Fetish Magician 2A: The Claustrophile: Hannah: Part 1

I was expecting the call. Angela always calls me when Annie has had one of her ‘interesting experiences’. She had been particularly nervous about this one, because the man in charge was not from the scene, so it might have been uninteresting or interesting for all the wrong reasons.

“Hi,” I answered. “Who am I speaking to today?”

“Angela, of course. I just thought you might like to know about the ‘interesting experience’ Annie had night before last.”

“So, why didn’t you ring yesterday like you usually would?”

“Because Annie spent the rest of the night pleasing Master with new-found, but sadly temporary, skills in the fellatio department, then we slept ‘til gone midday and there were other things that took priority, but I’m calling now; it’s the first chance I’ve had.”

“Hang on! Back up a bit! Aren’t you the one whose oral skills are next to zero, because of that notorious gag reflex of yours?”

“Yes, normally, but during the show Tom, he’s the magician, hypnotised me and allowed me to ignore the gagging until dawn. And Robert took full advantage.”

“So, why didn’t you ask this Tom character to make it permanent?”

“Honestly, I didn’t think of it, but I can probably ask him if he needs me to assist again.”

“So, you’d do it again?”

“Like a shoot, well Annie would, if Master did not need her for the evening.”

“Tell me all about what happened!” I demanded.

Angela told me, in detail, what had happened and how she felt about it, later she sent me the video Robert had taken of the whole event; I had trouble believing it was not mostly done with special effects, but it matched the description Angela gave.

“So, despite being cut in half, beheaded, having your body vanished and whatever else he did to you, you’d like to have another go. What does Robert think about that?”

“He says he does not mind so long as I’m not needed for the day and there is video of the performance for him.”

“So, what’s the downside? Because it can’t be all good.”

“Some of the things hurt to start with, but that went away quite quickly. I lost the oral skills at dawn; I nearly choked when the sun rose. And I don’t know if or when I’ll get to do it again.”

“All sound pretty minor to me, especially as you’re not short of money, so you could arrange for Tom to need you as an assistant.”

“I hadn’t thought of that, but my first reaction is that it would feel a bit like cheating on Robert and it would also be interfering in Tom’s life; neither of which would be things to feel good about. He did mention when we first spoke that he might want to find another assistant, both to improve the flexibility of when he could do shows and hinted at the possibility that a two assistant show might be even more fun.”

“Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

“Of course. I can give you his number, you can arrange something and maybe he’ll give the fucking you so desperately need.”

“So, he’s a good lay?”

“I don’t know for certain, because I only had his dick down my throat, but I reckon he’d be just the kind of lover you need.”

“But weren’t you saying he’s a bit vanilla.”

“Yes, but that gives you the chance to train him to be the dom you need, there are no bad habits to break; you’d teach him from scratch and if I know you (which I do) you’ll produce someone just right for you and make the rest of us jealous that we missed the chance. Sleep on it!”

After some more social chit-chat, we hung up.

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I slept on it for a couple of nights, once I had viewed the video, several times.

I decided that I would contact him and leave a message asking him to contact me about the possibility of an ‘adult’ magic show.

The phone rang three times while I went through in my mind what I needed to say in my message, when he answered, “Hello, Tom, here.”

I was a bit flustered, “Oh hi, Um, I was, kind of, expecting an answerphone. Are you busy?” Not exactly a textbook example of phone etiquette.

He took it in his stride and answered the question, and ignored the mangled beginning. “That depends on if you’re talking immediately or for the next few weeks.” The fact he seemed so casual about it implied to me that he was not busy now, but perhaps had a few engagements to prepare for in the next few weeks. He followed up with his own question, “By the way, who am I talking to?”

I felt I was on the losing end of this conversation, so far. “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.” The quiet at the other end of the line almost made me wonder if I hadn’t lost the connection altogether, but I ploughed on. “Angela even suggested that you could probably give me the fucking I need in the process.”

That certainly caught his attention. “Whoa, Lady!! Are you sure you’ve got the right number?” he exploded.

