Wild Magic Party - Quinn Again

Quinn was discovering that her mermaid costume was not helping her. With her legs held tightly together and her feet jammed into the mermaid fin she could not get up to walk about. Her old-fashioned wheelchair contraption would have been too heavy for her to move, even if she could have reached the wheels to try pushing them. Fortunately, she had enough admirers and people generally willing to help, especially after featuring in the first major on-stage demonstration of the evening, that she had little trouble going where she wanted to go.

She found herself parked in the middle of a foyer, while Martin, one of the helpers who had trussed her during that demonstration, went to the bar to get them drinks.

There was a shudder of the bath-chair as someone placed a hand on the pushing handle. "It is you, isn't it?" After a short pause, the gruff voice continued. "Yes, I know it's you. I must say if it had not been for the magic I would not have recognised you. You were a bit skinny when you were thirteen, but you have filled out nicely. And that outfit really suits you. I think we need to talk; privately."

Quinn felt the brake being released (another reason she could not move around independently; not being able to reach the brake release) then she was being pushed towards a door marked 'Staff only'. Through the door was another corridor in a poor decorative state and through another couple of doors and passing a few corridor branches, they arrived in a deserted area that looked like a loading bay. The area was strewn with large travel cases and had a shutter door at the end.

The man who had been pushed Quinn pulled up a smaller case and sat on it. She recognised him as the magician who had, earlier in the evening, lost his temper and made a pin cushion of Ann.

"Like I said, we need to talk," reiterated the magician.

"Am I supposed to know you?" asked Quinn.

"We shared an experience that has become very important in my life, but if it was one you'd rather forget I would quite understand."

"That's not much help."

"You are the first person I sawed in half for real," said the magician.

"Still not helping; I've been sawn in half more times than I can fully recall and several of them must have been trying it out."

"You were thirteen at the time and there was no audience. If I remember correctly it was your birthday."

"Are you him?" asked Quinn.

"Who?"

"The guy who sawed me in half my first time."

"I guess so, unless you were sawn in half before that."

"That was what you might call a formative experience," said Quinn. "It was terrifying at the time, but once the terror had faded, I mainly remember how good it felt. I'm not totally sure, but I think I have been chasing that experience ever since. I've come close several times, but I guess it's true what they say about your first time being special."

"Do you remember what happened after I let you out of the box?"

"Not particularly. Why? Was it important?"

"We made a pinky promise to keep what happened that day a secret and never talk to anyone about it. Have you ever told anyone about it?"

"No. Why would I?"

"I think with the residual magic after sawing and restoring you, the pinky promise had more force than usual. I have tried to talk to people about it, but I find that I never can."

"So, you want to talk to someone about it and I'm the only person you can talk to about it, right?"

"Partly. You, presumably, know that I have a reputation?"

"You're a big-shot magician, of course you have a reputation."

"Not that reputation. The reputation of being dangerous to be around and performing magic on semi-innocent by-standers; like that waitress I had the other waitress shish-ka-bob."

"That waitress was Ann; she's a friend of mine. She seemed to be enjoying it from where I sat."

"Sorry, but I was intending to make her suffer, but somehow it didn't work; every attempt to cause her pain only seemed to tickle her; is she some kind of masochist?"

"No, she's usually shy of magicians and very modest, but one of the organisers, Terry, I think, promised her that she would suffer no pain or embarrassment and, I'm guessing, from that outfit she is wearing and the lack of effect of your torture, that it is working."

"That explains that; I was afraid I was losing it. I suppose I'll have to put her head back before the evening is out."

"I think that would be appreciated; she was complaining that working with your head in not quite the right place was quite difficult."

There was a short silence, while the two individually rewound the conversation to find where it had been derailed.

The magician was the first to speak. "Anyway, that was beside the point. What I wanted to talk to you about was that I think I'm going to need to break the pinky promise we made that day."

"Why would you want to do that? It's our secret; no-one else needs to know."

"Well, I might need to say something about it to the psychiatrist I'm planning to engage to help me with my 'anger issues'," admitted the magician.

"I'd heard stories, but I had not connected them with me. Is it really that bad."

"It is, because apart from two very loyal assistants, I'm having trouble recruiting assistants, because of the reputation and my loyal assistants have threatened to quit if I don't get some help."

"You can't blame your temper on our first times?" queried Quinn.

"Actually, it had crossed my mind that I learnt that I could do magic through being angry (specifically at you), whereas most magicians are trained in the magic and learn in a calm atmosphere. That may be important. It may be that learning that I could do magic in temper, added some extra requirement or connection between the magic and the anger."

"I guess you've tried sawing assistants in a calm situation and that has not helped."

"Of course, but now that you mention it, if I could repeat my first sawing in a calm way, maybe that would help. Would you be willing to help me by giving it a go?"

"I'm usually up for any magic, but I feel that with you I would need some sort of guarantee that you wouldn't have a hissy-fit and abandon me half way through."

