Fetish Magician 2A: The Claustrophile: Hannah: Part 5

"So, are you going to do something with me in here? or do I need to get out?" I 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."

He easily rolled the ironing board away, with the iron riding on the platform and the cloth that had covered me while I was being flattened draped over the upper surface.

I recognised the illusion apparatus that he returned with as the illusion he had mentioned during our first telephone conversation, but for the moment I could not remember its name; I had looked it up on YouTube get some idea of what I might expect if it should come up. The thin rectangular table with the cubic box about a foot in each direction riding toward the front matched what I had seen, but instead of a mirror riding on the back of the table there was a rack of three impressive Japanese style swords.

With the table placed over the chalk cross at the centre, he pulled a small powered screwdriver from his jacket pocket and used it to destroy the labels in the process of undoing the bolts that held the side on the box I was in. With an effort Tom lifted the side off of the box and placed it almost silently on the top, then he offered me a hand to help out. I was a little disappointed that my time in the box had ended in such an unmagical way; but then, it did seem the right way to do it.

I checked the box, partly to check that this was really the box I had been introduced to and not some fake version with hidden ways in. I was also checking that the box had not been damaged in the process of putting me into it. I could see the smudging caused by the contact of my skin and the glass; this was nothing that could not be cured with glass cleaner and elbow grease. The only other blemish was where the tape that had held my hand in place had left a sticky mark. I gave Tom a sharp glance for that; I think he got the message.

Time to turn my attention to the illusion that he had brought from the darkness beyond the chalk circle. "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." I was glad he had named it, because it was beginning to bug me that I had forgotten what he called it.

"Origami, that was it; I knew if 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." Why was I phrasing this as a challenge? Tom seemed to be able to do anything he put his mind to, no matter how impossible and I was suppose to be checking him out as a someone to take a dominant part in a relationship, but maybe that was Angela's idea, not mine.

"That's the small size," he stated. "I've got to open it out a bit to get you on the inside, then I close it back 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!" Was I really ready, after the rest of the stuff that had already happened, to be compacted into a box smaller than I could curl up? My mouth was implying that I was, but my mind was less sure.

He went to other side of the table and began tugging, adjusting and clipping together flaps and sections of the box and soon had expanded the cube to a bigger open-topped box that took up most of the table leaving a rim big enough to step onto but not a lot else.

"Is that as big as it goes?" I asked. Despite being bigger it was not particularly big; maybe a foot, by nearly three and a foot and a half high.

"Yes, next stop; back where it started, but with you inside." Was that a challenge?

"But how am I meant to fit in there?" Even by my claustrophilic standards it was still a bit small.

"I'm not sure, but this is a replica (kind of) of a well-known illusion." In response to my blank look, he continued, "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 at it?" He held a hand across the top of the illusion with the obvious intent that I use it as a hand-hold to mount the table.

I took the offered hand and stepped up, even though I was in two minds about going any further than that. I looked down into the box. It was dark in there, given the interior was matt black and not a lot of light got in in the first place. At the bottom was the major feature that I could see; a pair of mechanisms similar to the runners you see on kitchen drawers or in filing cabinets, obviously how the back section that he had pulled from within the front section had slid along the table. A minor feature was the clips that held in place the flaps that had been folded up to give the box its extra height.

"Why don't you step inside?" He tugged my hand slightly adding a physical component to the request.

I took the hint and stepped one foot into the box; I could as easily stepped it back out again. It was a small relief to discover that the sliders in the bottom were flush with the bottom of the box.

"Face front," he instructed. He pulled on my hand to turn my body towards the front camera. By a masterful use of that force he made it so that I had to step my other foot into the box if I was to feel stable. I turned my first foot and stepped my other foot to be beside it. I was now standing in the middle of the box with my back towards the sword rack on the rear.

