See also Hannah's story
The Claustrophile: Tom
A few days after my first ‘adult’ magician’s gig I received a phone call.
“Hello, Tom, here,” I answered.
“Oh hi, um, I was, kind of, expecting an answerphone. Are you busy?”
“That depends on if you’re talking immediately or for the next few weeks. By the way, who am I talking to?”
“Oh, sorry, I’m Hannah. I was speaking to Angela and she suggested that I might like to be a magician’s assistant. I’ve seen the video Robert took. I was amazed. Angela said that you could probably do some stuff that I would enjoy.”
I was not taking all this in, because I was trying to remember if I had met any Angelas or Roberts recently.
Then the whole conversation slid to a halt, when she added, “Angela even suggested that you could probably give me the fucking I need in the process.”
“Whoa, Lady. Are you sure you’ve got the right number?” I exclaimed.
“This is the number Angela gave me,” and she reeled off my number.
“That’s my number, but who is Angela?” I asked.
“Oh, sorry. Of course, she uses her other name when she has her ‘Interesting Experiences’.”
The phrase rang a bell. “So that would be Annie, right?” Annie had been my assistant at the ‘adult’ show I had done and kept referring to it as an ‘interesting experience’.
“Yes,” confirmed Hannah.
“So you’ve spoken to Annie, Angela, whatever, and seen the video that her ‘Master’ took, and he’s called Robert?” Hannah made an affirmative noise. “So you think you might like to be my assistant?”
“Well, yes and no.” she responded.
“That tells me nothing,” I commented. “So what do you want?”
“I want to book you for a private show.”
“Ok, when? I’ll see if I can fit it into my calendar.” I was at my computer bringing up my calendar app, so when she said a date I could tell her if I could do whatever date she said.
“I don’t know, when are you free?”
“What?” I was confused.
“Oh, I’m sorry. When I said I want to book you for a private show, I meant I want to book you for a VERY private show; just you, me and a video camera, so I can see what you did to me afterwards.”
“Ok,” I said dubiously. “You want to meet me for a private magic show and be my assistant with no audience other than a video camera?”
“Finally, he gets it. That’s exactly what I want, and, if Angela is right about you, and she reads people well, generally, I think I’d like to have sex in the process.”
“And do you have any idea what tricks you’d like to be involved in?” I was trying to ignore the offer of sex; I am not the type that lusts after anything with a skirt and a pulse; the time and the people have to be right too. Also I was not doing these types of show, because I wanted the sex, but so I could perform the magic I wanted to perform.
“Yes, I do. I want to be in magic boxes. I love being inside boxes. You might call it my kink; I’m a claustrophile; I love being in confining and enclosed spaces. I guess it stems from having my first orgasm while hiding in a laundry basket, aged fourteen.”
“So things like ‘the Hindu sword basket’, or ‘the sword box’, or ‘the Origami box’?”
“I guess, but what is ‘the Origami box’?” she asked.
“That’s where I put you in a smallish box and then fold it until it is impossibly small, with you still inside it, and then I stick swords through in each direction.”
“Wow! That sounds like I might get a kick out of it. But will there be boxes where you won’t stick things in the box with me? ‘Coz, I guess once you've been in a box and had things stuck through you, doing it again might be a bit dull, right?”
I realized at this point I had only mentioned box and blade tricks. “Of course, there are box tricks that don’t involve blades, it’s just that those were the first to come to mind. I reckon I should be able to put together a varied program for you.”
“Great, and when can you fit me in?”
“If you don’t mind a weekday morning, any time after a couple of weeks; you see most of my normal work is in the afternoons and evenings.”
“And why the delay? Why not next week?”
“Because it’ll take me a little time to plan and get together what I need for your show, I’m just starting, so I don’t have everything available immediately. So how about we exchange email addresses and then work from there.”
Between normal engagements and preparing for Hannah’s private show, it took nearly four weeks to get everything together, during which we corresponded by email about her measurements, so that I could make sure I did not make the same mistake I had made with the sawing in half of Annie, of building it the wrong size.
Hannah also said how she wanted the tone of the show; she wanted to turn up and be told what to do and experience the results. She also told me about safewords; it seems that Annie had felt a little vulnerable without a way to indicate that she needed to stop, but with ‘Master’ there she felt that she had some back-up, if needed. Hannah told me that if she said, ‘Yellow’, I was to slow down a bit and if she said ‘Red’, I was to stop straight away and find out what the problem was.
The day of Hannah’s very private show arrived. I had borrowed several cameras to record what happened and set the whole thing up in a small industrial unit (that favour cost me a kid’s party for the owner's little girl). I had told Hannah to arrive at 10 o’clock and come straight in. At nine-thirty, I took up position in a chair on the roof, the section that held the office and the toilets.
About a minute past ten, Hannah arrived. She came in the door into the office section and then out into the main space. I allowed her a little time to look round and get her bearings. I also used the remotes to turn on all the cameras, except the hand-held camera that sat on top of one of the boxes arrayed around the area.
I got a good look at her. She was wearing a coat open and underneath she seemed to have gone for the same style of t-shirt and mid length skirt that Annie had arrived at the gig in. She was also definitely petite.
“Hello?” she called.
I whispered into a microphone and my voice came from a speaker at the rear of the space. “Please confirm you are the Hannah I have an appointment with!”
She turned to look in the direction my voice came from and seemed surprised not to see anyone. I repeated my request that she identify herself as Hannah, while she looked round to see if she could spot where I was. I was beginning like this because what I had planned could be deemed assault if performed on an unsuspecting person.
“Yes, I am Hannah. And I assume you must be Tom, right?”
“Yes, I am Tom. Shall we begin with a bit of housekeeping before the main event? And, maybe, a few instructions to help this go smoothly.”
“Ok,” she said to the space in general.
“Firstly, unless instructed otherwise, you will remain in the circle chalked on the floor. This is because that is the only area covered by the cameras. I decided that using several cameras would make recording your private show easier; I shall be sending you an edit that will make the best of the show, but I’ll also be sending you the raw video from each camera.”
“Secondly, I have a box for you to inspect. It is at the edge of the circle near the speaker I am using. Please go to it and describe it.”
As she approached the box, she seemed to slow as if appreciating it like a work of art. “That’s a beautiful box!” she breathed. “It’s a trapezoidal box constructed of steel and glass.” I was a bit surprised when she reached out and caressed the box.
“And how would you get into the box?” I asked.
“Let’s see,” she pondered. “Hmmm, it seems to be constructed as a solid box; no opening lid or anything like that.” She paced round the box. “There only seems to be one way to get anything into or out of the box and that is unscrewing the bolts on this side.”
“And what about the hole in the lid?”
“Sorry, I hadn’t spotted that with the other things lying on top. But I couldn’t put anything thicker than my elbow in there. What is this other stuff, anyway?”
“Well, there’s a hand-held camera, so that we can get close-ups of what is happening, when it is needed. Then there’s a Bluetooth earpiece, so we can communicate more easily; if you could put that in now, it will also record our talk so that it can be added to the video.” She picked up the earpiece and began fitting it. “Next there’s a sheet of security labels; you can see they’ve been scored so that once they are stuck down trying to peel them off will cause them to break apart.” I switched from the microphone to the earpiece I was already wearing. “There that’ll be more comfortable; you won’t have to shout.”
“You’ve got a nice voice; kind of calm, in control and reassuring. I get the feeling that following your instructions will bring me only pleasant things, even if that goes against common sense.”
“You’re in luck, because I’m a magician and common sense has very little to do with what I shall be doing to you and with you.” I gave her a moment to take that in. “But we weren’t talking about my voice, we were talking about security labels. As you mentioned the only practical way to get into or out of that box is to undo the bolts and remove the side. To prevent that I want you to apply a security label to each of the bolts and then use the marker on top of the box to sign each one; do you understand?” From my vantage point I could see that she did and was getting on with the task I had set her.
“Yes, er,” she seemed to be casting around for a proper conclusion to the sentence, finally settling for, “I understand.” As the last label was being signed, she decided that the question needed asking. “How do I address you? Do I call you ‘Sir’ or ‘Tom’ or something else?”
“In the current setting, ‘Tom’ is just fine,” I said. While her posture did not change, she seemed a little disappointed, so I added. “If you wanted to be a magician’s assistant, on another occasion, perhaps more public, then we would have to decide if another form of address would be more appropriate.”
Hannah seemed to straighten and be more proud. “The security labels are done and signed. Nobody is getting into that box without destroying those labels.”
“That is all with that box for the moment, so we move on to the first illusion. You will need to take the camera and the other item on there that looks like a small remote control.” She grabbed the camera and then the last item from the top of the box and held it up. “Yes, that’s the thing,” I confirmed to her.
“Now, go over to the wooden crate and check it out for solidity and tell me about any unusual features you spot. You may video your inspection as it will probably be good to put in an insert in the final video.”