Hell, had I misdialled? And was talking to a complete stranger?

“This is the number Angela gave me,” and I rattled off the number I had received in the email with the video.

Now he seemed confused. “That’s my number, but who is Angela?” Facepalm! If he was involved in one of Annie’s ‘Interesting Experiences’ he might not know her as Angela.

More apologies. “Oh, sorry. Of course, she uses her other name when she has her ‘Interesting Experiences’.” I hoped that if this was the right guy, he would recognise the phrase and if not it would be the excuse to end the call without getting anyone in trouble.

“So that would be Annie, right?” Hooray! He knew the phrase and the right name to associate with it.

“Yes,” I said simply.

“So you’ve spoken to Annie, Angela, whatever, and seen the video that her ‘Master’ took (and he’s called Robert?)” I made a sound I hope indicated agreement. “So you think you might like to be my assistant?”

“Well, yes and no.” Not a model answer, but it did line up nicely with the uncertainty I was feeling about the whole venture.

“That tells me nothing,” he pointed out. “So what do you want?”

“I want to book you for a private show.” I blurted, but I don’t think he noticed. What the hell made me say that? Maybe it was a vestige of the semi-rehearsed message I had planned to leave.

“Ok, when? I’ll see if I can fit it into my calendar.” He was actually taking me seriously. Was I ready for this?

“I don’t know, when are you free?” I was trying to put the ball in his court, only to discover that it belonged in mine.

“What?” His confusion crackled down the line. He gave the impression in that one word that he knew less about what I wanted than if I had not called him at all. I was regretting not having had a plan in case I got through.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Yet more apologies, this was turning into my worse phone call ever. Too late now; plough on! “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?” He did not sound as if he was getting it. “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 speaking, I think I’d like to have sex in the process.” Rats! I’d mentioned having sex with him twice in the first five minutes of our first phone conversation; was I really that desperate?

“And do you have any idea what tricks you’d like to be involved in?” Hooray! A technical question in his field of expertise. But was he that uninterested in sex? Or perhaps, I’d triggered some sort of professional ‘Do the job and take the perks, if they come’ attitude?

“Yes, I do.” No, I didn’t, this call was far into uncharted territory. Some small part of my brain took over like a native guide. “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.” Where did that come from? I’ve never told anyone that; not even Angela.

He took the offered scrap of information and ran with it. “So things like ‘the Hindu sword basket’, or ‘the sword box’, or ‘the Origami box’?”

The first two I had heard of and the box nature of them appealed, the sword part less so. That last one was new to me and I had no clue (what did Japanese paper folding have to do with any magic trick?). “I guess, but what is ‘the Origami box’?”

“That’s where I put you in a smallish box and the fold it until it is impossibly small, with you still inside it, and then I stick swords through in each direction.” While small box getting smaller with me inside hit a selection of my kink buttons, the mention of more swords was a bit off-putting.

“Wow! That sounds like I might get a kick out of it. But will there be boxes where you won’t be sticking 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?” If it was all being in boxes and being run through with swords, I might decide to give the experience a miss.

“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.” At least he was not just a one trick pony.

“Great, and when can you fit me in?” Why was I not asking for more information? I had seen the video and there are times when just going with the flow is the best thing to do. I hoped that this was one of them.

“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?” Why was I pressing to have it done sooner? It was not enthusiasm, but perhaps a desire to get it over and done with.

“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.” He seemed to be honest about his capabilities of getting things together. We gave each other our emails and before the call ended he had sent a ‘testing’ email, so I sent back an empty reply; this seemed to indicate thoughtfulness and caution; not bad traits in someone you are possibly going to put your life in the hands of.

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The first few emails were mostly of a technical nature; the dimensions of various parts of my body and such like; although he did not seem to ask about anything that might hint that he was planning to put me into a costume, but perhaps the other measurements were enough.

