Every Magician Needs an Assistant

Abigail stood and acknowledged the cheers of the audience with a bow; as she bent over, the flame was in front of my face and Kirsten whispered at me to blow it out, so with a good puff I extinguished it.

Abigail turned to unlock the cage. My bonds were released and I was allowed to resume my role as magician and master of ceremonies, all the while naked before the crowd.

The act demanded a good deal of movement around the room, presenting different elements. In truth of course, a magician can often do little in an illusion -- the assistant does most of the hard work. So I ended up running around the floor with a microphone and a whip and nothing else.

The two girls continued with the act. Then at the end they led me back to the cage and the transformation illusion completed the performance as I was replaced by the black cat -- a variation of the normal routine.

From my hiding place I heard the audience cheer wildly. It was essential for the illusion that I remained vanished, but after a time I felt the cage being moved and then I had the signal to emerge.

We were in a service area and had left the function room. Both the girls were fully dressed again and I put my clothes back on. There was a service staircase that allowed us to leave the building unseen.

* * *

'Abigail' joined us as we loaded our gear into the van. Her real name was Gabrielle and she was bright, funny with a similar height and build to Kirsten. It occurred to me that there was scope for illusions that involved body-doubles if she wished to join in.

We gave her a lift home to her apartment which turned out to be just a short ride from our house. During the journey they filled me in on how they knew each other -- which had been since a shared childhood in dance school. She had since earned a living as an exotic dancer in Paris and so was comfortable with people seeing her naked body.

Her previous boyfriend was French and she had recently left him, returning home when the theatre where she worked had decided that she was now too old to be a professional dancer.

Gabrielle was quite open about the business and admitted that she had added a few pounds since quitting. Her mother had been born in Paris, so she could speak the language well. Since returning to her home town she had met up with Kirsten again and they'd got to know each other well -- enough to play the joke on me at the club.

* * *

The next day Kirsten and I were at home relaxing when there was a knock at the door. I answered it and found a petite girl with short blonde hair cut in a spiky urchin style. A long T shirt was worn as a short dress to set off her legs and it took me a while to work out that this was Gabrielle.

When I recognised her she laughed. "You thought that I had dark hair, that it was real? No, this is what I look like without the wig and make-up."

I invited her in and marvelled at the transformation. She sat on the sofa with Kirsten and immediately made herself at home, slipping off her shoes and tucking her bare feet underneath herself. The girls chatted away about the show and soon we agreed that Gabrielle could try out to be a regular part of the act.

As we talked I noticed that the short dress was slowly riding up her thighs and eventually I could see that she wore no panties. Her shaved pussy became clearly visible but she seemed not to notice. With difficulty I kept my eyes up to face level until she shifted her position and allowed her dress to completely rise up to her waist.

"You don't mind do you?" Gabrielle was looking at me "It's just that I spent so many years without wearing underwear that panties feel strange nowadays. Being a dancer, if I wore anything tight the lines in my skin would show for ages so it's easier not to. You get used to it, now I only wear panties and bra if I need to, like for a costume at the show. For me it feels like wearing gloves in the bath, and when I was on stage so many people saw my body that it doesn't worry me any more.

"In fact, that was why my boyfriend left me. He couldn't put up with everyone seeing me. He called me a show-off, an exhibitionist.

"Now if I'm asked, I say that I don't understand modesty, in the same way as some people don't understand religion or the need to be rich. No-one is corrupted by seeing me, so if you want to look, carry on. If you don't want to look, don't. Surely everyone knows what a female body looks like, why the fuss?

"It wasn't always that way of course. I started work in the shows as one of the girls with the feathered fans and headgear, but then I realised that the girls wearing leotards and cloaks were the ones that no-one looked at. The ones who were getting all the attention and money were the ones at the front of the stage not wearing anything. Also they were the ones on the posters outside, the stars of the show.