Hannah walked over to the crate and looked inside. Holding the camera in one hand, she tapped the sides and base of the crate, producing some solid thuds. “Features to this box? Hmm. Well we have a metal loop on each side,” she said, touring the box and giving each loop a tug to be sure it was secure. “These, I assume line up with the plates at the edge of the lid over there with enough space to be locked down with the padlocks. The only other odd thing about this crate I’ve noticed is the small holes built into either end; they’re, maybe, three fingers widths wide (perhaps fractionally more).”
“That’s good. You’ve mentioned all the features that I intended you to find, but if you spot anything else, let me know, ok?”
“Do I get in the box now, Tom?” she asked. I thought I detected some pleading in her voice. I wondered if her claustrophilia was being triggered by being shown two boxes that she liked the look of, and was yearning to be inside.
“Not just yet, Hannah, there is more work to do before you see a box from the inside.” She seemed to snap to attention. “The first bit involves using the remote control. Press the ‘start’ button.”
She peered at the remote and pressed the button, then jumped at the sound of a diesel engine starting up in the darkened area outside the chalk circle; the noise soon faded to an idle.
“Now, you may have spotted the steel cable with the hook on the end lying on the floor. You should find that the hook will fit through the holes in the ends of the box, but you will need to operate the winch control and pay out enough cable for it to reach through the crate. You may also want to press the light switch so you can see what you’re doing.”
Hannah pressed the light button and was bathed in the headlights of an SUV with a winch mounted on the front. A little experimentation showed her which of the winch buttons paid out and which pulled in. “How far do you want the hook through the crate?” she asked.
“I want the hook to be between six and twelve inches beyond the hole it comes out of; this will give you enough space to work with it, without too much slack.”
I watched as she fed the hook through the box paying out just enough cable to get the hook to reach the area I specified. “I’ve done that, Tom; now what?”
“Now you put the lid on the box and lock it down with the padlocks that are currently on the lid. Please, be careful not to dislodge the other thing on there and not to prematurely lock any of the padlocks, because I have the keys, I shall not be unlocking any of those locks until I’m ready and missing padlocks diminish the wonder of the trick.”
Suitably warning she went over to the lid and turned the hasps of all padlocks so that they could not lock by accident. She then knocked on the lid to ensure that it was as solid as the rest of the box. She carried the lid over to the box and rested it on the edge; I think to assess if it had a particular way round it needed to be placed on the box. She then slid it into place and flapped the metal plates into place. Next she fitted the padlocks to fasten the lid to the box on all four sides; it seemed to me that she did this a little mournfully, as if she had been shown two lovely boxes that she wanted to be inside, but could not get inside.
As the final padlock clicked shut, I said, “Now, Hannah, you are going to earn your entry into this box. Please remove all your clothes; you’ll find a basket to put them in so they aren’t in the way and will remain clean for you to re-dress when we are finished.”
For a moment she seemed torn between doing a striptease, so trying to make something of her undressing, and getting out of her clothes as fast as she could in the hope of being in a box sooner. In the end she undressed in an unhurried manner; I assume because not knowing where I was viewing from a tease dance would lose its impact and she wanted to display a bit of dignity, rather show quite how much she wanted to be inside either of the fine boxes I had shown her. The coat, blouse, skirt and bra had been put into the basket, when she asked, “Shall I take off my shoes too?”
“Yes, the shoes and socks go too. I swept the floor, so other than some grit, perhaps, it should be clear of anything that might hurt you.”
The shoes and socks and finally Hannah’s panties found their temporary homes in the basket. She moved to the centre of the circle and did a self-displaying turn on the spot, before returning to the crate. She may not have been very tall, but she was well proportioned, with an ample supply of womanly curves. I failed to resist the comment, “You look good enough to eat.”
She seemed worried by that comment, so I asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know what you plan to do with me, but I hope that that comment was metaphorical rather than literal; while people get off on vore fantasy, I would rather not be involved.”
Being a relative newb in the world of fantasy, I had to google it on my laptop to discover what she was talking about, and quickly dismissed the worry that I was planning something that she was not into. “No, vore-anything going to happen today, although it might be interesting to try if I could find a willing vore-ee, if that’s a word. I just meant you have a beautiful body.”
She seemed to relax from the tension the vore-issue had instilled and appeared to accept the compliment I had intended all along. “I’m naked, what’s next?”
“Put on the belt that you had on the lid and then attach the loop on the back to the hook you so carefully pulled through the box, making sure that the remote is within easy reach, as you’ll be needing that in a few moments.”
She examined the thick leather belt, before wrapping it around her middle and fastening the buckle. She took a moment to shift it until it was comfortable, then she grabbed the remote and went to the end of the box that the hook hung from. She had just enough room to attach the hook to the belt.
“I’m hooked up, Tom.”
“Right, on the remote you’ll find a red button. Press that once! These next instructions are very important for your safety; crouch down as small as you can, then press the ‘winch in’ button once and then drop it immediately.”
I could picture her face on the horns of a dilemma. Did she press the button and possibly be pulled against the crate and dragged across the floor until the crate smashed into the winch and hopeful jammed it, or did she have faith that I would not ask her to do something dangerous and let the magic happen?
It took Hannah about three seconds to make the decision. The revs of the SUV briefly picked up and the winch jerked the cable about four feet. The box had moved a few inches, but Hannah was nowhere in sight. Where she had been was the remote for the SUV. The cable stretched from the box to the winch. As it happened I heard Hannah emit a cross between a surprised scream and an ‘urk’ sound. As I lowered the ladder to leave the office roof I heard her sigh, as if a lot of tension had been relieved.
I approached the box and picked up the remote, pressing the red button. I tapped lightly on the box. “Hannah, are you alright in there?”
“Fine, thank you, Tom.” And she sounded the most relaxed I had heard her.
“I need you to do one thing before I release you; unhook the hook from your belt. You take that off too if you want; you won’t be needing it again today.”
There were a couple of thuds from inside the crate, then a scraping noise as Hannah fed the hook out through the hole nearest the SUV. I pressed the wind button until the hook could be hooked into its stowage place, then killed the car.
“I’ll get you some water, then you can get out, but not until I say.”
“Ok,” she said.
When I returned with a large glass of water, I could hear Hannah making the small sounds of pleasure, rather than interrupt her I went round the crate unlocking the padlocks and hinging the metal plates they held down back onto the lid. I made my way into the darkness behind the SUV. She was soon quietly yelling her orgasm to all within Bluetooth range.
When her breathing had settled, I said, “Hannah, you may now exit the box.”
The box lid rose and then slid from the box; making a clatter as it hit the floor. Hannah emerged from the box beaded in sweat, but seeming a little happier for her time in the crate.
“Have yourself a drink of water!”
She picked up the glass and took a small sip. For a moment, I wondered if she suspected that I might have drugged it; that is not my style at all, if I really wanted to take someone (something I have never done), I would use my hypnosis; I would be in control and there is no known test that will detect that the victim was hypnotised. Hannah then drained the glass in a single gulp.
Time to move on to the next illusion I had planned.
“Time for the next piece of magic, Hannah. Please shift the crate to the back of the circle, near the speaker; we will need the space of the next thing we are going to do. If you pop the lid inside the box and then slide it, you should not have too much difficulty. Oh! And the glass can go in there too.”
She followed my instructions and I sensed a little relief that I had not mentioned her self-indulgence while inside the box.
As the crate came to rest at the edge of the chalked circle, I pointed out a small platform on which lay the flattened carcase of a cardboard box. “Position the platform in the centre of the circle, you may have noticed a chalked ‘X’, that’s the centre. Take the box too.”
Hannah snatched up the box and bent down to drag the platform on its stubby feet, but discovered that it was light enough to carry and walked back to the centre; I think I caught a longing glance directed towards the steel and glass box. Dropping the box on the floor she carefully set the platform in the middle of the circle; she even went so far as to lean over it and squint through the hole in its centre to check it was lined up on the cross making the midpoint of the performance area.
“Good. I applaud your precision, but it only really needed to be over the cross; the cameras have sufficient depth of field to catch everything. If you continue to take as much care, I may see if I can teach you a trick or two. Now, I assume that you know how to set up a box by tucking in the flaps in turn and then tucking the corner of the last flap under the first.”
“Yes, Tom,” she said; I had difficulty discerning if she was just confirming my assumption or was being sarcastic. I also did not know if I should call her out on this doubt; it seemed she knew where she wanted to be in a relationship and appeared that sarcasm did not fit with the role she wanted. On balance, I decided, today was supposed to be about me showing her what it is to be my assistant and deviating too far from that would spoil things, but I made a mental note to query this at another time, if such a time occurred.
“Ok, assemble the box so that it has a base and place that base on the platform; you’ll find that it fits neatly inside the rim on the platform; that way it won’t fall off, unless it gets pushed too hard.”
