Fetish Magician 2: The Claustrophile: Tom: Part 2


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 you 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 it 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 turn 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 to near 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 concluding that the plan was that she got in the box and then a lot of sharpen dowel rods 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 she that 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 working 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 caused 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 angry.

“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-threaten 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 its longways length.”

“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 ok 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 touching 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 announce. “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 again 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. I took a while to work out what was happening, but I assumed that the rod had passed through her groin and I 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, strained 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 honest 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 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 rods 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.