by Tikl

She emerged from the dressing room and turned slowly before me. "It fits like it was made for me!" she exclaimed. It was, of course. The costume did fit her like a glove.

It was deep black, covered with black sequins and bands of bright rhinestones, and it hugged her breasts and ribs like paint. Cut low in front and dipping almost to her waist in back, it had no sleeves, and the bottom clung bikini-tight. She wore the dark orchid (fake, but pretty) in her hair and black pearl earrings. Her smile sparkled and shone brilliantly next to the dark costume. My eyes followed the curves of her hips and thighs, past the knees and sleek calves, to the ankles. On her feet, were specially selected slippers of supple black kidskin, with soft chamois soles. They were cut very low, like dance slippers- so low the cleavage between her toes was visible- and tiny white pearls adorned the abbreviated vamp across her toes. "Faith, my dear, you are lovely! They are going to love you." She smiled that electrifying smile again.

I led her to the deserted stage area, where the table stood before a large tarp-covered scaffold. "Is this a full dress rehearsal?" she asked, looking around the empty stage.

"Yep. That's why I had you put on the costume."

"Aren't your other assistants here?" she asked, with a hint of nervousness.

"No. We won't need them. We just have to run through this one trick." We stopped before the table, standing beneath the overhead lights. It was made of one inch-thick Lucite and stood on a frame of stainless steel, with bright chrome, castored legs. It was divided into two sections near the middle. A pair of clips on the lower frame, near the floor, held the sections together. The lights on the overhead truss shone on the clear acrylic and cast shimmering liquid reflections on the floor and the toes of her slippers.

Faith licked her lips and looked at me with raised eyebrows. I smiled reassuringly and she grinned back. Her eyes were drawn to the hardware at either end of the table. At the lower end, the foot of the table, was a pair of wide metal shackles, rigidly mounted to the Lucite. A similar pair was mounted at the head of the table, with one of larger diameter centered between them. Like the shackles at the foot, they were lined with soft foam padding. She fingered them gingerly. "At least they're padded," she said hopefully."

"Well, of course they are- I wouldn't want to do you any undue damage."

"Undue?" she asked with wide eyes.

I smiled and patted her arm. "Faith, I am sawing you in half, after all."

"But it IS a trick, right?"

"One that has been done for seventy-five years. I intend to do it a little differently, but I promised I wouldn't hurt you, and I won't."

"Are you going to tell me how it works?"

"Better than that- I'll show you. Climb aboard."

Faith shrugged and eased back up onto the table, swinging her shapely legs around. I took the dainty ankles and positioned them in the lower pair of shackles, leaving them unfastened for the moment. She lay back carefully and I guided her lean neck into the large collar in the middle, clamping it down with a click. Her wrists fit into the outboard pair and I secured them similarly. She put on a determined expression as I walked back to her feet and slowly clicked the ankle cuffs closed. She arched her toes, watching me closely.

"Doesn't the box fit over me?" she asked casually.

"We won't need a box," I answered. "And you won't need these, either." Her eyes widened even more as I flipped the heels of her little slippers loose with one finger, and peeled them slowly off of her feet with trembling hands.

Her bare feet were the most perfect things I had ever seen: sleek and soft and creamy to touch. Her instep was a smooth curve, rising from the base of her toes to her slim ankles, and the arch was deep and silky, the heels rounded and sexy. But it was her toes that held my attention. Faith's toes were long and slinky and tastefully pedicured. They were delicately shaped and formed a neat curve, from the tip of her big toe, to the tip of her little toe. There were no calluses or rough spots, and the nails wore a coat of soft, pearl pink. There was a hint of a space between the big toe and second toe. I stared at those gorgeous feet for a minute or so. She raised her eyebrows further.

"It's chilly in here. Why did you take my slippers off?"

"Faith, Faith, Faith. The assistant must ALWAYS be barefoot when she's sawn in half. The audience must see your pretty toes wiggle as the saw goes through you."

"But, where's the box?" Her voice began to take on a nervous edge.