She looked at the box and then opened it up until it was square. She studied it for a moment, possibly to determine which end was the bottom. She made her decision and turned the whole thing over, before systematically folding in the flaps and completing the tucking of the face. Hannah then aligned the box with the platform and dropped it on, where it bounced slightly and settled into place.
“Good. Now, you will have seen that there was a pot of sticks and a step ladder next to where you got those items from.” I saw her nod. “Bring them near to the box! In fact, place the stepladder directly next to the platform and fold down the top flap on that side so that it is held down by the ladder.”
It did not take long for the ladder to be placed as instructed and the pot nearby. “Now, I want you to pick a stick from the pot and check it out. Describe it too!”
Hannah went to the pot and after a second of indecision she pulled a stick from the pot. I already knew that all the sticks in the pot were metre long 15mm dowel rods that I had made some attempt to sharpen (just a few swipes with a spoke-shaving tool, because I have never found a thing like a pencil sharpener, but big enough).
“Well, it’s wood and it’s round. It’s a round wooden stick a bit longer than my leg and someone has tried to sharpen one end. I guess this needs to be poked through the cardboard of the box and I suppose it is sharp enough for that, but I doubt it would spear anything more substantial, but it might scratch if it was run across skin.”
I got the impression that she had looked at the components that were being assembled for the next trick and concluded that the plan was that she got in the box and then a lot of sharpened dowel rods would join her in the enclosed space inside the box. Her final comment suggested to me that she was expecting the rods to miss her, but perhaps come close enough to scrape across her skin, which I assumed she would take as evidence of carelessness on my part.
“Good summary!” I praised, “now it is time for you to get into the box and crouch down or sit down, as you like; you just need to have your head below the edge of the box. Once in the box, topple the ladder away from the box and fold in the top flaps to make a top, in the same way you did for the base.” She was already part way up the ladder and considering if she needed to take an extra step up to make getting into the box easier. “I would suggest that you take a position that you find comfortable or at least easy to hold, because you may be in there for a while.”
It turned out that the box was a little taller than her leg length, but she managed to climb from the ladder into the box without damaging the edge of the box; perhaps the fact that it was a folded down edge reinforced it. While she stood in the box she pushed the steps over; they landed with a clatter and folded up. She took the folded down flap and drew it back up and over herself as she curled herself into the box. Her hand reappeared to pull down each flap in turn and then there was a short struggle to get the loose end of the last flap under the first flap.
I waited a few seconds, before asking if she was ready for the next bit. She answered that she was just getting settled, which was obvious from the occasional twitch of the box. The box went still and Hannah announced that she was ready, although I could detect some tension in her voice, which I think is perfectly natural, especially if the question in her head was ‘What if he gets too close to spearing me?’
I moved quietly from my vantage point behind the SUV and went to the pot of rods and selected two. I approached the box and endeavoured to avoid casting my shadow on the box; it would not have been detectable from the inside, but it just felt like the thing I needed to be concerned with at the time. Subtle clues allowed me to work out that Hannah was seated in the box with her back not quite resting against a particular side and her legs braced not quite in the opposite corners.
It was definitely time to surprise her and confound her expectations. I set myself in a stable stance and - holding one stick in such a way that I had a few fingers available to guide the stick in the other hand - I prepared myself to spear the box, through the face she had her back to.
“Are you ready?” I whispered into my microphone.
“Yes, I think so, Tom,” she squeaked, a product of the tension built up while I was coming to the box and expecting the first action to be a rod through the box.
“I shall count three and then do it.”
She murmured, “Ok,” as I began, “One. Two, Three.” The next moment I thrust the sharpened end of the dowel through the side of that box with a popping sound and as I had expected encountered the flesh of her back. I kept applying the force I had initiated the thrust through the box with until I felt the tip of the rod exit her body, when I sharply reduced the force to enough to have the tip of the stick reach and exit the opposite wall of the box taking into account the drag on its shaft cause by it passing through her body.
I was already winding up to thrust the second spear through the box and Hannah about a foot below the first, when I heard her shout “RED!” both through my earpiece and by direct sound in my other ear. Unfortunately, before I could react to this shout I was already halfway through her with the second rod.
Hannah shouted “Red!” again.
It took a moment to recall what ‘red’ was supposed to mean; it meant ‘Stop Now!’ I had stopped as soon as I could. Now I had to ask her what was wrong and remedy it before carrying on or abandoning the trick.
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” I asked.
There was a pause, as if she was trying to process my question in light of what she was feeling. “You only went and speared me through the chest and then again through the guts after I had called out.”
“I’m sorry about the second one, but it was underway before you shouted and I could not turn it aside, because it might have ended up somewhere worse. So, are you hurt?”
“What do you think, bucko? You just speared me through the chest and the guts, what do you expect?” Her tone was rising towards anger.
“I expect you to have a wooden stake through your chest, but I don’t expect there to be blood. Is there any blood or pain?”
There was some movement in the box and I glimpsed a hand raised to the gap in the top of the box. “I don’t feel any blood. Well, not yet anyways.”
“And you won’t, unless you find something in there to cut yourself on. That’s blood sorted. So, do you feel any pain, or are you just thinking you should feel pain because of your situation?”
“Is there a non-painful way to be speared?” Her voice was heavy with sarcasm.
“I’ll admit most people feel some small amount of pain at the start of a penetration or cutting, but that usually goes away quite quickly, are you in pain now? If you are in pain now, then being a magician’s assistant is not for you and we might as well give up.”
There was a pause of, maybe, ten or fifteen seconds while she looked for an answer to the question. “I don’t think I’m in pain, but it is certainly uncomfortable, but I guess that is something to do with having my movement limited by being skewered inside a box. In fact, come to think about it, I did not feel any pain at all; not even when the skewers hit me in the back. I suppose that it was just the shock of my situation talking.”
“What? Did you really feel no pain?” I asked.
She responded with an affirmative ‘hm’ noise.
“That may make you my perfect assistant. That is, if you feel you want to after we’ve finished today.”
It seemed to me that she was thinking about my remark and I was not sure what to do having stopped. Did I start again? Or did I need Hannah to say what to do? Or did I give up on this trick and get her out of there? I knew she was unharmed, if a bit inconvenienced, but it did not know what I was supposed to do in this situation.
“So, you stopped everything; what happens next?” I enquired.
“In general, if I am in a life-threatening situation, or one risking potential harm, you get me out as soon as possible; otherwise you wait for me to ask to be removed from the situation or to be told you may continue, possibly with some restrictions on how far, how fast or intensely you can go. In the current situation, which, it seems silly to say, does not seem to be life threatening, you wait for me to decide whether I want out or to continue and then act accordingly.”
“I thought it would be something like that, but being new to this kind of thing I thought I had better ask. Does this mean you are undecided about what to do at the moment?”
“Well, yes, kind of,” she said. “I think it’s more that I have a few questions, before I ask you to continue; if I ask you to continue.”
“Ok, ask away; I’ll answer as best I can.”
“That’s as much as I can ask. So, how many sticks are there? And will they all be going through me?”
I answered, “There are a dozen sticks left in the pot and the plan was that they all end up in the box. Inevitably, a few will go through without touching you, but the plan was that they be used to increase your tension while you wait for the next one; to enhance the experience, based on the thought that some of the enjoyment of the magic is the anticipation. And there is the consideration that if all the sticks went through you there would seem to be a gaping hole within the box where you could be, thus reducing the visual effect of the illusion.”
“I suppose that makes sense. Given I have a spear through my chest, how come I’m still able to breath and will I still be able to speak at the end?”
“I know it sounds like a cop-out answer, but breathing with a stick penetrating your chest is just a property of the way the magic works. It seems that magic exists to allow the magician to do what he wants, while protecting the people he does it to from harm. I guess that means I could not kill anyone with magic, but, maybe, I could kill someone by not using magic; I don’t know and I’m not about to try it to see what happens, and there’s always the possibility the magic might stop me doing something like that anyway.”
“And speaking?” Hannah prompted.
“I had no intention of doing anything to stop you speaking, but I could if you want; all I’d need to do would be put a stick through your neck or jaw; you might be able to make some noises, but it would not be intelligible.”
“I’d rather you didn’t, thank you.” She fell silent for a while as she either tried to think of more questions or decided if she wanted to stop or carry on. “What would happen if one of the sticks got twisted?”
“Erm, I guess that might be uncomfortable, because it would lead to bits of you being turned against other bits of you. I suppose if there was a joint in between there is the possibility of dislocating that joint. The good news is that it’s not going to happen, because the cardboard of the box will hold the stick in place so it will not move unless stupidly large amounts of force are used.”
“That’s good to hear, but that’s not what I meant. I meant what will happen if the stick is turned around longways.”
