The Magician's Assistant

I stood and scrunched my neck to look out of the holes. For a moment, I saw my father, but then a shadow covered the opening.

"Are you alright in there?"

I smiled, recognizing the magician's voice. "Yes!" I called back. With a start, I brought a hand to my throat. What's wrong with my voice?

The magician's voice again came, but this time as a whisper. "Say nothing else, do nothing else except breathe, until I open the door."

Expecting him to open the door, I started to lean away, but found I could not move, not even a budge. A panic struck me, but I couldn't even tremble, much less scream. Even my eyes were locked with but a narrow view out of one of the holes.

The sound of the magician's footfalls moved away from my box. "And you, Megan," he called. "Are you alright?"

Of course I tried to answer that I was not alright, to no avail.

"Yes, I'm fine!"

My eyes tried to widen as I heard the words. That's Sarah! What's she doing on stage? My attention leapt to my sister's seat only to find she was still there. Who's on the stage that sounds like Sarah?

"Ladies and Gentleman," the magician yelled. "May I present again to you, Megan, Coney Island's Autumn Queen of 1955!"

I heard another gasp from the crowd, then a thunderous ovation. What are they applauding for? I wondered. I'm still in here.

"Don't say a word," the magician whispered from just beyond my door. "Come out and wave to the crowd."

I heard a scraping and a click. The door opened. Without so much as a thought, I stepped out of the booth. My palm leapt upward, pivoting in the wave one sees from the queens on floats at parades. Then I saw it. Or her. No, not her, me, Megan, walking across the stage right in front of my eyes.

My blinking eyes snapped down to my body. Except it wasn't mine.

"Keep looking at the audience," the magician demanded, still in a whisper. "And smile too."

My focus leapt upward to the crowd. I tried to turn my head, but I could not. I tried to open my mouth to demand an explanation, but instead my lips curved upward in a grin. All I could do was stare, smile, and wave as the imposter walked back up through the still-cheering crowd and hugged my parents.

In spite of my terror, I was still looking, smiling, and waving minutes later when I watched my family leave with her instead of me.

* * *

The magician threw the door open and stood aside. "Welcome home."

I looked to him, but otherwise did not move.

He cast a glance each way down the corridor before motioning with his head. "Inside."

My feet started to move so quickly I almost lost my balance. They carried me into a simple parlor with a leather sofa, a mirror above it, a coffee table, and two matching chairs. Opposite the couch stood a huge wooden bookshelf, a shade darker than the wood of the floor. Out a pair of French doors was a balcony, and beyond them, a glimpse of the moonlit ocean.

Behind me, I heard the door close, then felt his fingers on my shoulders. With a gasp, I cut my eyes downward and watched while his hands slid the black overcoat down my arms. He tossed the garment across the back of a chair. His top hat followed, landing upright on the cushion.

My eyes leapt from the chair to the magician's face. The close-lipped grin set my stomach churning. My eyes fell from his face, back to the hat. "Where do you keep the cute little rabbit?" I asked, seeking any distraction.

He laughed. "There is no rabbit. Go sit on the sofa."

Without a thought I obeyed.

"First, the rules," he said, walking to stand over me. "These rules are always in force, for the rest of your days. You will not touch the necklace. Repeat the rule."

My mouth moved without me willing it. "I won't touch the necklace."

"You will not remove your necklace, nor engage anyone else to remove it, nor do anything you know will cause the necklace to be removed. Say it."

"I won't take off the necklace, or have anyone else take it off, or do anything that I know will make it come off."

The magician nodded. "Good enough. You will not harm any person, especially me, nor engage anyone else to do so, nor shall you do anything that you know will achieve that end without my permission. Repeat it."

"I'm not going to hurt anyone else, especially you. I won't ask anyone else to do it either and I won't do anything I know will cause someone else harm unless you say so."

"You will not leave this apartment or the theater without me. When outside, you'll not leave my sight without my permission. Say it."

"I will not leave the apartment or the theater or your sight without permission."

"Good. What's your name?"

"Megan."

"Wrong," he said. "Your name is Christine. Say it."

I looked up to him and swallowed. A tear slid down my face. "Christine is my name."

"You will never say your old name again, nor inform anyone else you have ever been anyone besides Christine. Say it."

