and was now only wearing tiny string panties, bright green to contrast with her previous red pair. Her blonde locks flowed and the transformation was such that many of the audience would actually be unsure if it was even the same person.

She shimmied away, allowing the two guys to search the churn and lid for the clothing -- or the girl with the black hair. They took these back to the audience for general examination by anyone who wished to. No-one searched too hard -- not when a girl was in the room performing topless gymnastics, but the items were well concealed within a false base.

Kirsten somersaulted to the yellow rags of the destroyed dress, which had transformed into a semi-sheer skirt that she fastened sarong-like around her hips. A flute started to play an exotic Eastern wail and she belly danced slowly, flicking her hips sideways but keeping her head steady as if it were unconnected to her spine.

She froze for a while in a statue pose but her naked breasts continued bouncing in time to the music, as she stood still and flexed her muscles. Then she moon-walked backwards to the trolley with the cabinet as she continued twitching in sync with the beat.

The wheels of the trolley gave a clearance of only several inches but Kirsten leaned back and adopted a limbo stance, dancing to the rhythm completely under the device -- even her boobs fitted beneath. She moved slowly towards the audience, until she was out and in front again. However now the yellow skirt had totally disappeared.

Her thighs were wide apart as she danced slowly towards the front of the stage. On an overhead monitor the faces of the audience directly in line with her approach were shown; one man in particular squinted down for a better view of her intimate parts, spread open for him. A lady sat alongside with a furious expression, then swung her purse at his head. He fell sideways at the blow and there was a burst of laughter from behind.

With her eyes flashing, Kirsten climbed into the cabinet. I closed the lid and span it around. Then to a crescendo in the music, I removed the lid and all four sides. It was empty except for a black cat, which I lifted and stroked before handing it to a member of the audience for confirmation.

* * *

We had gained good reputation, with an agency to take bookings. The act could be varied according to the audience; some engagements were suitable for erotic items and even total nudity, others were not. As Kirsten was comfortable with either we had all the bases covered and there was a reasonable living to be made.

A welcome by-product of course was that after an evening of flashing her body, Kirsten was always ready for some serious love-making. This was something that I had always noticed. Even just sitting on a beach topless, knowing that she was being ogled by all the passing men made her horny.

The applause that she had after a performance sent her libido through the stratosphere. It was wearing me out.

* * *

New illusions were constantly required to keep the act fresh for repeat bookings, so I had to keep a diary of which elements had been used each time. We always asked that there would be no filming of the act and kept an eye out for such activity; we had no ambition to have all of our content across the internet. Only when we decided to retire an item permanently did we release a clip, professionally filmed but it's always fraught with problems when you allow smart arses to freeze-frame a sequence to work out how an illusion works and then explain to the world how it's all done.

One evening we had a booking for a late-night performance at a rugby club in our home town. We always declined stag parties; Kirsten was much more than a stripper which was what they really wanted so we insisted that we would only take mixed-gender party bookings. However this was a Halloween party, which would be a mixed event with many of those present expected to be wearing fancy dress.

The evening's programme needed special planning; the black cat transformation was obviously suitable but the rest needed some thought to make it applicable to the theme.

In the end, we decided to attend the party as guests so that the party-goers would not initially know that we were an act. Kirsten dressed as a nun, with a long sleek black habit. I wore the outfit of a medieval monk, holding a flameless candle (health & safety, don't you know) and a rope belt, with which to bind and restrain her.

We entered the event separately, not that it made a real difference; no-one present knew absolutely everyone else. At the appointed time, Kirsten was talking to someone dressed as a slutty witch. As I made my move to capture and bring my nun to the front of the room, she unexpectedly proclaimed that the forces of evil were upon us and led the strange witch with her along for the ride.

This was a concern for me, we now had a member of the audience involved who didn't even know that she was in a magic act. All I could do was to run with it and see how switched on the girl was. I assessed her; she was slim and fit with long dark hair and a low-cut costume exposing acres of cleavage.

Her dress was short and flared out, showing long lean legs, encased in high heeled fetish boots that reached all the way up to her thighs. She had a pointed witch's hat, bent over at the top.

As the floor emptied around us in the spotlight, my rope dragged both of them to the centre. I caught Kirsten's long habit and wrenched the skirt section away, so that she had stockinged legs and white bloomer panties visible below a short black tunic. Now I had the attention of the room which fell silence. Of course they still had no idea that this was an act.

I caught hold of her crucifix hanging from a chain around her neck and made it crumble to dust as a heresy; then I threw her nun's head-dress in the air and watched it disappear into a ball of flame.