“Oh. I get it now. I don’t think that would do anything; you might feel something as the wood moves against whatever it’s touching, perhaps like wood against skin, but inside you.”
“Is it okay if I try it, Tom?” she asked.
“Of course, if you want to, but if something starts going wrong, you have to let me know, so I can try to fix it.” I was about to offer to do the turning, but the upper rod began to turn. “I was going to offer to twist the rod for you, but you seem to have gone ahead on your own,” I commented.
“I figured that if I tried and didn’t like it I could stop quicker than you, because I’d know to stop quicker.”
The end of the rod I could see was turning intermittently about a turn at a time in either direction as the box jiggled slightly. At the time, I guessed that she was turning the stick between her palms like a fire drill.
“It looks like you like it,” I observed. “How does it feel?”
“Erm, like you said, the feel of smooth wood against whatever it’s touch internally; I wouldn’t have thought it felt so nice, but if you have a unique chance to try something, jump at it, I say, because you won’t get another and at least you’ll know what you’re missing. I must say it feels best where it passes through my left tit; why would that be?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t even aim for your breasts; I intended to come through your upper chest, but it is difficult to be precise when you can’t see the target.”
“I guess you’re right. Well, I think I’m ready to continue, but I would like you to give each rod a twist once it’s in; like a pleasant experience to counter the shock of being speared. And you could tell me where to expect the stick to go through, that would be a help, too.”
“Twisting the sticks after the penetration I can do easily, but to tell you where the next stick is going through could be more difficult and, as I’ve already said, my aim is not very precise, but could tell you where the stick is coming from and its direction; would that be ok?”
“If that’s the best you can do, it’ll have to do.”
I picked a dowel rod from the pot and stood so that it would go through the faces that were, as yet, unpierced. “So something like this? Left side high, straight across, three, two, one.” Then I stabbed the spear through the box at about her eye-level. I hoped it was far enough away to miss her, but close enough to surprise her, at least a bit.
My reward for my effort was a squeak from Hannah and a remark to the effect that she would like the countdown a fraction slower to give her time to interpret where to expect the next rod to come through. I took the opportunity to demonstrate the extent of rod twisting I planned which amounted to four or five turns each direction; she muttered something that sounded approving.
The next few minutes I spent announcing and inserting dowel rods into the box and most of them through Hannah; then I would twist them. The fifth or sixth one I announced as ‘Right side high rear’ and after the count, I pierced the rod into the box until I touched something; it was either her throat or jaw. I immediately pulled it back out and stepped round the box thrust the stick through the box just beside her ear; I did this to demonstrate I was serious about not preventing her from speaking and give her a little, but harmless surprise. During this period, Hannah did not speak, but she made a small grunt each time a rod penetrated her and a sigh when the rod was rotated.
By the time I picked up the last stick, I had a pretty good idea of where she was in the box and that all her limbs were pinned. “Final one,” I announced. “Right side low rear straight across,” I said before counting to three. As I stabbed the final rod through the box, Hannah grunted again but this time it was squeakier. As the stick exited the box I felt it rub against the raised rim of the platform. As I placed my hands to do the twisting of the rod, she gave a tiny squeak that seemed to be due to the miniscule movement touching the stick had caused. As I turned the dowel she gave a moan.
“Are you alright?” I enquired.
“I will be; just keep doing that for a while,” she said and then almost as an afterthought she added, “please.”
I continued my fire drill action on the dowel rod and she continued to make noises that I soon recognised as a variation of the noises she had been making while I was getting her a glass of water. It took me a while to work out what was happening, but I assumed that the rod had passed through her groin and was stimulating her through the movement of the penetrating stick. While I continued I experimented with adding other movements in addition to the twisting. She seemed to respond with a little extra moaning when I added a little longwise movement, but I found I could not keep that up. I moved on to seeing if sideways pressure, which I guessed would increase the stimulation in a particular direction from the rod inside her pelvis and found that forward pressure got a more vocal response than pressure in any other direction.
I continued twisting the last rod, until she let out a hoarse scream and then asked me to stop. Once I had stopped the box creaked as the rods through it took her weight as she relaxed, straining the sides of the box more than they had been before. I could tell from the panting I could hear through the Bluetooth earpiece that she was not ready to speak.
My plan for the next illusion had been to disappear out of sight and have Hannah remove the props we had just used and collect the items needed for the next effect and then make an entrance. I changed my plan by bringing in the first part of the next illusion.
Hannah’s breathing had returned to normal, apart the fact she had three sticks through her chest. “Are you ready for the next part, Hannah?”
“I’m not sure. What is the next part?”
“That’s the part where I pull all the sticks back out again so you can get out of the box; does that sound ok?”
“Well, it wouldn’t be much of a show, if I just stayed in the box, would it? Unless you’ve got a second assistant ready to go; up your sleeve or somewhere.”
“Sorry, no second assistant in the wings to take up the slack, so you’re going to have to come out of that box.”
“Not a problem, but before you get on with it, one more question.” I made a noise that assented to being asked another question. “What will having the sticks removed feel like?”
“I don’t know. My best guess is that they will feel much the same as they did when they went in, except that you won’t have the impact of the end of the dowel rod hitting you before it goes through and there may be some sensation as your body closes up around the hole the stick made, or whatever it does.”
“Back up a bit. You don’t know? What do you mean, ‘You don’t know’?” There was the slight edge of panic in her voice.
“I mean that I don’t know what sensations you are likely to experience, because I’ve never been penetrated by anything and I’ve never done it to anyone else before, so I’ve not had anyone to ask.”
I am not sure that this level of honesty was quite right in retrospect, but I did not feel I had the time to come up with a convincing lie or a truthful wording that did not also imply that I had never done this before.
“Are you telling me that I’m the first person you’ve ever put in a box and rammed sticks through?” The panic was rising and getting sharper.
“Yes, and you are only the fourth person I’ve ever done magic on; Annie was the third. The first two were girlfriends who I only ever sawed in half and put back together and then got dumped by.”
“And what happens if you’re wrong and, say, the hole the sticks made don’t close up and I start bleeding to death?”
“I won’t happen like that,” I said with what I hoped was some confidence in my tone.
“Happen like what?” she challenged.
“Even if the holes don’t close up, which I am confident they will, you will not bleed, because the magic will prevent it.” My confidence in my abilities was being shaken, but I was trying not to show it.
“So, I might end up with a set of three-quarter inch holes through my body, instead of bleeding to death. That is such a comfort.” The sarcasm was back.
“Let’s put it this way. I have divided three people into two and there has been no harm done (other than my girlfriends leaving me) so trust me that a simple spear box will go any worse.”
“What? That made no sense.”
“Why don’t I get you out of there and if there are any consequences I did not anticipate, we’ll deal with them, then we’ll talk, ok?”
“That may be the best idea either of us has had this morning.”
I set about removing the sticks with a will and they were soon scattered in the darker area outside the chalk circle. With all the sticks removed I took a knife and used it to open up the side of the box so that Hannah could get out without having to climb out of the top.
She cautiously moved from the seated position she had been in throughout the illusion and inspected various places around her body; these must have been where she had felt the rod enter and exit her body. She seemed satisfied that she had been properly restored and not turned into a human colander, she rose and stepped out of the box.
“So now we talk, right? But first I’m feeling thirsty, have you got anything more interesting than water to drink?”
“Erm, yes.” I was taken aback by this change of gear. “Well, I’ve got tea-bags and instant coffee in the van and a kettle, but I don’t keep milk, because it goes off so quickly.”
“I was thinking something alcoholic, perhaps,” she clarified.
“No. No alcohol. It is a very bad mix with magic. I feel that if your judgement is impaired you could end up doing something you might seriously regret, more than getting a tattoo while drunk.”
“In that case, I’ll have the tea, please. Two sugars if it’s a cup, three if it’s a mug.”
“Sorry, but I don’t carry the sugar, because I don’t take it, myself.” Then I had a thought. “I might have picked up a sachet or two of sugar or sweetener in my travels, I could see if I could find something.”
“Thank you,” she said, as I departed to locate the makings of a cuppa, she seemed to head for her clothes.
I returned with a placatory offering of a mug of tea with two sugars and a sweetener tablet. Hannah was sitting in the remains of the cardboard sword box. She seemed to be passing the time by peeking through holes I had punched through the box. I was relieved that she was still there, as she had had plenty of time to walk away (that would be drive away in her car). I handed her the steaming mug and sat down cross-legged on the floor, which put our eyes at roughly the same level.
I took a sip of my coffee. A quick look around showed me that she had picked up all the rods that had so recently impaled her and returned them to the pot; this meant that she had left the chalk circle to retrieve at least three of them. Was I meant to point this out? Was I meant to go further than pointing out that she had disobeyed an instruction? Was I supposed to thank her for tidying up? I was confused about my exact role in this situation; being Magician-in-charge I could handle, because I knew what I was doing, but I needed to convince her of that. She wanted something more and I was not at all certain what that was. Maybe talking would help make things clearer.