"I'll never say..." My tongue fluttered between my open lips. I was unable to say the name I knew to be mine. "I'll never say my old name again. I won't tell anyone I was ever someone besides Christine."

"You won't attempt to communicate with anyone without my permission."

"I won't communicate with anyone without permission."

"My real name is Giancarlo, but my friends call me Gino. You will address me as the latter; starting now, understand?"

"Yes, Gino."

"Very good." The man produced a notepad and a pencil, then sat beside me upon the davenport. "Now tell me about this Megan person. What was her last name?"

My eyes wandered. "Miller."

"Seems I forgot another rule," he said. "Don't lie to me again. Ever. What is Megan's last name?"

"O'Reilly."

He jotted the information down. "How old is she?"

"Eighteen."

"Perfect. I was afraid we'd have to wait. Where does she live?"

"Kensington."

"Long Island?"

I shook my head. "New Jersey."

"I see," the magician said, recording this as well. "Megan did come a long way. All the better. What's her address?"

With a gulp and a tear, I told him, certain I was nothing less than a traitor. He continued recording my answers to questions about my family for several minutes before his inquiry again took a turn that set my heart racing, and not in a good way.

"Is Megan a virgin?"

"Yes," I said with a gulp.

"Does she have a boyfriend?"

I wasn't really sure of the true answer to this, but my mouth said, "Yes," just the same.

"And what's his name?"

A smile crossed my face. "Ricky Hallmar."

"And what makes him your boyfriend if he hasn't fucked you?"

My eyes widened, then fell from his, taking my face with it. "I think he likes me."

"You think he likes you?" the man gasped. "And this makes him your boyfriend?"

My eyes shot back to my captor. "I know he likes me. He's just shy."

The magician shook his head. "He doesn't like you. He doesn't even know you. And if he does like Megan, poor Ricky is in for heartbreak."

My jaw fell. "Why?"

"Megan is going to marry Thomas Collard."

My head fell to one side. Over my eyes my brow formed a line. "Who?"

"He owns a chain of hardware stores, mostly in Brooklyn. His wife of twenty years just died last year. A tragic accident, so I hear. As soon as he collected on her life insurance, he hired me to find him another wife, you see. Wants a nice, plump, young virgin to serve his every need. Or his one need."

The fiend paused to laugh. "Of course, he prefers a blonde, but I'm sure Megan and a bottle of peroxide will make him very happy. She'll have to of course, she was the best I could do."

"But I don't want to marry him!"

The man only laughed. "That's good, because you aren't Megan. Besides, Christine, you're already married."

"What?"

The magician leaned away from me and delved into his pocket. His hand appeared a second later with a gold ring pinched between his fingers. "May as well put this back on now that the show's over," he said, extending a wedding band to me.

My eyes darted to the ring, then back to his face.

"That's right," he said. "You're my wife."

I swallowed. My lips quivered. "No. I ... "

"Take it," he insisted. "Put it on."

With my chest shuddering through my first sob, I took the ring and donned it.

The man stood and extended his hand. "Come, wife."

Even with my sheltered upbringing, I had a good idea where we were going. "Please," I begged, even as my hand slipped into his.

Giancarlo yanked me to my feet. "Don't worry, soon enough, I'll have you begging for it. Come."

He led me down the hallway. We passed a pair of doors, the second of which opened unto a washroom. A sob shook my chest when we went through the third and last door, entering the man's bedroom. No, I corrected myself. Our bedroom. I began to weep in earnest.

Gino turned. "Quit your bawling, girl. I know your body, and how to please it." His arms encircled me. His fingers fumbled betwixt my shoulder blades. I felt a tug on the fabric and heard the sound of a zipper.

I inhaled a quick breath and closed my eyes, praying when I opened them I would awake in my bed, the nightmare over. My prayer, of course, went unanswered.

The zipper bottomed near the small of my back. The man's hands moved to my shoulders where his fingers grasped the straps of my costume. I felt the fabric slide from my shoulders, then down my arms. Releasing my breath, I opened my eyes.

"What are you worried about?" He paused to snicker through a grin. "I bet you're as anxious to see them as I am; after all, I've seen them plenty." He released his hold and took a step backward. "Go ahead. Finish what I started."