"When I finally managed to get to the front of the stage it felt very exposed at first. Everyone staring, dancing with every inch of your body to be seen. But I became used to being looked at; now if you want me to go nude in public it doesn't worry me at all. I have no wish to get arrested of course but I'm comfortable wherever I am." With that she shifted position and sat crossed-ankle so that her thighs were wide apart and labia in full view. "Like I say, if you want to look, please do. I enjoy being admired."

I have to say that I didn't mind too much, her body was still trim without a trace of flab despite what Paris theatre producers might think.

* * *

There had been a pause in the conversation, then Kirsten took a deep breath and spoke quietly. "Can I speak for a moment? I have something to tell you."

She was looking directly into my eyes. "Gabrielle and I know each other very well. No, that's wrong. What I mean is, that since we have recently met, we have been in a relationship. This is the first time that I have strayed from you I promise, and it is the first time that I have been in a relationship with another woman."

Gabrielle was sitting cross-legged with her bare pussy on view; Kirsten took her hand as they told their story together.

They had rekindled old affections; indeed, taken them further to a full sexual intimacy. Then after some self-torment had decided to disclose the matter to me. It had taken them a great deal of planning to fit the circumstances into the party.

I had been stunned by this revelation of course. As they spoke they snuggled into each other, eventually Gabrielle put her arm around Kirsten's shoulder.

They wanted to continue with their affair, indeed they desired my blessing. As Gabrielle's hand disappeared into Kirsten's T shirt to cup her breast, my wife removed her top to show her stiff nipple. Then she unfastened my jeans to hold me in her hand as Gabrielle continued speaking.

All things considered, how was I expected to refuse? I was in a difficult position, watching my wife being fondled while she fondled me. So I ended up agreeing.

But after consideration it wasn't such a bad deal, my two options were either to lose Kirsten or to gain Gabrielle so that's what happened. The thought of spending lonely nights imagining my wife elsewhere in another relationship would have destroyed me.

There were now three of us in our bed at night which made for cosy arrangements but there was little to complain about. Gabrielle was fun and easy on the eye. They weren't exclusive with their affections, Kirsten encouraged Gabrielle to include me in their relationship and they made sure that I was never discouraged from partaking in any activity.

So Gabrielle became part of both the family and the illusionist act.

* * *

The lights shone onto the pool. A rope dangled into the water but was being pulled up. Slowly a net was drawn into the air; it was a fishing net with a catch. A large fish tail was visible thrashing around in the net and the crowd silenced as the spotlights followed the rising net.

The creature started to climb from the net. It was a mermaid with long black hair and bare breasts.

The net opened and she tumbled to the ground, cumbersome and writhing but glistening with wetness under the lights.

The lights now illuminated the fisherman who scrambled down a steel ladder to the floor. As he stepped onto the planks the mermaid wriggled behind a board that leaned against a wall. The man picked up the board but the mermaid had lost her tail and was transformed into a girl, naked and embarrassed. She curled up into a ball but as the fisherman approached she stood, modestly holding her arms in front of her and ran across the stage to a wooden cabin.

The fisherman followed the girl to the cabin, but she escaped out of a tiny window. The net was still attached to a crane which toppled over. The fisherman was caught underneath as the steel jib smashed down, slicing through his leg. The audience gasped in horror.

A fountain of blood spurted from the wound as the man pulled his jacket to staunch the bleeding. The leg was detached and the man picked it up and stared silently at it. The curtains swiftly dropped to conceal the scene from the stunned audience.

We had a season's booking in a French resort. Not a pub-crawl place like it was in Greece, but a theatre with booked tickets and coach parties organised by licensed tour companies. The act was high budget and classy, featuring large scale illusions. The official tour shows were early evening but this was a late evening show, adult-only. There was a line of backing dancers, an orchestra, lighting and sound crews. We'd gone big-time.

I had hired a retired male ballet dancer named Brett for some of the aerial work; he had a magnificent physique with a grace of movement that was awesome to watch -- and kept the females in the audience engrossed.