"There isn't one. I told you."

"But-" I put one finger over her lips and patted her arm again. With a flourish, I swept the tarp off of the scaffold, and her eyes were drawn to the saw, all six feet of its diameter, teeth glittering in the spotlights. Her eyes got wider still. I threw the switch and her protest was lost in the whine of the motor as the blade began to turn. While she watched the saw in dismay, I quickly fastened two curved metal bands over her, one at her tummy, and one across her thighs. The saw was aligned with the joint between the table halves, which was right beneath her hips. I leaned close to her cheek.

"Wiggle those pretty toes as the saw goes through you!" I said above the noise of the saw. I released the lock and the blade moved forward.Faith wailed aloud, pulling at the cuffs. The saw blade slid into the groove and inched toward the exposed flesh. As it touched her, and then slipped bloodlessly through her, I watched her long toes. They curled magnificently, the feet jerking back and forth. Faith closed her eyes.It was over in seconds. The saw retracted and I shut it down. It was suddenly quiet on the stage again. I waited. She opened her eyes and blinked at me, raising her head to gape at the wound in her body. She saw only a thin line across her hips.

"Now, did that hurt?" I asked. "Does anything hurt?"

"Well, no," she said shakily. "What happened?"

"I sawed you in half. Watch." I took a rectangular metal blade and inserted it gingerly into the thin line on her skin. It slid in easily. A lip on each edge of the blade held it in place in the table. She watched with painfully wide eyes as I repeated the moves with another blade. She was neatly penetrated.

"Okay, so what's the trick?"

I didn't answer her, but kicked the table clips open instead. Moving around to the head of the table, I took her hands and pulled. The upper half of the table, along with the upper half of Faith, rolled away from the lower. I pulled her around so she could see her legs and feet, then walked to the foot of the table. Taking each big toe in my grasp, I rolled her lower half around till it pointed the same way as her upper half. She lay looking in disbelief at her bare feet. I looked at them, too.

"What's the trick?" she repeated. "Those can't be my real feet!" That was my cue. I took her right foot in my hand and turned it gently. "Do these look like your toes? Do you know your own toes when you see them?"

"They look like my toes, but they can't be!" she wailed.

While she studied her bare toes, I dragged a low stool over to her feet and sat down, taking a small, flat case out of my jacket pocket."What's that? What are you doing?" I smiled at her and she realized what was about to happen. "Oh, no! Not my feet, please!"

Leaning on my elbow, I pulled a finger slowly up her left arch. Those magnificent toes curled and her foot jerked. With a wicked smile, I began to tickle her foot mercilessly, my fingers dancing up and down her silken sole. Her toes wiggled and curled frantically as she rolled her foot back and forth, trying to escape the tickling.

"Hehehehehehe! Please don't do that! I can't STAND THAT! HEHEHE- HEHEHEHE-HAHAHAHAHAHA! Oh, God PLEASE! Don't tickle my feet! AAAAAAAHHHH HAHAHAHA HEHEHEHEHEHEHE! I traced a single finger across the ball of her gorgeous foot, scratching lightly at the base of her toes. Her foot convulsed and her toes arched madly, but my finger followed each movement.

She struggled on the upper half of the table, giggling and laughing and pulling against the shackles. She begged me to stop, but the softness of her foot was like an opiate, drawing me deeper. The more I tickled, the more I had to tickle. As her foot began to twitch faster and her laughter became steadily more frenzied, I felt my pulse rise, my respiration quicken. With my other hand, I reached up and began to stroke the bottom of her right foot, slowly at first, them faster and harder, until both feet were being tickled.

Her laughter had taken on a hysterical edge, as I dug my fingertips into the tender creases at the base of he toes. Her feet arched back sharply and her toes spread out like a fan, frozen momentarily in place as the tickling threatened to overload her senses. I seized the opportunity and slipped my fingertips in between her toes. She immediately tried to curl them over my fingers, but I slipped them free and went in again, scratching at the creases beneath her toes. They arched back and spread out again and I slipped a fingertip into the web between her big toe and second toe, tickling the soft, delicate skin there. Her toes spasmed and she shrieked, her eyes screwed shut. Her hands were clenched in a fist and her knees jerked up and down as she pulled in vain against the ankle cuffs. I stopped for a moment to let her catch her breath and be sure she was not abrading her ankles and wrists. The padding was doing its job.