The rest of the emails, over the about a month that it took to fix a date, were about how I envisioned the show going. I told him that I wanted to turn up on the day and be told what to do and go home afterwards with an experience to look back on and video to prove to myself that I had not dreamed it or been hypnotised into having a fake experience. I took the opportunity to introduce him to the important systems of checks and balances in the scene, such as safewords, which seemed to be a new concept to him, but he seemed to think it was an obvious thing to do, once he knew about it.

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The day of my private magic show dawned and I was already up, showered and dressed in a simple T-shirt and knee length skirt (Angela had told me that he had seemed to approve of her attired in that when she had gone to be Tom’s assistant), fortunately the weather was warm enough that it would be comfortable, although I did put on a coat to keep the wind off.

I was already getting nervous and thinking about cancelling, but felt doing it by text would be rude and if I was on the phone to him, he would know I was using whatever pretext I dreamt up as an excuse to chicken out; for some unknown reason I did not want to lie to him. So I did not cancel, but got into my car with a great sense of trepidation and drove across town to the address on a small business park the other side of the bypass.

The unit still bore the name plate of a recently defunct firm, so I concluded that this was not his usual base of operations, but a place hired for our encounter. I parked outside and waited until our appointed time of ten o’clock, before leaving the car and heading for the people door that stood beside the closed roller shutter of the goods entrance.

I walked straight in through a dim passage, passing two side doors marked ‘Toilets’ and ‘Office’. I opened the door at the end and emerged into an open space.

There was no-one in sight. For a moment I considered that I had come to the wrong place, but I took in some of the details and realised that I was exactly where I should be. Among those details were some cameras dotted about on tripods, some of which seemed to be already running, and in pride of place, was a wooden crate and there was another box towards the back with some stuff on it; and the clincher was that the floor had been recently swept, although I could not tell if the wide chalk circle inscribed on the floor was for me or a left-over from the previous occupants.

I had a feeling that I was being watched from somewhere, so I looked round and called, “Hello?”

I am not sure what I expected, but a breathy voice (an amplified whisper on later consideration) said, “Please confirm you are the Hannah I have an appointment with!” I turned toward where the voice came from and saw nobody there. The voice repeat the request to identify myself as Hannah.

The puzzle of why he was asking for me to say who I was, suddenly became clear to me. During our email conversation I had told him about consent and he wanted to be sure that whatever he planned he was doing it to me, not some unsuspecting stranger; my consent was assumed from the outset, because I had commissioned this show in the first place and if at any point I wished to withdraw my consent (temporarily or permanently) I had the agreed safewords.

“Yes, I am Hannah,” I called. “And I assume you must be Tom, right?”

“Yes, I am Tom.” The voice came from a speaker at the rear of the open area. “Shall we begin with a bit of housekeeping before the main event? And, maybe, a few instructions to help this go smoothly,” the voice suggested.

“Ok.” I said to the space in general.

“Firstly, unless instructed otherwise, you will remain in the circle chalked on the floor,” he said; good he was taking charge; whether because he knew what he was doing, because I had written that I wanted to be told what to do, or because it came naturally to him, I did not know. “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.” This showed that he had thought about what I might want from our rendezvous and was not restricting my field of movement for arbitrary reasons. His tone seemed quietly authoritative, giving me confidence that if I requested permission to leave the circle, I might get it depending on the reason I gave for wanting to leave.

“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.” When he first mentioned inspecting a box I assumed that he meant the wooden crate in the centre of the circle.

I looked over at box that was near the speaker that I had previously observed as bearing some stuff on top. This time I focussed specifically on the box, having paid scant attention to it before. Wow! I had never seen such a beautiful box. The trapezoidal frame of steel was polished to a high shine, but not a mirror finish allowing it to be seen for itself. Set in this frame was a set of perfectly clean sheets of glass; I could see that these sheets were held in place by slots on the insides of the frame. It was exquisite.

I went to it slowly, trying to appreciate the artistry, design and construction of this box. If I had thought that I wanted to design a box for myself, this would be that box.

