Gromet's PlazaPackaged, Encasement & Objectification Stories

The Erotic Magic Club Part 3

by Doug S

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© Copyright 2004 - Doug S - Used by permission

Storycodes: MM/fff; bodymod; magic; packaged; cons; X

continued from part 2

Part 3: Bowling Night

By now you know all about the Erotic Magic Club.  You recall that, after I helped to rescue Suzy from an illusion she was trapped in, her father, who owns the club, invited me to a night out bowling with all the girls.  Bowling night was about a month after the rescue, and I'd spent the intervening few weeks sort of dating Josephine, one of the dancers.  Therefore, it was Josephine who came to pick me up and show me where it was that we were meeting.

We arrived at the Bowling Alley to find Stavro and Jim already there, with some more of the dancers and some people I didn't recognise but were obviously part of our group.  I learnt that Stavro had booked four aisles together, and he organised us into groups according to ability.  He and Jo were in the top foursome, and I volunteered to join the novices' four.

If I had a job ten-pin-bowling I'd be bankrupt in a fortnight.  Give me something with a hard disk and an Ethernet card in it, and I can do wonders.  Put a bowling ball in my hand and I might as well just drop it straight in the ditch before I start.  I threw ball after ball down the aisle at those pins, and after however many goes you get, I had twenty-six points on the board.  One of the girls brought along her boyfriend who had never bowled before, and even he got more points than me.

However, if I was the worst bowler in the building, Josephine was quite the opposite.  Stavro and Jo, playing two aisles to my left, were vying for the lead all evening, and with just two balls remaining each, Jo was only three points behind.  They had the sort of scores I get when I'm playing Scrabble.  However, after the final balls were bowled -- Jo had three, Stavro only two, I don't know why -- Jo was suddenly streets ahead.  Maybe I could bowl better if I understood the scoring.

Jim stood on a chair to announce the winners.  I got a wooden spoon as the lowest scorer, and Spic Cheney, another dancer in my set of four, got a prize as most promising newcomer.  "Now we always find something exotic for our winner," said Jim, "and tonight is no exception.  Jo has made the highest score during a Bowling Night since Stavro 'Seven-Strikes' Mueller won the title in 1992, so we have a special prize for her tonight.  I want her to take Doug here home and try it out, and she can tell us all afterwards how she got on."

Jim pulled the box from his bag and handed it to Jo.  Marked on the side in large, friendly letters were the words "Another weird idea from Jim the Unhinged".  She read these words aloud, looked at me in a sort of strange, almost frightening manner, and then looked back at Jim.  "The instructions are in the box ?" she asked.  After Jim nodded, she turned to me and said "Are you up for this ?"

"What do you mean ?" I asked.

"You've been to the club two or three times," she explained, "and you know what his tricks are like.  If I know Jim, this is some untried experiment that might turn you into a herring or something.  What do you think ?"

"Well, if I expect you girls to put up with this treatment on stage," I said, "it's only fair I should help in the research.  Whatever happens, I'm sure that Jim can make good any damage."

"Great stuff, Doug," said Jim, "I knew we could count on you.  You go and let Jo do this trick to you, and you'll never be rude about magician's assistants again."  I didn't think I had ever been rude in the past, but never mind.

Well, I walked the half-mile or so back to Jo's flat with her and went in.  She sent me in to the kitchen to make the coffee while she unloaded her new toy onto the living-room floor, pulling out a sheet of paper covered with Jim's instructions and diagrams.  When I returned with a pair of mugs a few minutes later, she had assembled a small structure of chromed metal tubes forming a pair of hinged hammocks swinging in a three-dimensional metal frame.  The whole assembly was about nine inches high.  She had lifted what looked like a leather triangle with straps from the box and was laying it out on the table when I arrived with the drinks.

"Get your kit off, then," she ordered, putting down the last of the strips of leather and reaching for my shirt buttons.  When I asked her what was going on, she refused to tell me.  "Look," she said, "Every Friday night you see me and the other girls half naked, and put into whatever sick trick Jim's doing that night.  I don't think there's a square inch of skin on any of the girls that you've not seen.  You've been going out with me for four weeks now, and I've not even seen you with your shirt off.  Well, now it's my turn.  Get them off, and you can find out how the trick works as we go, same as us girls have to."