While Faith lay gasping for air, I opened the case and pondered the contents. My finger passed over stiff feathers and soft tassels, ball point pens and plastic picnic forks, to a selection of brushes. From among the toothbrushes and bottle brushes, I selected an artist's fan brush, with 3/4" bristles of natural china. Faith saw the brush and began to wail again. "Oh, please-please-please, don't tickle my feet anymore! I can't stand THAT . . . AAAAAAAAAHHHH . . . HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE - HAHAHAHAHAHHAHA..."

I attacked the bottoms of her toes with the brush, scrubbing the stiff bristles into the creases, turning it sideways and flicking them in between her toes. Her feet jerked back and forth. I alternated, using the bristles on her toes, and the round end of the wooden handle on her arches. She howled with laughter, her back arching clear of the table as she jerked and spasmed.

"Does that tickle, Baby? Are these perfect little feet ticklish?

Kitchee-kitchee-kitchee! Kitchee-kitchee-koo!"

The childhood taunt wrung more insane giggling out of her, and her feet seemed as small, maddened animals, struggling wildly against the restraints, desperate to be free. I tickled her with increasing fierceness, forcing her toes to wriggle and squirm with equal fury. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps.

After another several minutes, she was about through. Her eyes closed and she panted, her hands limp and her legs still. Her sweet toes barely twitched as I worked the delicate soles. It would soon be time to put her back together. But first...

"You've been a good sport and a good assistant," I told her, giving her a rest from the tickling. "You deserve the full treatment." I rubbed her toes and squeezed the weary feet in my hands.

"No more," she pleaded shakily, "I can't take it any more.... please..."

"Okay, no more tickling, but you still get the full treatment." With no further explanation, I leaned over and closed my lips around the big toe on her right foot. She drew a frightened breath, but said nothing as I sucked that gorgeous toe. I sucked gently, sliding her toe in and out, swirling my tongue around it like an ice cream cone. Her breath quickened and she closed her eyes again.

I worked each toe in turn, sucking and nibbling while probing at the undersides of her toes, and in between, with my tongue. Faith's toes were sweet and soft, tasting faintly of the new leather of her now-discarded slippers. She spread them out widely and I lapped at the tender spaces between. In a few minutes, the right foot glistened with saliva, and her
left foot had begun to wiggle, the toes curling tightly.

On the upper half of the table, she rolled her head toward me, her eyes heavy-lidded and far away as she watched me begin work on the toes of her pretty left foot. Her right foot reached over and, with still-moist toes, began to rub along the back of my hand as it held her left foot. I listened as her breath came quicker and quicker, working her toes in time to her breathing. At last, she closed her eyes tightly and clenched her hands into fists. Her feet went still and her toes spread out like reaching fingers. She came in shuddering spasms, her back arching and her legs jerking against the restraints. I pulled away from her toes and raked gentle fingers down her arches again as convulsions whipped her and her toes curled and flexed. Both halves of the table quivered with the intensity of her orgasm. After several moments, she let out a sigh and lay still, gasping.

While she got her breath and collected herself, I swung the table halves back around and put her together once more. The blades came out and I released the restraints, helping her to sit up. She looked down at her damp toes and blushed coyly. "I don't believe you made me come just by tickling my feet and sucking my toes."

"Magic," I said with a smile. "Would you like to see me levitate a barefoot girl?"

Faith grinned and looked at the slippers, lying on the stage floor. "I guess I won't need my slippers, huh?"

"Nope." I took her hand and led her to another area of the stage. "We have lots of illusions to rehearse. Ever seen The Zig-Zag Lady?" She giggled and took my arm...