“That’s a beautiful box!” I murmured, I do not know if he heard me, but that moment was between me and the box. Louder so that Tom could hear, I said, “It’s a trapezoidal box constructed of steel and glass.” I wondered if he want more description

I knew I should not do it, for fear of marring the box’s perfection, but I reached out and stroked the box’s frame, so as not to put fingerprint smears on the glass. The cool smoothness under my fingertips was so satisfying.

“And how would you get into the box?” he asked. I found myself slightly resenting the interruption to my communing with the artwork before me, then I pulled myself together I was here to try out being a magician’s assistant; the box was a bonus (maybe I could buy it off him when we were finished).

“Let’s see,” I said, while I pondered the conundrum. “Hmmm, it seems to be constructed as a solid box; no opening lid or anything like that.” I walked round the box in the hope that some flaw in the perfection of the frame would reveal a hidden catch or similarly obscure means of getting inside the box. The orbit round the box only served to increase my desire for the box and to be inside it. The only blemishes in the polished frame were a set of recessed bolt heads that seemed to hold the frame on the side I had started on to the rest of 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?” he queried.

I had not paid much attention to the clutter on top of the box, so I had missed this feature of the box. The hole in question was a slot about two inches wide and maybe a foot long. “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,” he explained. “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.” As I picked up the earpiece and began fitting it, I was thinking that he seemed to have thought things through and that even in the early part of the show, even if he did not put in an appearance, he would still be part of the video. “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.”

The speaker suddenly went silent, then I heard his voice directly in my ear. “There that’ll be more comfortable; you won’t have to shout.”

“You’ve got 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.” I did think to wonder how long we would be talking in each other’s ears before I saw him for the first time in the flesh. Of course I knew what he looked like from the video, but people seldom seem the same when met face-to-face.

“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.” He paused as if he was savouring the thought of what he was planning for me this morning.

He returned to the now and said, “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?”

I picked up the sheet of security labels and carefully peeled the first label away and stuck it over the top left bolt.

“Yes, er,” suddenly I realised I did not know what to call him and I was in the middle of a sentence without a proper end I could use; I compromised and concluded with, “I understand.” While I peeled a further three labels and positioned them over the bolts and then signed each in turn, I grappled with the question of did it matter if I did not having an approved mode of address for Tom. I decided it did so I had to ask. “How do I address you? Do I call you ‘Sir’ or ‘Tom’ or something else?”

“In the current setting, ‘Tom’ is just fine,” he said.

I must confess I was a little disappointed to be starting out on such familiar terms; if I decided he had the necessary qualities that I wanted to have a relationship of some sort with him, some of the boundaries that we would need were already being eroded. I hope I hid my feelings well enough.

He 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.” Obviously I had failed to hide my feelings, but the starting point for a dialogue on how we might interact on future occasions had been established; all assuming that I wanted there to be future occasions.

“The security labels are done and signed. Nobody is getting into that box without destroying those labels.” I had made what I now realise was something a magician will take as a challenge, except I also know that he had this planned from the start; making such an assumption probably showed how naive I was in matters magical.

“That is all with that box for the moment,” he said, “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.”

There was only the camera and a thing with buttons on it; I grabbed the camera and the other item from the top of the box. I waved the remote above my head in the hope I would get confirmation that it was the right thing, in case something had been knock off or gone missing.

“Yes, that’s the thing,” he confirmed. I gave the remote a brief glance; it looked like some weird cross between a TV remote and a car-key.

“Now, go over to the wooden crate and check it out for solidity,” he instructed, adding, “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.”

I made my way to the crate, paying more attention to how to get the camera running. Then I inspected and knocked all the sides and the base to check it was good and solid, as requested. I hoped I was doing and adequate job of videoing this task (having seen the resulting video, I reckon I did better than I expected, although Tom seems to have done something to improve the framing in the edited video).