Under his leering eyes, I grasped the top edge of the cloth and began to peel the fabric from my body. My own eyes fell to Christine's exposed breasts. Or were they mine? Regardless of to whom they belonged, they were perfect; a bit smaller than I had expected, but round, firm, symmetrical, with tiny centers of pinkish brown topped by a pair of perky nubs.

Onward my hands pushed the cloth, over a taut tummy, beyond a set of feminine hips and down a pair of muscular legs that bent while the fabric cleared them. Leaving the garment pooled about my ankles, I stood.

Gino took a step forward. One arm encircled my body, his palm finding the small of my back. The other palm rushed upward to grasp one of my breasts.

With a gasp, I leaned away from the unwelcome sensation. For years I had wondered what it would be like to be with a man. Now one was touching me. Soon, I knew, he would do more than touch me. Or was it me?

"I know this body well," he said, massaging the flesh of my bosom. "I can give you pleasure through it; and I will, whether you want me to or not."

His lips found my neck and there suckled my tender flesh. I closed my eyes and tried to send my mind somewhere else, but the lack of vision only seemed to increase the sensation his lips imparted unto my skin. I opened my eyes and pursed my lips, determined above all else not to enjoy myself.

In spite of my best intentions, I soon began to writhe beneath the feel of his lips upon my neck and the groping of his hand upon my bosom.

Gino pulled his mouth from my neck and issued a subtle chuckle. "Do you like your new body?" he whispered. "Feels nice to be beautiful, doesn't it? Christine wasn't too happy about spending the rest of her days in Megan's body. Who can blame her?"

Without waiting for a response he whirled and shoved me onto the bed. "Roll over," he demanded, "on all fours like a dog, like the little bitch in heat you're about to be."

My body spun, assuming the position he had specified. Behind me I heard the rattle of a belt buckle, then the subtle rubbing of cloth over flesh. I buried my face in a pillow, trying to steel my nerves, wanting neither to suffer nor relish what was to follow, not quite knowing which I feared more.

Seconds later, the mattress shifted and I knew he had joined me. One of his palms found the cheeks of my ass, first caressing, then groping it in the same manner he had my bosom, only harder.

The muscles of my loins clenched. I told myself I was trying to close myself to him, make myself unavailable, but I knew the spasms were not voluntary. His other hand found one of my dangling breasts. He squeezed the tender flesh to the point of pain, then drew his digits along the taper until his five fingers came together to pinch my nipple.

I whimpered, though it was certainly not from any discomfort.

"You will learn to like it," he said. His fingers slid across my ass until the tips found the union of limb and torso. There he petted my tender crease at the edge of my bottom. "I've been teaching little bitches to like it since long before you were born. Everyone thinks she'll be different, but they all learn. Nature calls, and the animal within then responds. You're feeling it now, aren't you, my little slut in the making?"

With that he moved his hand over my sex. His fingers found my folds, rubbing slow circles in my softness. Beneath his churning digits I felt a warming in my loins. To my shame, I found my hips wanting to rotate as well, to emulate his motion. The muscles of my nether regions clenched again. This time there was no pretext beyond the truth. As much as I hated him, this body liked what his hands were doing. A second later my lips opened; both pair.

Through my open mouth I inhaled a crisp breath. Through my lower lips I felt his fingers play into the valley of my sex. Therein he drew the tip of his digit back and forth, teasing my entryway at the bottom of each stroke, teasing something else at the top.

My delicate flesh warmed under his petting until it seemed I could feel every ripple of his fingerprints teasing my wetness. For a moment, my ass tried to move backward to meet his pressure; the next moment it succeeded.

"Yes, little slut," my tormentor hissed. He shifted his body. His hand left my sex, only to be replaced by the one that had stroked my bosom. This time, instead of teasing my entry, one of his fingers pressed within.

I gasped and leaned away from the unwelcome intrusion.

"Stay still!"

My body froze. I closed my eyes.

He started petting the walls of my passage, much as he had my nether lips, only now the sensations were too much for me to resist. My hips began to squirm their want. A sob shook my chest. I knew his member would soon take the place of his finger. How many long nights had I lain awake, looking at the ceiling wondering what it would be like to have a man between my legs? Had I wondered it last night? I couldn't remember, but I was certain I would never have to wonder again.