“So, we talk?”
“Yes,” she said.
“What are we talking about?” I asked.
“What just happened, where we are and our whole situation.”
“That sounds like a lot to cover. Where do we start?”
“How about, what gives you the right to put me in a box and fill me full of homemade spears, when you have never done that kind of thing before? And what made you even think it would work?”
I looked down into my coffee, because maintaining eye contact was becoming difficult and, put the way she put it, it did sound as if I had been reckless with her wellbeing and possibly her life.
“You’re not going to buy, ‘I just knew it would work out’?” She shook her head. “Do you want the full story of how I learnt I could do magic? And how I progressed from undoing shoe-laces by magic to today?”
“I think we’ll go for edited highlights. So you started with shoe-laces?”
“Yes, at school. I would cover the laces with my hand and they would do up or undo, whichever I wanted. It took me a long time to realise that this was not how the rest of the school did it. When I did work out that I was doing something different, I put in the effort to learn how to do it the normal way, because I already knew at that age that people who are different get treated differently and usually worse.”
“Ok, let’s see the shoe-lace thing!” she demanded.
We seemed to have switched roles, with her being in charge. I uncurled a leg with my neatly tied laces and put my hand over the laces. When I pulled my hand away a few seconds later the laces were undone. Hannah did not look impressed. I put my hand back and re-tied the laces.
“Not very flashy is it?” she commented.
“No, not at all. That probably saved my skin at school; I don’t think anyone noticed.”
“So how did you get from that to sawing people in half and spearing them?”
“The first thing to develop were my telekinetic abilities. I would pick up pencils and levitate them to where I wanted them. I never did learn to write that way. But the turning point was when I joined an after school magic club.”
“Why? What happened there? Did you find a mentor or something like that?”
“No; a mentor would have been a great thing to have. What I did discover is that there was a socially acceptable use for magic that wouldn’t get me in trouble. So, I applied myself to learning about the techniques magicians use and showed what I learnt to the other kids. Nobody really liked me that much, but then nobody bullied me either; I was the weird kid that the other kids would watch when I did the tricks I had learnt. The good thing was if I did something odd and someone spotted it, I had the excuse I was trying out a new trick I was learning. And with each new trick I learnt I discovered that I could do the same magically; in most cases, less well and less reliably.”
“So you just learnt the tricks and then found out you could do the real thing. So you progressed up to bigger tricks? And that led to bigger magic?”
“Not quite, I learnt that there were bigger tricks and, as one does in their teens, I got ambitious and thought that I could do something like that. My first real magic with another living creature was levitating our dog, Samson.”
“Didn’t freak your dog out?” asked Hannah.
“I don’t think so, because he was asleep at the time; he did kick a bit as if he was dreaming and who’s to say what of his situation, a foot above his bed, got through to his dream.”
“So, that led step-by-step to you sawing a girlfriend in half.”
“Yes, kind of. It’s not like that first time was deliberate, but by this time (I must have been sixteen or seventeen) I was supplementing my allowance by being a paid magician at parties and my parents were charging me to be driven to these parties (I suppose they didn’t have as much money as I assumed at the time, but it did ground me in the economics of the profession).”
“Ok, what happened?”
“Well, I had saved up enough to get my hands on a thin model sawing box and persuaded Bella that if she was to join the act that we could be together more for rehearsals and gigs and she could get some of the extra money I would be earning, because I could include a big trick in my show. So, one evening we got together to try it out. I taught her how to do the trick as it said in the instructions that came with the box, but when it came to the moment of truth her ankles got stuck in the foot stocks. I did not realise this until the saw I was using touched her waist. At that point I had the confidence in the magic that if there was a trick which I knew, I could do the real magic equivalent, so instead of stopping as any sensible person might have, I carried on. Bella was screaming blue murder, but I knew it was working by the lack of blood and the fact that she was screaming threats, not pain. So I proceeded as if I was doing the trick, but doing it for real; I even showed her her feet. When I had put her back together and let her out of the box, she hit me and stormed off. Thankfully, she didn’t tell people that I had sawn her in half; I’m guessing, because she didn’t have any scars to back up the tale.”
“Well, I can see why she would leave you. I guess you never saw her again.”
“We saw each other, but only at school and she never spoke to me again. I never spoke to her again either; I couldn’t work out how to apologise for something like that.”
She eyed me and asked, “And have you worked out how to apologise to me?”
I felt honesty was needed here. “No. I am not even sure an apology is needed. You asked me to do a magic show with you as assistant, you must have had some idea what to expect, especially if you’ve discussed it with Annie.”
“It’s a bit different to fantasise about something and to really experience it, you know.”
“So, you’ve fantasised about being in magical boxes?” I thought that if I could adapt one of my tricks to fit her fantasy I had a chance of gaining an assistant; possibly even one I might get to rehearse with.
“Erm, not exactly, but I did wonder what it would be like to do that Houdini illusion.” I guess I looked uncertain, because she added. “You must know the one. The magician gets locked into a box, after being tied up and put in a sack. Then the assistant gets onto the box and raises a curtain and suddenly the magician is on the box, and he opens the box to find the assistant tied up in the sack. I wonder what it would be like to be the assistant and suddenly find myself inside the box; I guess I’d find it a kind of thrill.”
“Well, this morning you have already experienced suddenly being in a box.”
“You don’t seem convinced.”
“Well, like you said, part of the magic is the anticipation. I wasn’t anticipating anything in particular.”
I wondered for a moment if I should mention that she seemed to enjoy the experience after the actual getting into the box, but I decided that would probably be a bad idea. “Sorry, I guess, that’s part of my non-magical magician training. There are various things you don’t do as a magician; chief among these is you don’t tell them what to expect. Not only does it give you a get out if what you expect does not happen, but it doesn’t let them know what they’re looking for when you do the tricky move.”
“So, you can do, by magic, any magic trick you know the normal method for?”
“Yes, but I discovered recently that I could do a little more than that. I can do the normal tricks as if they were real with the extras that that implies.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, you must have seen how I made Annie appear for the show. That was inspired by a combination of a couple of videos I saw on YouTube. One was a TV show prank where they appeared to 3D print a person and the other was the appearance illusion where some illusionist seems to be deposited as a screen with his image moves up. Once I had worked out how they could have been done, it was a matter of trying it, but doing it by magic.”
“So you know how those were done?”
“Not for certain, but, for each, I have in my head a design for the illusion that could work.”
“And the extras?”
“Both the original illusions imply that the body is not all there at some point in the process, so I pause during the illusion to show that it is true. And then there is the point that I’m not using a large machine, just an arch and square of cloth and a dress.”
I looked into my mug and found it was empty. “Are you ready to continue? Now that you know I can do real magic and you will not be harmed even if it may get a bit uncomfortable. You will go home with all your limbs and in the right places.”
“So, because forewarned is forearmed, what are you planning to do with me next?”
“My plan is to put you into the box over there that you seem to so admire.”
“And how are you going to achieve that, besides the obvious?”
“I have a plan, but I’m curious what you think is the obvious magician’s method of getting you into a sealed box.”
“I can think of two. The first, but on second thoughts perhaps least likely, is just make me appear inside the box. You know the kind of thing; disappear me from somewhere (under a sheet or inside another box) and then hide the box for a moment and I appear inside it.”
“Good thought, and something any illusionist and assistant could achieve (or appear to at least). And the other idea.”
“You could hypnotise me and open the box and have me climb in, then un-hypnotise me not remembering the bit in between.”
“Also a good idea, but I will not use my hypnosis on you this session and the cameras would catch me opening the box. Not to mention the security labels over the bolts.”
“For a man who can tie his shoelaces by magic, security labels by magic shouldn’t be a problem.”
“How about if I tell you that there will be a sheet involved, but at least part of you will be visible to the cameras at all times. And I shall not interfere with the security labels until I get you out of the box. Any thoughts?”
“Hmm, nothing comes to mind, except, maybe, that you think you’re going to do something to me so I can fit through the slot in the top of the box. And perhaps it’s to do with this thing that looks like an ironing board.”
“I guess sticking it in the middle there was a bit of a give-away.”
“So, how does an ironing board help you get me into the box? And why an ironing board?”
“It’s not really an ironing board, just constructed like one. Most ironing boards aren’t strong enough to bear the weight of a person and it looks bad if a prop collapses while you’re doing a show. It’s built to be like that because everyone knows you can’t hide anything in an ironing board. Of course, it resembles the original I stole the idea from, which was right for the premise of the effect achieved.”
She thought about this for a moment, then said, “You are implying that you plan to iron me flat and post me through the slot in the top of the box and get me back to normal, so you can release me.”
“That is the plan in a nutshell, but I hope the experience will be ok.”
“Let me guess; you have never tried this before.”
