Quinn’s birthday surprise, part 1

Written for QuinnTheAssistant’s birthday contest

Content warning: this story is based on the fantasy that stage magicians with real magical power could genuinely saw and slice their assistants without causing them any lasting harm, indeed causing them pleasure. If you find that fantasy distasteful, do not read on. The story also contains sexual material. Oh, and a fair sprinkling of strong language too!

The sword grated slightly as the Boss withdrew it from the box she had pierced with it only moments before. This was the last sword to be removed, just as it had been the last sword to be inserted – right slap bang in the centre of the box’s top face, through the slot which the volunteer’s long chestnut hair protruded from. In her crouched position, knees tucked up and head down between them, the blade would have gone through the back of her head and out through her mouth. The Boss had angled it slightly back, so that instead of passing harmlessly between the trapped volunteer’s feet, it would instead pierce her groin, triggering the climax that magical impalement so often generated, at least once the initial pain passed. From her whimpers , moans, and finally outright cries of ecstasy, I’d have to say the Boss had succeeded. Big time. But, luckily for the poor girl’s reputation, her orgasmic wails had been drowned out by the musical crescendo that accompanied the final piercing.
       The Boss tugged the sword clear, and waved it with a flourish. She made a glamorous, if imposing sight, in her traditional black tailed coat worn over a white blouse, with skin-tight black leather trousers for a modern look, and high-heeled boots. She had a severe face, which she emphasized with pale foundation and scarlet lipstick, though when she smiled her eyes danced.
OK, I admit it. I, Quinn, magician’s assistant extraordinaire, rather fancied her my boss. It was one of the things that made what she put us assistants through much more bareable. That, and knowing that as an ex assistant herself, the Boss (as we all called her) had a certain empathy with us, though of course she’d never give any hint of that on the stage.
       I held out my hand for the sword, placing it back in the rack alongside the eleven identical blades. Then I stepped back smartly to stand alongside the box, ready to help the girl – Jenny, I suddenly remembered – out of the box. This trick always left the volunteers stunned, and slightly shaky, as well as often quite embarrassed at their reactions, so I had to be ready to steady them and prevent any unseemly collapses, which would rather ruin the effect.
       Luckily Jenny was quite the trooper. She rose from the box with only the slightest of guidance from me, a passably professional smile on her face. Only the minute tremor of her hand and a faint flush on her cheeks betrayed any real reaction to what had just happened to her. That, and the slight glaze to her eyes.
       I knew that look well. I’d seen it on hundreds of volunteers I’d helped out of dozens of different magical boxes, cabinets, frames, and other miscellaneous sorts of apparatus (the Boss is an inventive sort). It was probably on my face too, when it was my turn to be the victim of one of the Boss’s tricks, though of course as a professional assistant I hid it much better. It was a look part of astonishment – did that really happen to me? – mingled with coming down from the most wonderful high.
       With some girls, the distant look stuck there all the way back to their seats, and – for all I knew – for hours afterwards. Other girls snapped out of it much quicker, and in that instant you could see in their eyes whether they’d file the experience away in some distant recess of their brain as something never to be revisited, or whether they’d embrace it.
       Jenny was an embracer. The moment I helped her down from the table on which the sword box sat, she made a show of patting herself down, checking for rents or tears in her black cocktail dress (of course there were none), then grinned even wider. She even managed a little courtsey to the audience, without the slightest wobble (though I took hold of her hand again just to make sure).
       “Ladies and gentlemen,” the Boss began as she took Jenny’s other hand, “let’s hear it for our fabulous volunteer, the brave and beautiful JENNY, our birthday girl for tonight.”
       Jenny grinned even wider and courtsied again. I surreptitiously looked left, expecting to see Mina emerge from the wings to lead Jenny back to her seat, but there was no sign of her.
       The Boss let the applause wash over for us for a moment more, then waved for silence. “But Jenny isn’t the only birthday girl tonight,” she announced. “My lovely assistant Quinn celebrates her special day today as well.”