I had to concede that she had a point, so my shirt came off, followed by my shoes and so on, until I stood there completely unencumbered by clothing.  Jo was still in the jeans and T-shirt she'd gone bowling in, and took the opportunity to play on our reversed roles.  She delighted in commenting on my body, generally making me feel like an object.

"Yes, alright, I get the point.  Can we get on now ?" I asked.  Jo passed me the black leather assembly -- a sort of triangular panel with a circular hole in it.  A leather strap ran from each corner.  I asked Jo what to do with it, so she took it back and knelt down in front of me.  She put my dick through the hole, and then reached behind the panel and pushed each of my balls through it, one at a time.  It was quite a snug fit, and when she let go of the leather, it just hung there in front of me.  She told me to turn round, and then took a strap from each of the top two corners and connected them to each other behind my back.  She pulled the bottom strap between my buttocks and connected it to the former two.  All three straps were tightened unmercifully, and I asked her to be careful, but she reminded me of how I'd tied her up the first time we met (me? that was Jim!) and made them all the tighter.  When she was satisfied, she asked me to turn round to face her once more.  She reached between my legs and felt for the bottom point of the triangle, and pressed somewhere, and I felt something give way.  She did something similar to the other two corners -- one in front of each hip -- and suddenly she was kneeling up in front of me, holding the triangular plate of leather, with my pride and joy still attached!  She stood and held the item up alongside her face and, looking at me with a wicked grin, licked her lips.  In spite of myself, I felt the blood coursing through my temples, and watched in mortified embarrassment as my disconnected dick started to fill.  Jo was delighted.

She turned round and put my cock and balls on the table, near the metal frame she'd assembled while I was making the coffee.  "Now," she said, "Did you ever watch Blue Peter ?".  I replied in the affirmative, and she grinned and said "Well, here's something I prepared earlier."  She reached into the box which Jim had given her and lifted out a matching triangular panel of white leather, and framed in the oval aperture in the leather was her own smoothly shaven sex.  She put her triangle down face-up next to mine on the table and looked at me for my reaction.  I don't think I've ever been so hard, or seen myself from quite that angle.

"When did you do that ?" I asked.

"When you were making the coffee.  If you work as a magician's assistant, you get used to getting in and out of strange costumes quickly, so getting my jeans off, popping the weasel and putting them back on wasn't difficult."

"So what happens now ?"

"Now we get to test Newton's Cradle here," she said gesturing towards the metal frame.  She took her triangle and slid it into the swinging section on one side of the frame, facing the centre of the structure.  She did the same with mine on the other side, and demonstrated how the two sections each swung freely backwards and forwards.  "Now the best bit," she said, "when I get to catch up on the last four weeks.  Four weeks when all you've done is buy me coffees and hold my hand.  This is what you should have been doing."

She swung both hammocks back to the limit of their travel, and swung my weapon into line with hers.  She eased me in, and pushed the two back together again.  "Now isn't that a lot better ?" she asked.  "This is good," she said, "you'll like this."  She flipped a switch on the base of the unit, and the two triangles started to slide slowly apart.  A couple of inches out, and then the direction of travel reversed until the two sides met, my balls squeezed out the sides of the two triangles as our respective leather panels were pressed firmly against each other.  "One cycle every five seconds," she said, "means that you never get to go fast enough to finish.  I bet we can last for hours.  Get your clothes on."

"Clothes on ?" I parroted, stupidly.  "What do you mean, get your clothes on ?"  It is hard to think straight when you're talking to someone while your detached genitalia are having sex with each other on the coffee table a few feet away.

She lifted the frame back into the empty box, complete with our detached bits and pieces still pistoning merrily away at twelve strokes a minute.  "Two reasons -- no, three.  Firstly, Jim wanted us to tell him if all this worked.  Then I want to see if we can adjust this thing for speed.  Finally, I want to get him to build this thing for other bits of our bodies.  So, We're off to Jim's house."

"Aren't we going to stop the machine and put ourselves back together again ?"

"Not likely," she said.  "I haven't had any for six months and I'm not going to stop now."