“I’ve never tried it on a human,” I stated.
“That implies that you tried it on something else. So, what?”
“It tried on Mr Snuffles. He’s my rabbit. The doves wouldn’t stay still enough and my cat seems to have an ability to sense when I plan magical experimentation and makes himself scarce.”
“You have pets?” she asked, as if it sounded unbelievable.
“Kind of, but the rabbit and doves are more livestock, they appear in my children’s shows. But Harvey, that’s my cat, he’s a pet and usually about for a bit of companionship. He’ll occupy my lap while I watch a bit of tele and stuff like that, but he’s independent enough that he doesn’t seem to mind that I don’t have regular hours.”
“And how did your rehearsal with Mr Shuffles go?”
“It exposed a flaw in the original plan, but it also allowed me time to think up a solution, which I tried and proved it worked in principle, after a hiccup.”
“What ‘Hiccup’?” she demanded.
“You don’t want to know. But I assure you that it’s sorted and won’t be a problem for you.” She looked at me as if I was hiding something important. “If you really want to know, I’ll tell you afterwards, because I solved that little problem and Mr Snuffles has appeared in six shows since, none the worse for it.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” She pause; thinking that she wanted to be in the steel and glass box, but was less sure that she wanted to get there by the method proposed. She came to a decision. “So how do we do this?”
“First I have to fit you with the solution to Mr Snuffles little problem.” I pulled a tyre valve and some medical tape from my pocket. “Hold this between your ring- and little- fingers and I’ll tape it into place.” She took and placed it where I told her to, but I had to turn it so that the correct end was outmost, then I wound a few turns of tape round the fingers to hold it in place.
“Ok, I hope the rest is more impressive,” Hannah commented. “What next?”
“Next you get on the board and get into a comfortable reclining position.”
“Do you want me to undress first?” she asked. I could not tell if she wanted to be naked in the box or whether this was some sort of standard fetish question.
If we had not had the break when she got dressed, she would have been doing this in the nude, but I suddenly had an idea that would make her being dressed the better way to go. “No, but you’ll need to be naked for the final illusion, so maybe I can do something about that on the way.”
She went over to the board with its crossed supports and boosted herself onto it, but not before testing its strength. Once up on the board she straightened her skirt and lay on her side propping her head up with her arm.
I picked up a thin cloth and threw it over her lower half. It draped about halfway to the platform below.
“I thought you said that I’d be visible throughout.”
“I don’t recall saying that all of you would be visible at all times.”
“Fine. Are you going to iron me flat from my feet up?” she asked.
“That’s the plan. If I started at your head and you didn’t like it? This way I can reverse it and move on to the final illusion I had planned.”
“So, where’s the iron you plan to press me flat with?”
“Here,” I said, lifting what I feel looks like a comically large version of a Victorian flat-iron, which because it is made of wood, but painted to look like metal also appeared to handle wrong. I heard her suppress a laugh. I brought my iron to where her feet were and slowly pressed the iron down until the base of the iron was on the table.
“How did that feel, because Mr Snuffles isn’t exactly talkative about his feelings?” I asked.
“It’s, I’m not sure, I think warm describes it; like the sun on my feet.” I lifted the edge of the iron until it was higher than the outline of Hannah’s shin through the cloth and shifted it towards her knees, then pressed it flat again. I wasn’t sure at the time, but I heard her purr as her shins and then her calves were compacted to the board. I repeated the process until there was no profile below mid-thigh.
I moved the iron down to the platform below, revealing to the cameras the sharp end of Hannah’s outline a few inches below her hips. I took hold of the cloth and dragged it up her body until her belly was covered, which bared the last foot of the board.
She tried to sit up, but did not seem to find the right point of balance, because her legs were neither providing weight nor application of force to help her perform the accustomed move. “What have you done?”
“I thought you knew what I was going to do. And I have done it up to mid-thigh.” I lifted a foot shaped item from the board. She felt me touching it, judging by her giggle. I held it high enough that she could see it. A narrow strip of flesh coloured stuff connected to it went under the edge of the cloth, lifting it as I raised the foot. I showed her what I guessed would be a familiar view of her foot from the top, she obviously recognised the colour of the nail polish on the toenails; an opalescent pinky-grey that reminded me of pearls. Then I turned the foot in my hand sideways to show that it was about the thickness of the cardboard they use to stiffen a fancy shirt. I turned it further to show her the sole of her foot, perhaps for the first time in her life.
Hannah looked sceptically at her flattened foot; possibly with good reason, because most feet do not look much different from other feet, with the possible exception of distinctive toenail polish and foot jewellery. When I folded over her toes to run them over her sole, she definitely felt it.
I moved the feet to dangle from the edge of the board and picked up the iron once more. I took some pressure, but soon there were no parts of Hannah with a significant amount of third dimension below her waist. The angle of rest of her upper body changed to take into account that the lower end was no longer at her hips, but at her waist, which does not have bony support. This seemed to be causing some discomfort, so I helped lie Hannah on her back, adjusting the cloth to keep the area where the ‘full bodied’ Hannah became flattened Hannah covered. This also had the side effect of revealing the hem of her skirt from which her flattened lower legs emerged. Some more adjustment had her lower legs dangling from the edge of the board.
Next I ironed flat the rest of her mostly flat belly and pulled the covering cloth to under her chin, thus showing the rest of her skirt. She reached under the cloth to feel where her belly had gone and while her arms were under there, I put the iron over them and pressed following them in stages up to her shoulders. I reached under the cloth and pulled her flattened arms so that they hung from each side of the board on which Hannah lay.
I moved the cloth further up what remained of Hannah’s body, commenting, “You’ll probably not want to see this.” She half smiled as I covered her face and ran the iron over her chest and slammed it down on the remaining hump under the cloth that had to be her head. There was a faint squeal, but the microphone pick up was flattened with her head.
I returned the iron to base and whipped away the cloth I had used to cover Hannah during the flattening process. It showed the cloth to be plain on both sides before draping it over the pot of sticks from the sword box illusion.
I pushed the ironing board to the side a little way and brought forward the box that Hannah seemed to find so impressive; I tossed the pen into the remains of the sword box, because I did not want it to accidentally fall into the box as it rolled about.
It was now time to reveal the flattened Hannah to the cameras. I picked her up by the top of her head and one shoulder and pulled her from the board and gave her a shake so that she straightened out. A side effect of the shake was that her skirt slipped off her two-dimensional form and fell to the floor. I draped Hannah over the board and picked up the skirt and piled it on the end.
I took the opportunity to mime a light bulb moment for the cameras, to cover for the fact I was already planning that Hannah should enter the glass and steel box naked. With her legs hanging from the board it was the work of a few moments to encourage the panties to drop from her hips and fall down her legs.
I turned the board’s supporting platform round, so that her upper half was readily visible to the cameras. I quickly checked out the expression on her face and was pleased that there was a half-smile on her lips, but the eyes showed concern. A quick tug at the back of her collar was all it took for her blouse to begin to slide down her flattened body. It quickly gathered enough momentum to pull Hannah’s arms from the top of the board where her hands had been and fold them to allow the blouse to tumble to the floor. There was also nothing holding her bra in place and that soon succumbed to gravity, for lack of resistance. I picked up the now naked flatted Hannah by the shoulders with her head hanging by her neck down her back and then rolled her up like a poster. The only parts not included in the rolling were her arms.
I took the hand held camera in one hand and then rolled Hannah in the other and filmed myself pushing her through the slot. I was careful that the hand with the tyre valve was the last piece remaining on the outside. I used a piece of tape to stick the hand flat to the box’s top; a move I felt she would not approve of, but I felt there was no alternative.
A quick trip into the darker area beyond the chalk circle found me a foot-pump which I had modified by fitting a longer hose between the cylinder and the valve attachment. I fitted the end of the hose to the valve that was still taped between her fingers and began pumping. I watched the progress through the display of the hand-held camera, which could see through the lid of the box.
The first two pumps filled her hand, without causing it to bloat; this made me feel that this was the right magic for the purpose. I reached over and patted the hand, mainly to check that it was the right kind of solid, but I was surprised by the reaction, especially as I had expected none. The fingers flexed and spread a little , but the hand over all did not move, because of the tape holding it in place.
Further pumping caused the forearm to expand from a wide ribbon to a slender cylinder and for a couple of pumps the expansion stalled at the elbow, where there was a twist. I reached into the box and turned the rolled up Hannah and with a pop her elbow untwisted and the expansion went part way to her shoulder. I continued to pump, but remained ready to help Hannah's inflation along where needed. As the expansion made it to her shoulder I saw that her hand was moving, but the tape was still holding; the movements were hesitant. I stroked her hand and after an initial start, she seemed to relax.