He tried to guide me to go down into the box, but I wanted to be sure of what was going to happen before I allowed that to happen. In the back of my mind I was using this as a test to see how he would react to a small amount of defiance. "What happens next?" I asked, giving a brief glance back towards the racked swords. I was not feeling ready for more things to be thrust through my body, and certainly not without warning.

"You mean once you are in the box and I have folded it back down to its smaller size?" Was he playing dumb or was he open to some negotiation of what happened later.

I nodded that I meant then. "Yes," I said. "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."

"I reckon that you'll be able to speak, to some extent," he assured me, then added the caveat, "but what you say may not be totally clear from the outside, which is why we have the earpieces and mikes. 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."

So he had another plan that did not necessarily involve the swords, but he was a bit hazy on the magical logic of the illusion. Then former I hoped would turn out to be a relief, because I guessed that the experience of being run through by metal swords would be different to the feeling of sharpened sticks, it was not a feeling I was particularly looking forward to. Some unexpressed thought niggled that if he was unsure of the magical logic of the illusion it might not work and I would be on the sharp end of however the 'not working' manifested.

"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 was trying to hint that I would be sufficiently impressed if he could fold the box into its smaller size with me inside and the swords might be superfluous.

"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'll be a bit squeezed up." He was giving consideration to how the swords might make me feel given the difference in my situation, but seemed to forget that these were slivers of steel and not round wooden stakes. "Besides I have an alternative that we might talk about once you're in place." An alternative to the swords sounded like a good idea, especially if the alternative was 'no swords', but it implied the replacement of the swords with something, possibly less deadly. At least he was open to talking about the next stage before we got there.

"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." I was challenging him again; was this a good idea?

"Ok, its time to scrunch down some, so I can get the box back to its smaller size."

"So, how do we achieve that?"

"Try sitting down and we'll see where we go from there. Or you could try kneeling."

The few videos I had seen were not (for obvious reasons) totally clear on how the assistant hunkered down into the box, but I had the impression that they dived in and you cannot dive from a sitting position. So I knelt into the box thankful for the support of his hand. I shuffled back and bent forward until  my back was below the level of the open topped box.

He seemed to think I was not low enough in the box. He said, "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?" A testing question.

"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 not saying that your feet are too big either." Good save.

I rose back out of the box enough to move my feet from the back of the box to the front. I tried express some disapproval of his lack of foresight in not working out how to get me into the box efficiently, with a squinted glance and letting go of his hand to use the surface of the table outside the box to support the manoeuvre.

"Now, what do I do? I'm sitting in the bottom of the box."

He looked into the box to check out the small amount of space around me; a few inches at the front and another few behind.

"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 you 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."

A frown darkened my face as he admitted to not being certain of the kind of feelings doing this might give rise to, but I tried to flash him a smile when he said he would do his best. I put my arms back slightly and leaned forward to lie my torso on my legs. It was more comfortable to rest my hands on the tops of my buttocks, so I did that.

"It's just as well I exercise for flexibility, 'cause I'm feeling it in the back of my legs."

Me being in position and making a light-hearted comment, he took as an indication that I was ready. It got darker in the box as he folded the standing flaps down. I could feel the rear set resting with very little pressure on the backs of my hands and the minimal tickle as the front flaps were folded down and touched the hair on the back of my head. Light still got in through the bit of the top that was not covered by flaps, roughly from the top of my shoulders to the small of my back.

There was a click and I saw a light of line in the side of the box. Tom had released the mid-part of the side walls, which connected to the front section. There was enough gap to let in light that I could see with my peripheral vision, but not a big gap that you could see through. The faint scrape of the sliders let me know that the rear section of the box was being pushed foward before I felt the inside of the rear wall touch me; another clue was the diminution of the amount of light coming through the gap above my back.

The oncoming wall touched me gently, then he seemed to apply more pressure than felt entirely comfortable. I let out a noise to let him know that a bit more gentleness would be appreciated. His pressure moderated and then stopped. I was not feeling any more squashed that I had before, but I could feel more contact with the box. As he came to a halt most of the light leaking into the box disappeared; there was also a sound of something moving against something else from somewhere behind my head.