She finished both cups of coffee while I dressed, and taking the box under her arm, led me out of the flat and round the corner to a three-storey Victorian house about a quarter of a mile away.  It felt most odd following her through the night time streets of Exeter while the machine in the box she was carrying kept sliding me in and out of her at that maddeningly slow pace.

We strode up the front steps of Jim's house and she rang the bell.  She turned round to look at me, and her face was flushed and she was breathing a little quicker than the short walk demanded.  She was about to say something when the door swung back and a middle-aged dumpy woman looked out.

"Hi Mrs D.  Is Jim here ?"

Mrs D opened the door fully and gestured us in.  "Hello Jo.  Yes, he's downstairs with the twins," she said, "and he told me to expect you about now.  This must be Doug."

I smiled and nodded -- I was in no state to make conversation -- and followed Jo through a small door under the main staircase, and down a narrow flight to the basement, a well-lit pair of rooms looking a little like an old library or second-hand junkshop.  The stairs opened up into a room about fifteen feet square, with a wide arch to another room of similar size.  The second room had a workbench around the three far walls, and the room we entered had a sofa and a couple of comfy chairs.

On the sofa were the twins,  Spic and Span Cheney.  They were lying down with their heads at opposite ends of the seat, each wearing a leather bikini top, one in brown leather and one in black.  They were joined end-to-end at the waist so neither of them had any hips or legs.  "Hi Jo, Hi Doug," said one, "excuse us for not getting up but Jim's been playing surgeon again."  In the centre of the room their two bottom halves, joined waist to waist, were knelt facing each other.  Again, each was wearing the usual tight leather shorts, one each in brown and black.

Jim came in from the other room with a tray and greeted us.  "Hello boys and girls.  Coffee ?"  He placed the tray on the girl's backs, where the two bottom halves of the Spanish twins were acting as a table.  "Hey, Jo.  You remember when I tried to do this with you and Suzy and it wouldn't work ?  Well, when I discovered that Spica and Spanula were twins, I thought it was worth a try, and it works a treat.  One lump or two ?"

Jo and I sat on the two easy chairs while Jim gave us a brief lecture about tissue types and compatible immune systems.  He was pacing backwards and forwards waving his arms like a college professor, delighted with this latest experiment like a boy with a new toy.  The twins were unimpressed, and grumbled about the difficulties of drinking coffee when they couldn't both sit upright at once.  Jo and I had our own difficulties drinking, since the box at Jo's feet was still driving me into and out of her every five seconds or so.

"Bugger biochemistry," Jo exclaimed eventually, "we didn't come here to discuss your cut-and-paste games with the twins.  We've  got our own situation to talk about."

Jim picked up the coffee tray and took it back to the kitchen, while Jo lifted our sex machine out of the box and placed it on the twin's backs.  "Is that what I think it is ?" asked one of them.  "Damn right it is," said the other, "these two have been bonking steadily since before they came down the stairs."

Jim returned from the other room and looked at the chromed metal cage.  "It worked, then.  You're both showing remarkable composure."

Jo reached out and rested her finger on the switch.  She waited until the two halves of the structure were at their greatest separation, and then flipped the switch to the off position.  She reached into the frame and popped my tool out of its organic dock and sat back in her chair.  "You can have too much of it.  And it's so damn slow, going backwards and forwards like a train with leaves on the line.  Can't it go any faster ?"

"It's only a motor," said Jim, "an old windscreen wiper motor and a handful of batteries.  If I give it twelve volts instead of six, it would speed up."

"What about doing this with other bits of our bodies ?" asked Jo, lifting my dick out of the frame and handing it to me.  "I'm sure we could do something interesting besides this."

Jim said he would see if he had something.  While Jo and I were re-attaching our respective equipment in their original locations, he went back to his lab and pulled a box out from under one of the benches.  He pulled a handful of white leather garments out of the box and passed them to Jo.  As I dressed myself once more, she undressed completely and started to put on the stuff provided by Jim.  First, obviously, was a pair of her trademark white shorts.  These were almost too small, and the waist had to be pulled quite tight before it could be done up.  A cupless bikini top followed -- two hoops of white leather, one at the base of each breast, so that the flesh stood out from the hole in the centre.  This was attached with a roller buckle in the back.  Two wide bands of the same white leather formed a cuff at the very top of each arm.  Finally, a white leather hood, with a circular aperture for her face, laced tightly from the crown of her head down to the back of her neck.