       I tried to hide my surprise. The Boss never made a fuss of us in front of the audience. Yes, there would be a little party backstage afterwards, but she’d never before made it part of the show. What was going on?
       She turned back to Jenny. “You did so well with the sword box that I’m wondering if you could help me out with something for Quinn here. A special request, in a way.”
       Eh? Special request?
       Jenny nodded. “Yes. Yes of course!” she replied, squeezing my hand.
       My, she’s a keen one, I thought. It wouldn’t surprise me if she found her way onto the team, sooner or later.
       The Boss reached into her pocket and took out a scrap of paper. I tried to get a glimpse, but couldn’t quite make it out. It was definitely in Mina’s handwriting, though. Fuck! That girl was too inventive for her own – or in this case for my – good.
       “Quinn apparently has this list of magic tricks she’s never performed, but which she’d really like to try, or so I’ve been told.” She shook the paper, then read from it. “Firstly: Vertical Sawing. That’s being cut in two lengthways, from head to, well…” – she waved in the general direction of my crotch, much to the amusement of the audience – “Secondly, the Head Mover. That’s where the assistant kneels with her head through a hole in a plank, her neck is severed and her head is moved from side to side, separate from her body. Finally: the Death Drill.”
       She paused. “That’s where the assistant is clamped upright between two small pieces of wood, one on her back and one on her belly, and a giant drill bores right through them – and through her – from behind.”
       She waited for the murmurs from the audience to subside. I spotted her watching Jenny’s reaction from the corner of her eye. Jenny hadn’t flinched though, even at the description of the final trick.
       “I don’t normally do the Death Drill,” the Boss continued at last. “It’s cumbersome to transport when the show’s on the road, and for some reason most assistants refuse to do it.” She paused for a ripple of laughter. “However, this once, I’ve pulled some strings and got one on loan from another magician friend of mine. So, ladies and gentlemen” – she turned at last to draw the audiences attention to where a curtain was being drawn aside – “I give you… Birthday Girl Quinn and the Death Drill!”
       As the audience cheered, the Boss leaned down and whispered something to Jenny, who nodded slightly. Then she waved a hand, cutting off the applause.
       “My apologies, ladies and gentlemen. I should have said… I give you: Birthday Girls Quinn and Jenny… and the Dual Death Drill!”
       When the applause finally petered out, the magician led Jenny and me towards the contraption that had been wheeled out from the wings on a large platform. The drill motor alone was massive, some six feet long and three feet in diameter, mounted on a steel plinth. Projecting out from a chuck larger than my head was a drill bit at least ten feet long and five or six inches in diameter, coming to a wicked point. It jutted out over an extension of the platform, pointing towards a simple wooden sheet, about twelves inches wide and nine high, held upright at waist height by two poles. Either side of this, lying flat for the moment but obviously hinged to be folded up and form a frame, were two human-shaped outlines made of curved steel poles, bare except for a few judiciously-placed bits of padding.
       Yeah, I thought. As if being comfortable mattered when you were about to have a six-inch drill bit pushed through you! Still… Mina, damn her, had been right. It was one of my fantasies. And the sheer unyielding starkness of the apparatus was part of the lure. Wooden boxes and slim blades were beginning to pall for me. I needed something more… vicious-looking… to give me the rush of fear that kick-started my arousal. A quick glance at Jenny made it clear that she felt just as afraid, but that she was starting to feel arousal’s sweet lure as well.
       Yup, adrenaline junkie too!
       While I was contentrating on the massive piece of machinery in front of me, Mina had reappeared from the wings and had taken Jenny in hand. The Boss led me to the platform and guided me to step up onto it, my front to the wooden sheet and my back to the drill. I pressed my belly against the wood – it was about half an inch thick and quite unyielding – widening my stance as a pair of hands guided my ankles into a pair of steel manacles afixed to the uprights before snapping them shut. Looking down I saw it was Jenny, working under Mina’s guidance. Given Jenny’s position, she must be getting quite a view up my short, sparkly red dress. She grinned and gave me a wink.