“Features to this box?” I pondered out loud, “Hmm. Well we have a metal loop on each side.” I circled the box and filmed myself tugging on each loop checking it was firmly attached to the box. “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 build into either end; they’re, maybe, three fingers widths wide (perhaps fractionally more).” Not exactly a scientific measurement, especially as my fingers are quite slender. I hoped I had covered everything I was supposed to and not bored him with things he did not think were important, or missed something I should have noticed, or even noticed something I should not have.

“That’s good,” he said; it’s always nice to be praised. “You’ve mentioned all the features that I intended you to find, but if you spot anything else, let me know, ok?” That puzzled me. Had I missed something key? Or was he thinking I might know more about boxes, than perhaps he did? Or was he just playing with me to try and keep my attention?

I had asked for a magic show/experience that involved me being in boxes and I had already been shown a gorgeous box that I could not get into and now I was examining another; I asked what, to me, seemed a perfectly natural question. “Do I get in the box now, Tom?”

“Not just yet, Hannah, there is more work to do before you see a box from the inside.” He replied. It seemed that I was going to have to earn my time in boxes. “The first bit involves using the remote control. Press the ‘start’ button.”

I looked closely at the remote to identify the correct button; it was fairly obvious; the button with the circle and the vertical crossing it. I pressed it and was startled to hear a car engine start up and fade to an idling engine noise. I looked in the direction of the noise and could make out the outline of a large-ish car.

“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 on the 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.”

I pressed the button with the headlight symbol and was bathed in the headlights of the car; if nothing else it made the reading of the symbols on the remote easier and showed that the car had an electric winch mounted on the front. It was quite easy to figure out which were the winch controls, but which one let more of the cable out and which pulled it in was less obvious; I tried one and it was the wrong one; the other one proved right.

Before starting, I needed to know how far to feed the hook through the holes in the end of the crate. Some dominants like things just so and expect you to know without being told, but it seemed that Tom was happy to be asked questions. “How far do you want the hook through the crate?” I asked.

“I want the hook to be between 6 and twelve inches beyond the hole it comes out of; this will give you enough space to work with it, without too much slack.”

It took me a few minutes to pass the hook and its cable through the box as 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.”

I was beginning to wonder if I was going to be allowed to get into a box. The first box had one way in (secured by bolts) and I had been asked to collude in my exclusion from that box by covering the bolt heads. Now I was being asked to lock myself out of the other box I had been shown. I was beginning to feel that Tom did not get my desire to be inside small spaces, or, more hopefully, that he was toying with me, in which case the magic and/or the in-box-experiences would have to be good to make it worth the effort.

I went over to the lid, which looked as solidly constructed as the rest of the crate. I turned the hasps of the four padlocks outwards, so they could not accidentally lock themselves, and then I knocked on the lid; it sounded as solid as the rest of the crate. I picked up the lid and carried it to the box, where I rested it on the edge to be sure I had it the right way round and found that it did not seem to matter which way round it was, because it would lock down whichever way round I put it on. I had another moment of disappointment as I slid the lid into position and flipped the metal plates so the slots in them went over the loops on the box. Finally with a bit of a heavy heart I fitted the four padlocks through the loops, making it impossible to get into the box without the keys that Tom held.

As I clicked the last padlock shut, Tom 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.”

He could see what I was doing, but I still had no idea where I was being watched from; for all I knew, he might be watching from some concealed position, or via one of the cameras and thus in another room, or possibly building, or given that he was a magician, who seemed to do real magic, he could be standing somewhere in full view, but invisible. Having his voice directed straight into my ear also made it impossible for me to listen for his movement or the origin of the voice somewhere in the building. Part of me was wondering if this was planned or he really was just making communicating and recording our conversation easier, as he said.

Another part of me wondered why I was undressing and how I should do it; there did not seem to be any part of me that considered whether I should be undressing. The answer to the ‘Why?’ I guessed had to be a combination of not wanting to damage or dirty my clothes; making the illusions easier, because with nothing to snag on things there was less to worry about; of course, he wanted to see me naked, especially if he was considering me as a potential more permanent magician’s assistant role; and it might be a test to see how much he could get away with before I questioned his commands.