I chanted some mock-latin phrases as I tied both girls to a frame.

The witch's eyes were wide open as I saw that her costume was thin and cheap, already tearing at the neck. It appeared to be an inexpensive fancy dress outfit and had a simple velcro strip to keep it together at the front. She seemed to be wearing something underneath, so I asked her in a whisper if she were okay with taking part in the show and losing her dress.

She nodded silently and I produced my whip and swiftly threaded the whip down her front as she sucked in to make a gap for it.

I stepped back and tugged hard at the whip; her dress parted completely at the front with a satisfying ripping noise from the velcro. She stood with the dress wide open, showing a shimmering satin navy blue corset and panties. Her eyes were shining as she looked around the room against the spotlight, seeing that everyone was watching. Her thighs parted slightly and she was definitely enjoying the show. The front-laced corset was low fitting and just covered her nipples.

"Witch -- declare your name." I called out.

"Abigail Williams. I hail from Salem", she replied.

Somewhere from my memory I recalled that was the name of one of the Salem witches. She was getting into it; excellent.

"Abigail, I denounce you as a witch, a supernatural spirit. Together with this whore of a maiden of Christ, you will be tested and punished tonight for your crimes against all things holy."

I carried on in this vein for a minute, building up the theatricals. I discarded Abigail's dress, took her to the wheel and buckled her on. Her lingerie was ideal, there was nothing to float around and get tangled.

This time instead of using the whip, I had knives to throw at the wheel. So with an announcement that she would be protected if there were no sins, I started to throw the knives. To gasps and applause she survived this ordeal. The stunt was well practised and safe -- I throw directly at the hand or foot which has moved by the time the knife arrives so that it strikes vacant board.

I decided to see where she wanted to go with the show, so I released Abigail and called on her to confess her sins. She stood and went before Kirsten, still tied to the frame. Getting on her knees, she raised her arms in the air and called out that she had committed unnatural acts. The crowd whooped as they saw that her breasts were raised out of the corset.

This was better than I had hoped, every time she lowered her arms her nipples dropped back into the cups of her corset; when she raised her arms again they emerged once more.

Then when I demanded to know what she had done, she caught hold of Kirsten's hips and buried her face in her panties.

However the panties were designed to fall apart for a trick planned later in the show and promptly did so, to the joy of the crowd. I would have to re-jig the later part of the show, I thought.

Abigail was left with her nose and lips against Kirsten's labia -- she had no choice but to thrust and writhe against Abigail's face. The audience went wild. Some would have known Abigail and I looked about to see who was the most scandalised but couldn't see anyone standing out from the crowd.

I dragged Abigail upright with mock indignation. "You corrupter of this Bride of Christ, you would blaspheme against womanhood." I released the bare-assed Kirsten -- but it was a mistake. Together they produced ropes and turned the tables on me.

I was overpowered and they bound my wrists and ankles securely. I was pushed into the cage and strapped down. Once I was secure, Abigail ripped off her own panties which seemed to have a side fastening and pulled down Kirsten's face into her groin. The room went quiet.

This wasn't supposed to happen; I was supposed to be in charge of the proceedings.

The solid sides of the cage were erected around me as Abigail climbed in. Suddenly as we were concealed together she was removing my robe and the rest of my clothes until I was naked. It dawned on me rather belatedly that I had been tucked up -- thoroughly deceived. Abigail was most definitely in on the joke. Sometimes I'm not the fastest driver on the grid, surely the people in the audience had already worked it out.

She stuffed my clothes into the secret space in the floor of the cage that she already knew about, then the sides were dropped again to expose me to the audience. I heard a number of women beyond the spotlight cheer loudly.

It was a strange feeling; the spotlight was warm on my skin but the air was cool as I was suddenly revealed naked to the crowd. A hood was then pulled over my head and I could see no more. I heard the crown cheer and scream, then applaud. They went silent and applauded again. I was wheeled around the room in the cage but kept like a wild animal.

Then my mask was removed and in the bright lights I saw that Abigail was doubled over blindfolded with her hands on the ground and legs straight and wide apart so that her ass was in the air. She was still wearing her corset, but a long taper was protruding from her rear with a trail of flame and smoke. Her hips were swivelling, causing the flame to move from side to side.

Kirsten picked up a white board and held it in the air; it was solid and unmarked. Then she held it over the flame as it wiggled; after several seconds she held the board in the air for everyone to see; the fire had scorched the image of a devil onto it.