In spite of my sobs, the warmth began to spread across my abdomen in waves. Within seconds, the whole of my torso undulated. A tear left my eye, a droplet of shame more than sadness.

"Yes, slut," he whispered. "It's true. Smell your want." His free hand, the one that had first petted me, rose before my nose.

I blinked, then breathed, sampling the primal muskiness of my arousal.

"All women want it," he said. "Society may try and tell you otherwise, but your body knows better. You want the feel of a man in you. Admit the truth!"

I shook my head. "Never. I will never want it."

"You may think so, but I know better. Soon, you will too."

In the same moment, his hands left both my face and my sex. I felt a palm upon each hip. A rubberiness touched my sodden crease; prodding, probing, then finding my entry.

I swallowed, then gasped. Clenching my muscles, I tried to stop it, imagining I could close myself to him.

He pushed. My muscles resisted for but an instant before they surrendered, allowing his crown to ease beyond my entryway.

This is really it, I thought with a gasp. I had no additional time to reflect upon the moment before the remainder of his shaft slid within me. Expecting pain, I tensed, but I only felt myself stretch to accept him. My head sank. A shudder traversed my chest. Even if it didn't hurt, he had still taken that which was not his, crushing in an instant all my girlish dreams of what my wedding night might have been.

Showing not the slightest care for my sorrow, Gino's hands moved to my shoulders. Pulling my body to him, he impaled me upon his length. I grunted, but not from discomfort. With a deliberate slowness, he withdrew only to bury himself within me again. My eyes bulged with each thrust. His cock rubbed my insides much the way his fingers had, except instead of the ripples of his fingerprints I felt the ridges of his member grinding against the walls of my passage.

"See slut," he said. "Your body was made for fucking. All women are, you know. Why not enjoy it?"

There was no denying it. I was being fucked. And whether I wanted to or not, I didn't hate it. I might even like it, if I let myself. Did I want to let myself? Did I dare let myself?

As if to answer my question, one of the man's hands left my hip. His hand slid over my buttock, between our bodies, then down, beneath where his cock still plunged in and out of my core. There his fingers first found, then rubbed slow circles in the apex of my nether lips.

At once, my ass clenched, then pushed back to meet both the pressure of his cock and that of his fingers. Within me, the two sensations attempted to merge, the warmth spreading from his rubbing fingers and the tendrils of pleasure scattering from the pounding of his cock within my channel.

Where the sensations merged I felt a pressure build within me, almost a swelling, slowly at first, but then it grew; like the urge to urinate, only with an intensity and urgency I had never before felt. I tried to hold it, to contain whatever it was that sought to break free within me, yet at the edges of my psyche I felt my control slipping.

Maybe it's some magic, I told myself. That's it! He's making you like it. You're not liking it yourself. It's not your fault. My breaths grew short, crisp, almost urgent. Perhaps he's controlling your mind. It's not your fault. No matter what happens, it's not your fault.

My body stiffened. Whether it was my fault or not something was happening. My thighs shuddered. My fingers clawed at the mattress. My knees joined them. The muscles of my ass pulsed, then tightened. My teeth ground against one another. My toes curled to the point of pain, but I barely felt it.

The sides of my channel collapsed upon his cock as if trying to expel it. My eyes fluttered in their sockets. Something between a moan and a whimper escaped my upper lips. From my lower lips, something escaped too; something wet, something wicked, something all too wonderful.

"Yes," the magician said, the tone of his voice mimicking the hiss of whatever liquid I had just ejected. "Again, slut. Do it again."

I did. Because he told me to, I tried to believe. But not for long. Soon I moaned my delight, and my tortured agony for being so delighted. I lost myself in it all, the grinding, the moaning, the sweating, the panting, the absolute savage passion. How many times did my body convulse, I cannot say; I only know that it would have continued doing so had not his own climax arrived.

Of course, I didn't know what it was at first. All I knew was his hand left my shoulder and wrapped itself in my tresses. He pulled my head back and my body with it. His other hand left my loins and shot under my bosom to grasp my shoulder from beneath. His sweaty chest met my back. The hot acrid scent of his manliness swept over my face.

Our skins slid along one another as his body shuddered, then tensed. Within my channel, his already engorged member swelled, then made one final push, rutting the ridges of his crown within my core. A groan escaped his lips in the same moment the first tangible portion of his lust escaped his cock.