The ‘How?’ was as complicated. Did I undress quickly to bring forward the moment when I might be installed in a box, or did I perform a striptease? I rapidly dismissed the striptease, because I still had no clue about where I was being viewed from. I finally resolved that I would undress casually, as if I wanted to undress, rather than had been ordered to.

I easily spotted the basket, and approached it removing my coat, which I dropped into it. Carefully I removed my top, skirt and bra, each following the coat.

“Shall I take off my shoes too?” I asked. Some people seem not to class shoes as clothes and his answer, might give a bit of clue about the reasons for my disrobing.

“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.”

This did not clarify to me his motive for getting me naked, but it did give some confidence that he was giving some consideration to my comfort and safety; neither of which are bad things. I slipped off the flat shoes I was wearing and placed them beside the basket, and then went on to remove my stockings and panties. I walked to the centre of the chalk ring and did a turn on the spot that should have been visible from any of the possible viewpoints; I may be a small package, but my figure is well worth looking at.

He whispered in my ear, as I returned to the locked crate, “You look good enough to eat.”

Normally, such a comment would have been taken as a compliment, but I began to wonder how literally a magician might mean it; I am not a person who ever fantasised about being eaten.

I guess he notice that I was a little concerned about something. He 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 some people get off on the Vore fantasy, I would rather not be involved.”

In the pause that followed, I may have imagined the sound of typing, via the ear-piece. Was he googling to find out what I was on about? In which case I was safe, unless I was giving him ideas.

“No, vore-anything is 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.” He was trying to sound reassuring, but the fact that he seemed to be willing to consider something so bizarre made me wonder what I was letting myself in for.

Time to get things moving again. “I’m naked, what’s next?”

“Put on the belt that you had on the lid,” he instructed. “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.”

I checked out the leather belt that was still on the box lid; it was thick and tan in colour. It seemed a bit stiff as I put it on, but comfortable enough, once I adjusted it. I picked up the car’s remote controller and stepped to the end of the box where the hook was. It was a bit fiddly to hook myself to the cable, but it was soon done.

“I’m hooked up, Tom,” I said, despite being sure that he could see that I was hooked on.

“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.”

These instructions sounded like they might lead to me being seriously hurt; I could picture being dragged across the floor with the crate preceding me until the crate met the winch, when it would be crushed as winch continued to pull on the hook on my belt, either the winch would jam on the debris or I would be covered in shards of splintered wood until I was pulled against the winch’s feed rollers and I hoped to be able to activate some cut-off switch.

I looked at the red button on the remote, to see if it had a symbol that gave me any clue what effect it would have on the function of the winch. There was no symbol.

This morning I had come a long way, in my feel for Tom and his way of working, rather than physical distance. I had told him that I felt that following his instruction would do me no harm; but here I was debating with myself, whether I should do as he asked. I could unhook myself and walk away, something told me that I would regret such a move.

I thumbed the red button, being careful to press it only a single time and then my thumb moved to hover over the wind in button. Some parts of me conspired to take control of my thumb (probably my sense of adventure, my confidence in the magician I had seen do strange things to Annie, my desire to earn my place in either of the boxes I had been shown and finally my preference for getting something for my money). The thumb pressed the button and the rest of my hand went limp, releasing the remote to fall to the floor.

From my position crouched on the other side of the crate, I heard the car’s revs suddenly increase and there was a sudden pull on the belt round my waist. I tried to scream, but that got modified in to a grunt by the tug on my waist. What happened next is beyond description, except that it was suddenly dark and confined, with a short scraping noise as the crate moved a little for a fraction of a second. One moment I was tethered to a cable through a crate to a winch and the next I was inside the crate. I took me a few seconds to comprehend what appeared to have happened; I seemed to have been pulled through the hole I could not put my hand through; but that’s impossible; except it had just happened to me, without any instructions on how it was done.