"These work just like the things you were wearing earlier," Jim explained to Jo, "we should be able to pop the panels off and break you up into pieces."

Jo had that expression on her face again.  She didn't know whether to dread what Jim was about to do to her, or to look forward to it.  I suppose the two feelings aren't too far apart.  Jo asked if Jim would let her do most of the work herself, and Jim said that he didn't see why not.  "Just lie down on the floor, and you should be able to do most of it."

Jo stretched herself out on the floor between the sofa and the twins' legs.  Instructed by Jim, she reached around behind the tops of her right leg and pressed a certain spot in the hemline of the shorts, whereupon her leg detached itself from her hip.  A cap of white leather covered the top end of her thigh, but the place where it had been removed seemed to be hollow.  Jim asked her to turn her leg around end-for-end and push it, foot first, into the open leg-hole of the shorts.  She did so, and as the leg slid home, the edge of the cap at its top end fused with the open end of the shorts, leaving a distinctive circular ridge or seam.  She then did just the same with her left leg, so she appeared completely free of lower limbs, seemingly stopping at the hips.  "I can't feel my legs now," she said, "it's as if they're not there.  They each went numb just as they slid home."

The next stage was her waist.  Again on Jim's command, she felt around her waistband for the release, and when she found it her hips, still inside the shorts, dropped away from the upper half of her body.  She picked up her hips, placing them on the floor in front of herself, upside down.  Jo levered herself upright, so that she was stood on the opposite cut surface of the same waist.  "I can still feel that.  Now what do I do ?" she asked.

"Now you get your tits off." said Jim.  Very shortly the two white leather hoops had split to release their mounds of flesh, and Jo placed them face-up on the floor between her top and bottom sections.  "Your arms want to go the same way as your legs," said Jim, "but I don't think you'll be able to do them both."  Jo detached her left arm at the shoulder with relative ease, feeding it back into the hole in the remaining part of the cuff, but then she ran into trouble.  She could not reach the spot on the cuff high up on her right arm using the hand on the same side.  "Help her out, Doug," said Jim.

I knelt alongside her curtailed body and felt around the cuff at her right shoulder.  I felt a bump, like a piece of metal embedded in the surface of the leather, and pushed firmly against it.  The cuff divided along its length and her arm dropped the eighteen inches or so to the floor.  I picked it up and looked at it.  The severed end was covered by the white leather which had formed one half of the cuff, but the remainder of the arm was conventional enough.  The limb was definitely still alive, since the hand was warm where I held it, and squeezed back when I squeezed it.  I turned it round and pointed the fingers at the gap in Jo's right shoulder.  As I fed the arm into the darkness within, I felt it become steadily lighter.  It was as if the arm was ceasing to exist.  When the cap at the end of the arm met the remaining half of the cuff, the two edges seemed to swallow each other and she was left with the cap over the armless corner of her shoulder.

"There's a cut at the bottom of her top, Doug," prompted Jim, so I felt around the bottom edge of the white leather bikini and felt the stud under where her left arm used to be.  I released it and lifted her shoulders and chest away from her waist, which remained on the floor.  Jim bent down and flipped her waist over so that it was upside down.  I lowered her onto her inverted waist and watched the narrower end of it disappear up inside her ribcage.  Again, the two edges of the leather garment fused, and Jo was getting smaller and smaller.

Where is all this going, Jim ?" asked Jo.

"You asked if we could do the detached trick on other bits of your body," Jim replied, "and we're just demonstrating it.  Your face is next."

Jim knelt down in front of Jo and his finger stabbed out to strike a spot just below and to the left of Jo's left eye.  His finger landed on the edge of the circular hole in the white leather hood which Jo was wearing.  The panel lifted away, a perfect circle about six inches in diameter, and suddenly Jo's face was in Jim's hands.  He handed her face to me, and I propped it up, resting on her inverted hips and looking between her breasts at what was left of her top half.  The remainder of Jo stood on the floor, a faceless head wrapped in white leather, an armless pair of shoulders, and a breastless chest, the whole measuring only a couple of feet in height.