I continued pumping expecting Hannah to start unrolling as the air caused her body to expand, but as her upper arm reached full thickness and the expansion went into her shoulders, the roll of Hannah seemed to get tighter. Then a few more pumps later the squashed arm on the other end of the roll began to expand from the upper arm until with a pop the fingers stopped being flat.
I was in for another surprise; there was a lot of resistance to the pumping, but the arms took on a life of their own. First the fingers flexed then they moved about and felt the area they lay upon. The arms, hands and shoulders seemed aware of the tape across the back of the upper hand. The hand on the outside of the box, to which the pump was attached, braced and the arms flexed to lift the other hand to feel what was going on, to the point that the lower hand followed the forearm of the upper hand to and through the slot to feel what was restraining the upper hand. The free hand felt the tape across the back of the hand and the tape binding the valve between her fingers. The hand gave a directionally poor, but clear thumbs up and descended back through the slot into the box where the remainder of Hannah was still tightly rolled around her expanded shoulders.
As I watched she braced her arms differently with her upper hand and her lower elbow and made moves that seemed calculated to unwind her flattened body from around her expanded shoulders. I took what I thought was the hint and reached into the box in an attempt to assist in the endeavour. When she encountered my hand she took a moment to slap it away before continuing. I took the more definite hint and left her to unfurl her body and stood by to pump as fast as I could when the pressure I had already introduced began to expand her body, rather just improving the strength of the expanded parts.
By peeling her legs from the outside of the roll and some shaking, her rolled up body loosened to the point that I could detect the beginnings of her upper torso expanding in the centre of the still partially rolled up Hannah. This was my cue to pump some more and I was soon rewarded by seeing her torso continuing to expand, aided by her hand, because it seems that rolled up skin does not slide together so easily.
At this point I realised where I had messed up; I should have rolled Hannah up from her feet instead of her shoulders. I partially excused this mistake as being part of trying out new things, but then thought that if I had thought it through a bit more it could easily have been prevented.
The last part of Hannah to make the transition from 2D to 3D was her head, which popped into solidity , but needed an extra pump to get her nose from being a pit in her face to its more accustomed outward direction. After a few extra pumps on the foot pump, I got an open-palmed stop signal from her inside hand, before it reached out of the slot in the top of the box and ripped away the tape both holding it in place and then holding the valve between her fingers. I was glad to see that she did not deflate.
She pulled both hands into the glass and steel box. She opened her mouth to speak and made a parping sound. She smiled and began to take in her surroundings. She seemed pleased to be inside the box she had admired since she had been introduced to it, but unsure how she had ended up inside and naked.
"So, how did I get in here? I'm assuming you did not open the side and lift me in. The last thing I remember properly is you having ironed most of me flat then covering my face, then things got vague until I knew I was here."
I turned the display towards Hannah and showed her while filming the bolts holding the side on the box still covered by the signed security labels. "I finished the job of ironing you flat, then I rolled you up and posted you into the box, before inflating you again. It did not go totally to plan, but we are where I thought we would end up, so no harm done and a lesson learned."
"So, are you going to do something with me in here? Or do I need to get out?" she asked.
"You can relax there for a short while. I'll use the time to clear away the stuff I don't need any more and bring the kit for the next and final illusion. Then I'll get the screwdriver and open the box for you."
Clearing the board and iron away was simple; bringing out the next illusion was equally simple, because it was a cubic box a little over a foot in each direction on a thin table with wheels and at the back a rack with three fake Japanese swords.
From my pocket I pulled a small electric screwdriver and made a point of destroying the security labels in the process of undoing the bolts that held the side on the box. With the four bolts out I lifted the side from the pegs that supported it in place and as gently as I could laid it on the top of the box. I offered my hand to help Hannah unfold herself from the interior of the box.
Once she was on her feet, Hannah ran her hand lightly over the box, seeming to note where her skin contact with the glass had caused smears, but gave me a particularly reproving glance when she spotted the adhesive residue where I had taped her hand to the outside of the glass. Having assured herself that there was no harm done to the box beyond what could be remedied by the application of a cloth and some appropriate cleaning products, she turned her attention to the illusion I had brought.
"Is that the thing you called the - what was it - the one you said consisted of putting me in a small box, making it smaller with me inside and then ramming some swords through. Nice looking swords, by the way; if I did not know better I might have mistaken them for the real thing."
"Yes, that's the 'Origami' illusion I mentioned."
"Origami, that was it; I knew it sounded a bit Japanese. That box is a bit small. I may be on the petite side; but there is no chance that you'll get me inside, although it might be interesting to see you try."
"That's the small size," I assured her. "I've got to open it out a bit to get you on the inside, then I close it up with you still inside."
"Well, that makes about as much sense as the rest of what we've done this morning, so show me!"
I stepped up to the box on the side away from where she was standing and began to unfold the box.
In a few economical moves I had opened the top of the box, extended the walls higher and pulled an inner section out towards the sword rack on the end of the table, covering the gap with flaps on the sides of the original part. I had quickly turned a closed cube of about twelve inches into an open-topped box three feet by one by eighteen inches.
"Is that as big as it goes?" queried Hannah.
"Yes, next stop; back where it started, but with you inside."
"But how am I meant to fit in there?" she objected.
"I'm not sure, but this is a replica (kind of) of a well-known illusion." In answer to her blank look, I added, "Ok, well-known among illusionists and magic fans. I assure you that even the most non-magical of illusionists can get a woman into the box; admittedly he has a few advantages that I have not allowed myself, like using a thicker table and putting a mirror on the back of the table, where I have a sword rack, which conceals more than it reveals. Would you like a hand getting up onto the table so you can get a better look?"
Hannah seemed a bit flustered, but took my hand and stepped up to the mid-thigh high table that was a six inch wide shelf around the base of the box. Looking down into the box, she did not seem to be any more convinced that she could get in the box; I'm guessing seeing the sliding mechanics of the box did not help.
"Why don't you step inside?" I suggested. As I was still holding her hand over the open box, I was able to give this suggestion a little more force. She stepped over the side of the box with one foot and discovered that there was space of her other foot beside it. "Face front," I said. using my hold on her hand to turn her body towards the camera nearest the door she had entered through. To remain stable with her position rotated she needed to move her foot outside the box to beside her foot inside the box. Soon she was standing in the middle of the box facing away from the racked swords at the back of the table.
She resisted the slight downward pressure I applied to her hand, but did not try to leave the inside of the box. "What happens next?" A turn of her head and a flick of her eyes, showed that the presence of the sword rack and its contents was not a welcome inclusion in this illusion.
"You mean once you are in the box and I have folded it back down to its smaller size?" I was playing dumb.
"Yes," she nodded, "I thought I had better ask, before we go too far, because I'm guessing if we get to me in a shrunk down box, I'm not going to be able to speak, probably with my face smooshed into something or something down my throat, like an arm or a leg."
"Reckon that you'll be able to speak, to some extent, but what you say may not be totally clear from the outside, which is why we have the earpieces and mics. The usual plan with this is to push the swords through the box. I've never been clear on why that is done; is it to add insult to injury, so to speak, or to demonstrate that you have the flexibility to avoid them, despite your cramped quarters, or to show that you aren't in the box at all, in which case I can think of a few more exciting ways to vanish a person."
"Well, I'm guessing that if you can get me from small to extra-small, the swords won't matter much and might actually be quite nice, if they feel like they did in the sword box."
"I don't see why they wouldn't, feel pretty much the same, but you can never be quite sure, because in the sword box you were relatively relaxed, but inside there you are a bit squeezed up. Besides I have an alternative that we might talk about once you're in place."
"Alright, we'll see how far we get. I don't reckon that there's a chance in hell of closing this box up properly. Especially with me inside."
"Ok, it's time to scrunch down some, so I can get the box back to its smaller size."
"So, how do we achieve that?" she asked.
"Try sitting down and we'll see where we go from there. Or you could try kneeling."
She went down on her knees inside the box and shuffled backwards and then leaned forwards. I looked in to see whether she was small enough to start the closing of the box and found she was not. Despite her petite frame, the three layers towards the back of the box were too thick (calves, thighs and abdomen, or feet and butt).
"I think we're going to have to try you sitting inside and see what we can do with that, unless you can spread your feet and calves enough to get your bottom between your feet."
"Are you saying my butt's too big?"
"Not in the slightest. It fits between the sides of the box, but your feet are in the way of getting it low enough to begin folding the top of the box back down. And before you ask, I am not saying that your feet are too big either."
Hannah squatted back up and gave me an acidic look and placed her hands on the table outside the box to allow her to support herself in the transfer from feet backward to feet forward. After the manoeuvre she was lower in the box. "Now, what do I do? I'm sitting in the bottom of the box."
I peeked into the box to assess the quantity of spare space that was now available. "I reckon, if you shift forward a little and get your feet into the front corners, then lie forward on your legs, then the thickest section will be belly on thigh and you can get your shoulders near your ankles. I guess that your arms would need to be back along your legs too. I suspect that you'll probably feel some tension in the back of your legs until I get the magic started, but after that, you should be fairly comfortable; well, I'll do my best to make you feel comfortable."