Being inside the box, began to feel good. I could faintly hear the car still running, but nothing else, until I heard a tiny scrape outside the box, which was Tom picking up the remote I had dropped. Seconds later there was a tap on the box and Tom said, “Hannah, are you alright in there?”

I gave the question some consideration; I felt that I was unharmed, but unless the padlocks had been released, I was in here for as long as he wanted to keep me in here; not usually a safe situation. It crossed my mind that this might be one of the many boxes that Tom had mentioned that involved the insertion of blades; but dismissed this quite quickly as the only holes were the holes the cable had been threaded through. “Fine, thank you, Tom.” This was intended to convey that I was unhurt and not uncomfortable.

“I need you to do one thing before I release you,” he said, “unhook the hook from your belt. You can take that off too if you want; you won’t be needing it again today.”

This was not the smallest container I had ever been in and so it was easy enough to feed the hook out of the crate, once I had detached it from the belt; admittedly I did bump my elbows against the walls of the crate a couple of times before I got a proper feel for the boundaries within the crate. I also took the opportunity to remove the belt too; I do not think that was audible from outside the box.

There was a short period during which I could her the whine of the car’s winch and a few clanks, then the car fell silent.

“I’ll get you some water, then you can get out, but not until I say.”

“Ok,” I acknowledged.

For a few moments I was worried to hear receding foot-steps; I was locked in a box and the only person with the keys was walking away leaving me alone in an abandoned building.

I soon turned my thoughts to being inside a box without the need to leave it until asked to do so; this turned me on and cautious of the limited space, I began to explore how I felt physically and mentally about being in a locked box. I touched my naked body and discovered my nipples had responded positively to the experience and there was a tingle between my legs. My excitement at being in a confined space seemed to be compounded by the fact that I was unable to leave. A hand was soon causing my level of excitement to escalate and I became oblivious to anything happening outside the box; I might have noticed if the lid had been removed, but otherwise I was intensely involved in what I was doing inside to box to the exclusion of caring what may have been occurring outside. I had a powerful orgasm; somewhere in my personal top ten. Then I leaned against the inner wall of the crate and waited for my release, to experience other boxes.

“Hannah, you may now exit the box,” came Tom’s whisper in my ear, which suddenly reminded me that he would have heard me masturbating in the box. I did not know whether to be embarrassed or relieved that he had not interrupted me.

I pressed upward against the lid of the box and it lifted, until it reached an angle where it slide from the side of the crate and clattered to the floor. I unfolded myself from within the box and looked round in the hope of seeing Tom; I knew he had to have been there, because the padlocks had been removed and there was a glass of water a few yards away on the floor. I could not see Tom.

“Have yourself a drink of water!” came the instruction whispered in my ear.

I stepped out of the box and went over to the glass. It looked clean and the water was still; it had stood there long enough to have settled. I picked it up and sniffed it, before I took a tiny sip, to see if it tasted right. I was feeling quite vulnerable, not only from being naked in an unknown place, in the presence of a man I had yet to meet in the flesh, but I had the feeling that I had been dragged through a small hole into a locked box (not that the actual feeling of that event was unpleasant) which meant either my mind was playing tricks or Tom was playing tricks; either way something odd was happening.

As the few drops of water trickled down my throat, I realised how thirsty I was and the water tasted exactly like it did at home, which probably meant the Tom had run the water before filling the glass so that it was fresh water in the pipes. I necked the remainder of the glass and felt a lot better. It occurred to much later that if Tom was the magician he claimed, he would have methods that would allow him to do whatever he wanted to whoever he wanted without resorting to something as crude as drugging a glass of water.

There was a slightly clearing of a throat, then Tom said into my ear, “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.” There was a missed beat, then as an after-thought, “Oh! And the glass can go in there too.”

I stowed the glass in a corner of the crate and picked up the lid and slotted that into the crate diagonally, so that it was neat and not going to smash the glass. The crate was not particularly heavy, but instead of pushing it, I decided to pull it. At the circumference I left it straddling the line and stood in a casually attentive pose to indicate I was waiting for more instructions.