"Not flattering; but understandable. How about if I find that young man that was getting you a drink to help out," offered the magician.

"Yes, I think Martin would be alright."

"Wait here! I won't be long," the magician instructed. He stood and left the area by the door through which they had entered.

Quinn immediately began to wonder if making the suggestion of needing a chaperone or guardian had been the right thing to do. She was alone in an infrequently visited part of the hotel and nobody, but the magician, knew where she was.

To pass the time she tried to remember as much as she could about that fateful day. She had enjoyed the birthday magic show, but been disappointed that there had been no proper illusions. The two illusions had been a suspension, which she had not been able to see, because she was the person being suspended horizontally from the back of a fold-up chair (this doubly disappointed her, because she could feel the supporting mechanism and not the hoped for floating on air sensation), and a poorly performed dagger head box illusion with her mum as the victim, unfortunately she had recently seen the masked magician episode that revealed this very illusion and the performer had failed to mask the moves that Quinn had anticipated.

After the show her friends had gone home and she had pestered the magician while he was packing up. The magician's temper had snapped and she had been snatched up and placed in a thin model sawing box. She now realised that she had been angry too, but at her mum for not making an effort to cooperate with the magician, so that the sawing in half illusion could have been performed at her birthday magic show. As she contemplated this, it made sense that her being angry too would have had an effect on the situation.

The actual being sawn in half was a blur of terror, anger, and the build up to and release of her first orgasm.

----------

Martin had been easy to find. Not only did the magician recognise the young man who had been pushing the bath-chair to foyer of the conference area of the hotel, but there was nobody else with a drink in each hand and looking puzzled at the vanishment of the woman the pink drink had been for.

The magician tapped Martin on the shoulder, causing him to jolt and add to the stickiness of the carpet as some of the pink escaped the glass. "You're Martin, right?"

Martin turned. He immediately recognised his assailant. "Yes, " said the startled young man and then having witnessed the magician's fiery temper and him exacting his revenge on the waitress, he added, "Yes, sir!"

"Come with me! Quinn needs your help."

Martin looked round to see if there was somewhere that he could put down the drinks.

"Bring them with you!" the magician instructed. "Quinn will likely want a drink when I'm finished with her."

Martin followed the magician into the labyrinth of unmarked corridors and through swinging doors that taxed his ability to retain the drinks in their glasses.

They arrived in the loading bay; Quinn had not moved from where she had been left, except to change her position in the chair.

Martin dumped the drinks on a crate near the door. Rushing forward he asked, "Are you alright, Quinn? He hasn't been nasty to you has he?"

"No, not yet, but I felt that I needed someone around in case."

"Shall we get on with it?" the magician suggested, pulling a thin model sawing box into a less cluttered area of the room. "Ok, Martin, we need to get her into this box," he said, as he opened the lids. "She's put on a bit of weight since we last did this."

"Are you alright with this?" Martin asked.

"Yes, I already agreed to give it a go. And before you start thinking he is being ungallant, about my weight, I was barely into my teens last time we did this and I've grown up and filled out since then. But you could have phrased it better," she sniped.

"You take her feet, Martin, and I'll get her shoulders, then on three we can lift and carry her to the box."

They carried Quinn to the box and settled her into it; privately Martin wondered if the magician could have levitated Quinn to her destination and was giving him something to do. The magician shut the lids and closed the catches.

"Hand me the stocks!"

Martin came down on side of the keep the observer occupied explanation, as he stooped to collect the stocks from the shelf underneath the box. He handed the neck stock to the magician.

"Don't you know a proper magician does the feet stocks first?" Despite this remark, the magician fitted the stock in place having fussed with Quinn's hair to prevent it being caught under the stock. "Now for the foot stock." He held out his hand to receive the stock. Two strides took him to the foot of the box. Martin stood back to give him room.

"Shall we remove this fin so that the stock fits properly?"

"I don't think Treasure would like that and my ankles can't move apart much anyway because the rest of the tail is very tight." At the mention of Treasure, the magician paled slightly.

"Ok, but we've got to keep you still somehow." He paused to think for a bit, then went to another crate and returned with a length of rope.

"What's that for?" asked Martin.

"Simple. Because we can't use the foot stock to secure Quinn in the box, we're going to have to improvise, So I'm going to tie this end around her ankles and the other end to table somewhere underneath." He glanced at the mildly concerned Quinn and asked, "Why do I have to tie you up every time I saw you in half?"

"It's to see you make the extra effort," commented Quinn with a wink that Martin missed.

"Wait!" said Martin, "Have you two got history?"

Quinn answered, "Let's just say that we learnt magic together and leave it at that; I don't think I can tell you more."

Martin wore a perplexed frown, while he watched the magician loop the rope efficiently around Quinn's ankles and then secure the ends under the table. "That should do the trick." The magician looked round. "Unfortunately, the jigsaw I used on you all those years ago burnt out a couple of years after that, so we can't do that part of the reconstruction, so do you have any preference for what I use to saw you in half?"