Her face reacted negatively to my expression of uncertainty of what she would feel, but she seemed to trust my assertion that I would be doing my best to make her experience the best I could. She leant forward and tried to take up the position I had outlined.
"It's just as well I exercise for flexibility, 'cause I feel it in the back of my legs."
I took this as a cue to get on with refolding the box. It did not take long to fold down the tops of the upraised sides to form a top over her bottom and her head and shoulders leaving only the middle of her back visible in the gap where the sides of the box were the folded forward flaps of the rear section of the box.
I knew that the next bit would be the trickiest, because this was something I had never tried before, so I closed my eyes as I released the catches that held the side flaps in place and began to push the rear section of the box forward and into the fixed front section of the box. I did this to help me concentrate on the magic and so I did not have to see what happened to the bit of Hannah that was still visible.
The first part of the push was very easy as the sliders were well lubricated and there was no Hannah in the way. But I was surprised by how little extra force I needed to continue closing the rear section into the forward section, after I felt the first contact with her rear. In fact, I had been braced to increase the force I was applying when I felt the first touch and this caused the box to shrink faster than I had intended and I heard a squawk of protest from within the box. I slowed down a little so that I was more in control of what I was doing and hoping that Hannah would take this as an acknowledgement of the sound she had made.
I felt the rear section begin to rub as its leading edge began to slide into the front section. I paused the forward pushing and flipped the side panels back onto the sides of the main box. I also took the chance to check in with Hannah.
"How are you holding up in there?"
There were some inarticulate noises before she said moderately clearly, "Well, it's a new experience and I don't feel as squashed in here as I thought I would. But overall it's not bad; I like the feeling of it being dark and hemmed in and my degree of movement very constrained. I don't even feel as crunched up against myself as I had expected, but there is definitely something strange going on, because every part of me feels like it's touching something, but there is less pressure than when you started just folding the open box."
"So, you're liking it?" I asked to be sure I had understood correctly.
"Hell, yeah. I know things can't be right, but they don't feel wrong; if you get my meaning?"
"I take it that you don't mind if I continue, then?"
"You mean moving on to the swords? I thought you had some other idea that you wanted to put to me before that happened."
"No, I mean finishing compressing you into the smaller version of the box. You are currently in a space that is about twice the size of what I plan you squeeze you down to."
After a pause for calculation, she said, "So, I'm inside something with dimensions of about a foot by a foot by two feet?" I made a confirmatory noise. "I'm not entirely sure that I believe that, because it feels a lot more comfortable than the coach trip I made inside an ex-boyfriend's luggage that was bigger inside."
"So, you're ok if I make the space a bit smaller?"
"Um, yeah. I'll let you know if it becomes something that is too much for me."
"Ok," I said and placed my hand on the rear of the box. In a mood of experimentation I tried to find out how little force I needed to get the back end of the box inside the front. The force required seemed very small, as if all I was doing was overcoming the friction in the sliding runners within the box and maintaining the contact with the body inside. I felt as if Hannah was shrinking and I was keeping up with that shrinkage, rather than causing it.
As the box reached its minimum size, Hannah sighed. I set the catch to stop the box re-expanding and asked again if Hannah alright, squashed as she was inside a box that was a foot cubed.
"Don't know how you managed it, but it feels better than before, even though everything seems to be squeezed against something harder than before. I suppose that it's sword time, now."
"Well, it could be if this follows its traditional path, but it doesn't have to. I could put other things through the holes, that I'm sure you spotted in the various faces of the box."
"Other things? Like what?"
"How about I surprise you? It definitely won't hurt."
"Are you talking about it not hurting you or not hurting me?"
She was seeming a lot less hostile than immediately after the sword box, even a little more flirtatiously humorous.
"I think you'll enjoy it and I'll get to enjoy it too."
I dropped my trousers and lay down the side of the table and hooked a couple of fingers into the hole in the top of Hannah's box. It was obvious that Hannah felt the movement of the apparatus caused by my getting on to it and the touch of my fingers through the hole, because she spoke, via the Bluetooth.
"What are you doing out there? I can feel some movement and something touching the back of my head."
"That's just me putting some fingers through the hole in the top of the box; I need to position something. Do you know what part of you is against the hole on the side of the box?"
"I'm not totally sure, but I think I've got a hand there. Why?"
"Well, I plan to put something through that hole and I thought you would like to be warned. If it is your hand there you may even be able to identify what it is. I think you'll like it better than a sword."
"Ok, but go gently, there can't be much room in her with me."
I pressed my penis to the hole in the side of the box and encountered some smooth flesh.
"I can feel something," she announced. "Give me a moment, maybe I can move a bit. It feels as if it is stiff, but not hard like a sword. Is it one of those long balloons?" I needed to make a note of that, 'Origami with balloons instead of swords; a possibly more child friendly version for if I ever get an assistant for my children's shows.'
I was surprised when the skin I was touching moved to form a tunnel. I pushed in further. With the head of my penis a couple of inches in, the tunnel, presumably the inside of her fist, gently squeezed me. "I take it back," she said, "That's not a balloon, but I'm thinking that stiff was the right would to use (if you get my meaning). Why don't you try your luck with another hole?"
I stroked my dick into the hole a couple more times then withdrew and dismounted the table. I arranged the table sideways to the main camera and stood in front of it with my arousal pointing at the front of the box. I was aware this was supposed to be for Hannah's pleasure more than my own. I leant forward. The tip entered the front hole of the box and, as I had hoped, I encountered her lips. I did not force my way in, but I felt the tip of her tongue taste the end of me. I felt her lips open, so I pressed in. The vibrations of her trying to talk while I was pushing in was thrilling, but I pulled out again, in case what she was trying to say was important.
As soon as she realised that I was waiting for her to repeat what she had been trying to say, and not pulling back for a harder thrust into her mouth, she said, "I was only trying to say that you taste good."
I murmured a 'thank you' and pushed back in. I was greeted by eager lips and a tongue that seemed determined to taste as much of my penis as I was willing to provide. In a matter of seconds I was much harder and I began to feel the tongue trying to push my dick back out. I withdrew until I was a few millimetres beyond her lips.
"How about you try another hole, but please use a condom."
I remounted the table to kneel behind the box. In the process I pulled a condom from my pocket and stripped it of its foil wrapper. I placed the condom over the hole with one hand and tilted the cubic box forward with the other until the hole at the rear was at a height to line myself up with. With my dick lined up a quick rub up my length had the condom in place. I began to push in and soon found her welcoming warm folds and the channel beyond. She sighed.
I thrust in gently at first, building up to a steady thrusting, once I had confidence in my control of the cube (I did not want to accidentally drop it off of the table and it seemed a bit precarious resting on its lower front edge). As I fucked the rear hole of the box, Hannah gave inarticulate voice to her feelings; the only recognisable word being 'yes'.
I don't know whether it was coincidence, the magic or us being aligned as lovers, but I felt her squeeze me as I squirted my seed into the bubble at the end of the condom. I rested for a moment holding the box at its angle with my groin, before pulling out; a manoeuvre greeted with a panting sigh.
I took a little time to remove the condom and clean up. Hannah was still panting her exhilaration from within the box, which once more rested with its base on the table. With my trousers back in place, I opened the box to its fullest extent and put a hand over it to offer her something more solid than the flimsy walls of the box to hold onto as she emerged, glistening with perspiration.
"Wow!" was her first comment. "Annie was right; I desperately needed a good fucking and that hit the spot, many times over."
"Thank you." I maintained my arm as a handhold while she stepped from the box and down from the table. She hugged me.
Then she went a bit more formal and stood back at attention. "You said that was the final illusion. Is there anything else you want of me?" I guessed she had switched back into submissive mode.
I was a bit at a loss what to do. "No, thank you. You may dress and go about your normal business. I shall be sending the video, when I have a reasonable edit."
She stood on her toes and kissed me, then went to the ironing board to retrieve her clothes. She put on her skirt and blouse, but hooked up her underwear in one hand, before walking to the basket where her shoes were and putting them on. As she made for the exit, I said, "You know how to get in touch if you want more." She turned her head and smiled and nodded then disappeared through the door.
With other commitments and my lack of skill with video editing software, it took me three days to put together an adequate cut of Hannah's private show. I debated whether to include the hiatus where we discussed my magic and she was angry; in the end I included it, because it would show that I was not dismissing her feelings or what I had learnt.
I created a new account on one of those drop-box websites and uploaded the raw footage and the edited version. I emailed the link and password to Hannah and got a short thank you email and an assurance that the agreed fee would be transferred to my account.
I hope that she liked being a magician's assistant/plaything and will return for more, even if she does not decide to be my assistant in public.