"How are you holding up in there?" he asked.

It took me a few moments making noises that made no sense to discover I could speak, although the transmission of the sound had more to do with the sensitivity of the Bluetooth I was wearing than the volume I was speaking at. "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 folded the open box."

"So, you're liking it?" He enquired.

"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."

I paused to calculate. "So, I'm inside something with dimensions of about a foot by a foot by two feet?" He grunted a yes. "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," he acknowledged. The pressure against my posterior increased fractionally, but over a short time that feeling of every part of me being in contact with something increased, but I lost what little track of whether any specific part of me was in contact with the inside of the box or another part of me, particularly if the contact was between parts that generally required the most extreme contortions to bring to touch each other.

There were a couple of clicks and then things seemed to stabilise. It felt good to be in such a confined space. I relaxed what little tension remained from my situation.

Tom asked if I was alright.

"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 replied. "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 though the holes, I'm sure that you spotted in the various faces of the box."

"Other things? Like what?" My mind whirled with a ever expanding list of things Tom could add to the box; most of my imaginings had an unpleasant edge to them.

"How about I surprise you? It definitely won't hurt." Not being hurt sounded like a definite plus, but the thought of a surprise, when I was in no position to reject it was less comforting.

A popular joke perpetrated by many magicians I had seen (with widely varying degrees of success) was the 'I promise it won't hurt me' gag. "Are you talking about it not hurting you or not hurting me?"

He replied in an amused tone. "I think you'll enjoy it and I'll get to enjoy it too."

There was a pause while Tom got ready whatever he was coming into the box with me. I was about to ask him to confirm that he was still there, when the box moved a bit, although I could not tell exactly how and I felt something new touching the back of my head

"What are you doing out there? I can feel some movement and something touching the back of my head." I was letting him know that I had felt the changes, rather than complaining about them.

"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?"

Now that was a complicated question, because I had not been tracking exactly what ended up where; for all I knew the pressure against the side of my nose could have been my elbow or somewhere half way up my back. I tried to check if there were any gaps in my feeling of all-over contact that might indicate proximity to a hole. There were a few places where there was no contact I guessed at the one most probable to have ended up not tuck into my squashed body. "I'm not totally sure, but I thing 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."

It was nice to be warned, but whatever it was going to be would bump into the palm of my hand and might hurt if it went through. "Ok, but go gently, there can't be much room in her with me."

A moment later I felt something warm and firm press against my hand.

"I can feel something," I announced. I did not stand a chance of identifying whatever it was by having it pressed against my palm. Maybe I could turn my hand a bit to allow my fingers to touch it. "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 detected an underlying amusement in the way he breathed for a moment. Had I said something funny?

As I gently turned my hand I managed to keep contact with the thing being pushed through the hole. I had the sensation that the side on my hand was against the edge of the hole. My hand was out of the way of the item and Tom pushed it in further. Cautiously I wrapped my hand round it and squeezed. What I felt was familiar enough to know from the first touch. Tom had pushed his penis through the hole; I knew it had to be a real one and not a dildo by the warmth and the fact it pulsed gently rather than vibrating.

It seemed that he had not ignored my mentions of sex during our first phone call, but was giving me the chance to say no. At that point I was feeling about as aroused as I had in a very long time, what with having been in three boxes and still being in a fourth combined with the faint afterglow of two orgasms.

"I take it back," I said, "That's not a balloon, but I'm thinking that stiff was the right word to use (if you get my meaning). Why don't you try your luck with another hole?" I shocked myself; I had invited him to take advantage of my confined situation.

Initially I thought my invitation had fallen on deaf ears, because he stroked his dick in my hand a few times, but then he withdrew. There was more movement. The suspense was intense as I waited to find out if he would accept my offer or let me out of the box or, as a worse case, fall back to plan A with the swords.