"What have you got here? There's no point in me suggesting something that you haven't got, and maybe something will seem right."

"Ok, let's see. Well there's a handsaw in here. There's the buzzsaw in here, but that'll take an age to set up. The chainsaw might be good, but the box doesn't have the wide enough gap for the reinforcement not to get damaged, or I suppose I could just push the blades through."

"So, in short, cut by dividers or handsaw and then dividers?" said Quinn trying to get the options straight in her head. "We're trying for a calmer version than last time, right?" The magician nodded. "So either would be calmer than the jigsaw, right?" Another nod. "Tell me about the dividers only cutting, I think it might be a first time for me, most of my sawings have been with have been done by guys who want to use the biggest tool on the shelf."

"Using dividers is definitely low key, but it has its problems; mostly getting them through your spine if we don't hit a gap between your vertebrae, and it's not like you are in a position to move into a better position."

"Ok, handsaw, but go slow and methodical; we're not racing."

The magician went to the crate he had indicated and dug around for a few moments and drew out a 22 inch handsaw with a green and black plastic handle its blade sheathed in a cardboard sleeve.

"That doesn't look very impressive," commented Martin.

The magician gave Martin a warning look, while Quinn said, "It looks plenty impressive enough from here. You know what they say: It ain't the size that's important, but what you do with it."

The magician unsheathed the saw and gave it a cursory check to see that it would still work. Finding no teeth missing, he addressed it to the gap in the box containing Quinn.

Quinn felt it touch in the area where the bodypaint had been used to blend from the tail to her flesh. She braced herself for the initial feeling of the saw biting into her flesh, but it did not come; the magician withdrew the saw from the box.

"If this is going to go as we hope, you need to be more relaxed than that."

"But I know from experience that the first cut hurts, even if the rest feels great," Quinn explained.

"That's exactly the point, your first time is always entered with no preconceptions. I think we need to get you relaxed." The magician leaned over the upper part of the box and opened the flap in the side. "Put out a hand." Turning his attention to Martin, he said, "You hold her hand and don't let go no matter what! In fact, come to think of it, get something to sit on and then hold onto Quinn's hand!"

Martin looked round and quickly found a crate to perch on. A couple of shoves had it located near the sawing box. He sat and took Quinn's offered hand.

The magician slid the saw into the guide slot and rested it on Quinn. "Remember don't let go, no matter what!" He made the first stroke with the saw.

Quinn whooped a joyous sound, because she did not feel any pain from the first stroke. This was lost on Martin who doubled over Quinn's hand feeling as if he had been kicked in the guts, but he held on.

The magician smiled, not an expression his face was accustomed to and continued sawing. He was trying to keep a steady pace, but distracted by Quinn's joyous exclamations and Martin breathing through gritted teeth, he sawed at a faster rate than he had initially intended. Seven strokes in he felt the teeth of the saw bite into the bone of Quinn's spine; he knew that he had been right to decide against blades only. A little more force was need to keep the pace he had started at, but he applied it to maintain his steady rhythm. As the backbone was sawn through Quinn began to alternate whoops and deep sighs. When the spine finally parted she experienced an orgasm, somewhere near magnitude 9 on the Richter scale. It took three more strokes to completely sever Quinn, but the magician was the only one counting.

After about thirty seconds of no-one moving, the magician said, "Would you hand me the dividers from underneath, please."

Martin look at the magician with a malevolent stare. "What the hell happened?"

"I transferred the pain from Quinn, to you," said the magician.

"If it hurts like that, why would anyone want to be involved? Come to think about it, the last time I was involved in an illusion, it didn't hurt anything like that."

"Maybe I was a little tense myself," said the magician. "Perhaps I pushed the pain a bit hard, that would explain why Quinn seemed to have such a good time."

Martin stumble off the crate he had been sitting on and reached under the table. The dividers came easily to hand and he carefully straightened up, before handing them over.

The magician bashed the divider blades together; seemingly more from habit than feeling any need to convince anyone of their solidity, judging by the small embarrassed smile that flickered on his lips. With care and efficiency the blades were smoothly inserted into the slot between the halves of the box and Quinn. Moments later the two halves of the box parted company taking the two halves of Quinn with them.

Between them the magician and Martin parked the two halves of Quinn next to each other. Quinn looked over and flexed her ankles causing the fin sticking out of the other box to flap about. "Do think that has helped?" asked Quinn.

"I can't really tell, but I hope so. But we don't really have the time to check things out, because I have a plane to catch and a waitress to fix before I leave." The watch on the magician's wrist beeped. He looked at it. "I'm sorry; I really must go." He said as he headed for the door.

"Hey!! What about me?" screeched Quinn.

"I'm sure your friend can put you back together. And I gather that you have enough experience to instruct him if he doesn't know what to do."