       Next, the Boss helped Jenny up onto the platform so that she could take up position facing me, on the opposite side of the wooden sheet. Mina secured Jenny’s ankles, forcing her to move forward until our chests and thighs touched. She looked a little fazed by our closeness, but she had no chance to pull away for suddenly Mina and the Boss were pivoting the two steel frames upwards from their resting positions, pressing them against our backs, forcing us into even closer contact. Even through the thin material of my dress I felt the chill of heavy steel running up each side of my back, bending in to encircle the back of my head.
       Nose to nose, I whispered to Jenny, “Don’t worry. I don’t bite.”
       “That drill will, though,” she whispered back.
       I tried to look reassuring, but I knew she was right. I settled for a faint grin. “Yes, but then…”
       She nodded, barely perceptably. “Yes, then…” She smiled nervously, but with a definite hint of anticipation.
       Good girl!
       Any further sotto voce banter was cut short by our arms being tugged upwards and clamped in place by more manacles. Mina was the one doing up my restraints, which she tightened rather too viciously.
       “Enjoy your birthday present!” she whispered.
       “Just wait ‘til it’s your turn, you little witch!” I replied through my teeth.
       Next a wooden board was placed against the small of my back. I heard clunks as it was clipped firmly in place. Peering round the side of Jenny’s face I could see the Boss doing the same to her. We were now the meat in a double-decker wood-and-assistant sandwich.
       A final tug to check everything was secure and both Mina and the Boss hopped down back onto the stage. Then she had Mina bring out two volunteer witnesses from the audience, both men, Dave and Jason. She had them check the solidity of the frame that held us tight, which they did, their fingers brushing us in the process in a way I was sure was ‘accidentally on purpose.’ I looked at Jenny and pulled a wry smile, but she seemed completely OK with it. Maybe it was just part of the experience as far as she was concerned.
       Finally the Boss handed Dave a large crowbar, getting him to run it along the drill bit to prove its solidity. It rang with an ominous clatter that rose in pitch as he neared the tip.
       Don’t blunt it! I thought frantically. A blunt drill would hurt more. Considerably more.
       Thankfully the Boss held out her hand for the crowbar before Dave could do any significant damage. She turned to the audience.
       “Are you all satisfied Quinn and Jenny are secure and unable to escape?”
       A round of yes’s came from the audience.
       “Are you all satisfied the drill bit is solid?”
       Again, the yes’s, louder this time.
       “Are you all satisfied there’s no way the drill can get from one end to the other without passing right through both my beautiful assistants?”
       The yes’s this time were deafening.
       The Boss paused, letting tension build, then announced the start of the trick proper. “Ladies and gentlemen – Quinn and Jenny… and the Death Drill!” With that she pressed the start button and stepped back.
       From behind me I could hear the motor spinning up, starting at a low thrum and working its way up to a whine as the drill spun faster and faster. My heart began to race with it. Breathe, I told myself. Calm. A fast drill bit was good – it would hurt less. A racing heart wasn’t.
       Jenny seemed to be taking it better than I was. Her eyes had gone wide, but her breathing was still regular (our chests were pressed so close I could feel every breath she took). She was biting her lower lip in a way that could be taken either as slight nervousness or as arousal. When her tongue popped out to lick her lips I decided it must be the latter.
       My thoughts were interrupted by a clunk, followed by the grinding of gears.
       “Is it…?” I whispered, not quite able to voice my fear.
       Jenny managed to shift her head just enough to see around me. “Yes. It’s moving now. Towards us.”
       “How fast?” I murmured.
       She paused. Judging it, no doubt. “Maybe twenty seconds ‘til it reaches us.”
       Twenty seconds can seem like twenty minutes when you’re trapped helpless, unable to avoid oncoming disaster. This time it felt more like hours. I looked in Jenny’s eyes and she looked back in mine. I swear we must’ve communicated every emotion under the sun in those few moments.
       Then a thump. The frame around me shook. The whine of the drill dropped a note before picking up again.