The movement stopped, then I felt something touched my lips. He was taking this fairly slowly then. I put out my tongue, to be sure that what had touched my lips was what I hoped it was. It was. I was pleasantly surprised; it did not taste soapy or sweaty, but a little salty, which is to be expected, with an underlying flavour that I liked, but could not identify.

My reaction was to try to say, "You taste good," but as I opened my lips to let the words out, he took it as an invitation to push himself into my mouth. The result was I failed to say what I had to say and he became stiffer in my mouth thanks to the vibrations caused by my attempt to speak.

He withdrew and it took me a moment to realise that he was not preparing to ramming his dick back into my mouth, but was waiting for me to say what I had been trying to say before continuing. I said, "I was only trying to say that you taste good." and got a 'thank you' in return. His dick once more pressed against my lips

I practised every trick I knew for giving satisfying oral sex and my rewards were to have my mouth filled with the flavour of his cock and to hear his inarticulate noises of appreciate through my earpiece. As we continued he was getting harder; I decided that I wanted him inside me, but in a different place. I tried to push his dick out using my tongue and thankfully he took that hint until I was breathing on the end of his dick.

"How about you try another hole? But please use a condom." I may have been highly aroused, but I was not beyond being cautious and the request had the effect of making it clear which hole I was referring to. Why did I assume that there was an alignment between the hole in the box and my pussy? Maybe I was beginning to accept that magic was about being able to do what the participants wanted and I wanted this.

There was no movement, just a bit of vibration as he prepared to follow my request. Then I felt my tiny enclosed world tilt forward and moments later his dick was inside me. I sighed at the release of tensions.

For the next few minutes most of my brain was occupied with experiencing the initially gently, even tentative, thrusts that became stronger as time passed. What little remained, not dedicated to breathing, was used to produce noises that expressed my excitement and pleasure, given that my vocabulary had been reduced to the one word, 'Yes'. At a deeper level, something had noticed the tilting of the box and concluded that it was balanced on its front edge; this meant there was a possibility that the box might be pushed off the table. This sense of danger fed into my experience of being fucked in a tiny box and enhanced it.

We may not have orgasmed simultaneously, but I would be hard-pressed to say who came first, it was that close. There was a moment of stillness. He pulled out, allowing some of my mind that had been devoted to experiencing this unusual sexual adventure, switched back to keeping my alive by expelling the spent air in my lungs, in a sigh and replenishing it with fresher air.

I lost some awareness of time as I panted and luxuriated in the post-orgasmic sensations that filled my confined body.

There were some clicks that brought me back to a keen sense of my situation. The all-over contact feelings lightened until it was sitting in the bottom of the opened out box with my body pressed against my outstretched legs. Once the top flaps were upright again, he offered a hand to help me extract myself from the box.

As I unfolded myself from within the box, "Wow!" was my first comment. "Annie was right; I desperately needed a good fucking and that hit the spot, many times over."

He thanked me; it seemed that he had enjoyed it too. He maintained the hand-hold until I had got out of the box and down from the table. Then I hugged him; an action I hoped demonstrated that I meant the words.

Somewhere, a part of my mind questioned whether this was appropriate behaviour. I took a step backward and stood at attention. He looked a little confused at my sudden change in attitude. "You said that was the final illusion. Is there anything else you want of me?" I asked.

He seemed a little slower to switch to our more formal relationship of the moment, but he went from lover to tradesman. "No, thank you. You may dress and go about your normal business. I shall be sending the video, when I have a reasonable edit." At least there was still a little bit a dom there.

I collected my clothes from the ironing board and my shoes from beside the basket. I put on the skirt, top and shoes, but decided to carry my underwear.

I headed for the door out of there. "You know how to get in touch if you want more," he said. I looked at him over my shoulder and smiled.

I looked at my watch as I emerged into the sunlight and headed for my car. It would be lunchtime by the time I got home. Then I would have to ring Angela and tell her everything about the experience that morning.