I had also employed an amputee, who managed really well on his prosthetic leg and for most shows didn't even reveal his disability. He had lost his leg years earlier as a child in an accident and had grown up learning how to cope. He spent most of his time back-stage with the technical people anyway as that was where his expertise was, but he was invaluable for certain stunts.

The show flowed from illusion to illusion, not at all like the old Vegas productions that took half an hour to build up to one trick, with random women posing around pointlessly. We had so many things going on it was difficult to keep track and a story was told throughout. I was quite pleased with it and the best thing was that we had a completely different audience every time so we could invest in a proper staging that could handle more complicated transformations.

In fact there was so much happening that some of the illusions were not obvious. Some people came to see us again and noticed more detail each time.

I watched from the wings; right now Kirsten was on stage with the ballet dancer, wrapped in a swirl of diaphanous material that flowed in the wind behind her as they swung on a trapeze over the heads of the audience. From a distance she appeared to be floating in the air but in fact his toe was supporting most of her weight. She held on to his arm and then gracefully released her grip, to dive behind the cabin where there was a concealed foam pit.

Now alone in the spotlights, the buff body of Brett was gleaming and his skin-tight shorts bulged with his pronounced buttocks and his front package. There was a round of applause.

Kirsten appeared behind me from a passage under the stage. An assistant was attaching tiny triangles of reflective gold metallic confetti to her body to give the appearance of an impossible bikini swathed around her. Her next appearance would be amongst an explosion of gold, and it would appear as if the scraps of foil were sticking to her. Several pieces would blow away as she moved, tantalising the audience. One of the scraps would remain though, emerging from between the cheeks of her butt. She had practised moving the muscles so that the foil rose as if unaided. A man would be selected from the audience to be blindfolded and take the foil in his teeth.

It would open to show some writing that had been made earlier, in a random process and would turn out to be the the location of hidden treasure.

* * *

A lady volunteer was selected from the audience. She was no stooge but known to several others in her party. She wore a fitted black dress and her breasts were loose beneath the halter necked top that showed her cleavage and bare back. She was tall and slim with a glossy mane of wavy dark hair.

The clown invited her into a device, a frame of steel bars that she could stand on (once her high heeled shoes had been removed) and cling onto.

The frame swung across and down, deep into a deep crevasse cut into the earthen bank at the back of the stage. Cameras looked down so that she could be seen on large monitors.

There were wooden boards on either side of her narrow space but the rear wall was formed by the earth and rocks, held together with a sparse vegetation. Some ivy crossed and entwined above her.

She was given instructions on how to release herself in case of extreme emergency. Then the clown explained that he knew that she had just won a hotel ping-pong competition. He asked her to confirm that she had won the hotel competition because she was a player of very high standard; indeed she had had a career at international level.

He told her that this had been unfair and she was to be punished. He released a small monkey into the space and the creature scampered about, causing the woman to recoil and nudge against a strut that held the boards.

One of the planks fell, allowing soil to collapse against the woman. She panicked at the prospect of being buried. More debris fell. Using a prop that looked like a bony hand with a protruding finger, she was able to push against the lever that would extricate her from her situation.

The sides of the collapsing trench miraculously retreated and the frame soared into the air, carrying the screaming woman high above the stage.

The frame revolved so that she was now looking down into the abyss. She held tightly to the bars of the frame, for if she let go she would fall to her doom. As she saw the height, she ceased her screaming and gripped the supports for all she was worth.

The monkey was still there, climbing over her. She felt the top of her dress fall away; the animal had undone the clasp at the back of her neck.

Her breasts hung bare, exposed to the entire audience whilst the garment dangled uselessly. She could not conceal herself for that would mean letting go of the support.

The monkey clambered underneath her, confident in its abilities. She felt its weight tug on her clothing and then she yelped as it tweaked her nipples. Yet she still could not protect herself for fear of falling.

The clown shouted instructions to her. She had to reach across with one hand to climb out of the side of the frame to a nearby ladder. The monkey pinched her left nipple and in pain she relinquished her hold. She almost fell but then managed to grasp the other bar, however her position was now even more precarious.