"Nearly finished now," said Jim, "just your head and shoulders to go.  Doug, pop the top edge of the boob tube."

I felt around the upper edge of the garment and found the stud.  Lifting her head and shoulders from the leather-clad lower section, I inverted them and lowered them into place.  Once the edges had sealed to each other, we were left with the white leather cylinder which had previously been the strapless bikini top, with two plain white disks where her breasts had been, and plain leather surfaces on top and (I assumed) below.  It sloped from about five inches high at the front edge to two inches at the back.  Jim picked this up, crumpled the leather into a ball and lobbed it back into the box from whence it came.

"So what happens now, Jim ?" asked Jo from her place on the floor.

"Now we re-assemble.  Doug, pick up her hips and come here."

I left her face on the floor between her detached breasts and brought her hips to Jim's improvised table.  Jim was about to tell me what to do when a voice came from the sofa.  "My knees are killing me," one of the twins said: "can we both stand up for a bit ?"

I picked up Jo's disembodied hips, and Jim helped the bottom half of the pair of twins back onto their four feet.  This left us with a table about three feet high.  I put Jo's hips back down again.

Jim picked up Jo's face and placed it on the top of Jo's hips, where her waist had been detached earlier.  There was about an inch gap on either side, so we pulled on the edges of the leather until suddenly it caught, and the edges came together like a soap bubble popping.  Her face had become secured to the top of her hips and the seam around the edge had melded with the waistband of her shorts.

"This all feels very odd," said Jo, "I can't feel my body at all."  She paused momentarily for a sort of internal audit, and grinned.  "I can't feel my anything any more.  Jim, stop that."

"So  you can still feel these" said Jim, carrying her two breasts nipple-to-nipple and rubbing them against each other.  "These are going on where your legs came off."

With Jim on one side and me on the other, we attached her breasts to the leg holes on her shorts.  Again, the leather seams leapt to knit themselves together upon contact.

Now Jo rested before us dressed only in her white shorts, a bizarre figure only a foot or so across.  her breasts stuck out of the leg holes and the waistband framed her face.  Nothing else remained.  "Those shorts have got to come off" said Jim. "Doug, will you oblige ?"

"Do you mind, Jo ?" I asked, concerned that the dramatically reduced dancer might find her situation uncomfortable.

"I can hardly stop you," retorted Jo with a huge grin plastered across her face.  I unzipped her shorts and pushed them back off her hips.  I lifted her out of them and held her up to look at her, the perfect compact girlfriend.  I had a breast and buttock in each hand, a face on top and a pair of holes below -- what more could you want ?  Jo was delighted.  "This is brilliant, Doug.  How to lose weight in one easy lesson.  I could spend all week like this if you were here to feed me and keep me clean."  I had to say that the prospect was attractive.

While I was admiring Jo, and she was making lewd suggestions about what I could do to her in her restructured state, Jim was leading the twins' four legs to the far side of the room.  He stood them table-fashion near the wall, and asked me to put Jo down on the floor.

"Now Doug," he said as he walked towards me, "Your bowling earlier was not far off the worst I've seen and you could use a bit of coaching."

"Jim, you bastard," shrieked Jo from the floor, "you are not using me for bowling practice.  If you do I'll ..."

Jim kept walking towards Jo and me, and as he came he reached smoothly into his pocket and retrieved a large white snooker ball from his pocket, a ball with which Jo and I were already familiar.  I had just enough time to place a bet with myself concerning what he'd do with the ball, when he stooped and popped it into Jo's mouth, where it wedged snugly behind her teeth.  He didn't even slow down.  He stopped a few feet behind me and directed me to pick Jo up and join him.

Jim looked across the room at the twins' legs.  "I suppose this is four-pin bowling."  He turned the furious Jo over in my arms, "You need to hold your hand like this.  Put your thumb in here and your fingers here ..."

Jo didn't talk to me for about three days after Bowling Night.  I can't say I'm surprised.


story continues in part four - Sandy on the Pole


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