There was a branch of a tree quite close but when she tried to touch it she found that she was prevented from doing so by what appeared to be a human skull that was precisely where she wanted her hand to be. She moved her hand but found yet another skull there. It appeared initially that this skull was looking at her, but she saw that there was a cockroach sitting in the eye-socket.

The insect waved its antennae slowly and then jumped out towards her. She recoiled, snatching her hand back.

She tried to move her foot across the gap, but her dress was restricting her leg movement. The clown told her to remove the garment completely, so she returned both hands to their correct sides of the frame. With care, she shifted her position above the dizzy height so that she could release the dress and let it fall away. The dress fluttered down to the stage, in the beam of one of the spotlights.

Now she was in full view of the crowd wearing just dark lace-top stockings and black panties. However she now had the freedom by placing one hand onto the top of one of the skulls to transfer her whole weight to the solid ironwork on the wall.

She clung to the fixed ladder amongst the foliage and collected herself, breathing deeply. The monkey was behind her and pulled down on her panties revealing her pale butt, but now she was able to brush the animal away. It sat on a branch chattering angrily at her.

Following more instructions she descended the ladder, but found that it finished in mid-air, over a pond of water. The loose end wobbled scarily and the clown yelled at her to jump before it broke.

She obeyed, landing with a splash in deep water. She found that she could climb out of the pool, back onto the stage. The water streamed from her hair and she was trembling with fright as she found her dress and shoes which she carried back to her seat.

It was not until she sat down shivering that she was handed a towel. After the performance had finished and everyone had left, a sodden wet bundle of black panties and stockings were found discarded under her table.

* * *

Kirsten shimmied across the auditorium. The guests had finished their meals and were relaxing with the wine that we supplied inclusive with the ticket price. This was a tactic that we had found successful; the guests invariably drank heavily when the alcohol was 'limitless', poured liberally from pottery jugs. It was a palatable fruity red, local and ridiculously cheap. However the result was that everyone had had enough after a couple of hours and some had to be helped onto their coaches afterwards. All the drivers knew to have an ample supply of sick-bags.

We did not need the act to last for several hours. No-one in the audience would remain sober that long and this way everyone would be back in their hotels satisfactorily intoxicated and ready to write complimentary reviews at the end of their holidays.

Kirsten wore a long black skirt and killer heels. It was low-slung on her hips, moulded to her butt and cut to follow the lines of the cleft of her buttocks. There was no clothing above the skirt except for a large blue pendant necklace that hung in her cleavage. All eyes were on her nipples, brown and oiled as she swayed. No-one was looking at me as I surreptitiously moved an envelope into a casket that was in plain view.

She was bouncing a large balloon off her chest to a random person and then calling on them to toss it elsewhere. The pendant bounced in unison with her breasts. She was selecting a member of the audience to join her on stage.

The subject had to be lively and enthusiastic -- there was no point in having anyone too shy to join in or enjoy the experience. So the process would be continued until a suitable candidate held the balloon.

The spotlights were away from me as I heard the crescendo of noise when the selection was made. Kirsten led a lady to the front, apparently reluctantly but smiling and with a slight unsteadiness from the wine. I noted that she was older than normal, probably in her sixties. Dyed blonde hair, wearing a fitted evening dress. She had the glow of a fresh tan with minimal make-up so had probably been on holiday for at least a week already. She must have been a 'looker' in her day; she still had a beauty that defied the years. A good choice, I thought.

Kirsten had the microphone "Can you tell everyone your first name?"

"Lauren".

Lauren took the seat proffered and I launched into my patter. Hopefully it would result in the guest being in a suggestible state, that could be progressed into a light hypnotism although I had no intention of deliberately inducing a deep trance. So I asked her supposedly random questions, designed to elicit answers that I wanted for a forthcoming illusion. It was a continuation of a process that I had started early in the evening. This went well, with a constant stream of conversation until I had sufficient clues all fresh from her own mouth.