       “It’s here,” Jenny said.
       I resisted cussing her out for stating the obvious. I was a professional, I reminded myself. I should act like one and cut her a little slack.
       I felt the board against my back shake and thrum. The smell of fresh sawdust reached my nostrils.
       It seemed to take an age, but suddenly I felt the wood bulge right in the small of my back. Something sharp pricked me. Then a bloom of pain and I was first pushed forward then yanked back as the drill bit cut into me, gripping my flesh and pulling me hard back into the wooden panel.
       Fuck!
       Then as suddenly as it had arrived, the pain disappeared. Or rather, it morphed into a pleasant warmth. The magic was taking hold.
       Seconds later the drill was boring into my spine. I let my mind drift, experiencing the sensations as if from afar. My legs tingled then went numb as nerves were severed, then came back to life as the magic took over the connections previously the domain of simple biology. I wiggled my big toe. Yup, still working OK.
       I’d counted the seconds in my head. Five long seconds for my spine to be completely severed. This was much slower than the severing by saws or blades which I’d previously experienced. Much rougher too. The drill was sending vibrations through my torso, and not unpleasant ones either.
       Suddenly I realised I’d closed my eyes. I opened them quickly, not wanting to leave Jenny alone, not wanting to give her reason to panic. Her eyes were wild, but she quickly calmed down. I ventured a shaky smile, breathing out slowly to show I was in control and actually enjoying this.
       Now the drill tip was deep in my intestines. I tried not to think of what it was doing to my gut and its contents. Maybe spicy chow mein hadn’t been so good an idea for lunch. Instead I focussed on the warm waves that were spreading from the drill’s entry point at my back, down into my buttocks, hips and thighs, and up across my shoulders where it was beginning to feel like a phenomenally good massage.
       A sudden pinch marked the drill tip’s arrival at the front of my belly, pressing the skin there against the second wooden panel. I winced, and then felt myself tear open.
       Fuck! Fuck, yes!
       The pleasure was spreading right through me now, but I forced myself to concentrate on Jenny. She must feel the wooden panel between us vibrating. She must realise she was seconds from being penetrated by five inches of spinning, sharp steel, and she deserved my support.
       “Brace yourself,” I mouthed. “Grit your teeth and keep your tongue away.”
       Yes, strange as it sounds, biting one’s tongue is a serious risk. Injuries caused by enchanted apparatus heal magically. Injuries caused by oneself don’t.
       “It’s like what you’ve already felt, just bigger,” I added. “Embrace the pain and find the pleasure.”
       She nodded. Then her mouth flew open. So much for my advice about gritting her teeth.
       “Fuck!” she cried out. “Fuck! Fuck!”
       I was worried the audience might hear her, even over the noise of the drill and the music. So I did the only thing I could think of to shut her up.
       I kissed her.
       Her mouth was less than an inch from mine anyway, so I doubt anyone in the audience notice. And if they did, well to hell with that!
       Above our heads Jenny’s fingers were clawing at mine. I squeezed down on them, tight, and kissed her harder.
       “Fuck!” Her cries were muffled now. “Fuck! Fuck!” Then they were evolving. “Fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck oh fuck oh oh oh…”
       The magic had her in its grip too. The harder the drill bored into her, the harder she pressed against me, and the harder she kissed me back. Her nipples were hard points against mine, as if they’d become miniature drills in their own right, desperate to burst through the thin fabric that was all that separated us above the wooden board.
       My gathering climax had all but stalled the moment I focussed all my attention on her. I was still buzzing, but it was as if most of my sexual energy had flowed into her, bringing her from fear to the brink of ecastsy in much less time than I would have expected.
       It was only the need to breathe that forced our lips apart. She rested her forehead against mine and gulped in a deep lungful of air before starting to moan again – this time much more quietly, though with no less emotional intensity.
       Then she swallowed hard. “Shit! It’s reached my spine,” she whispered. She began to shake.
       “Go with it,” I whispered, before kissing her again.
       She came apart, figuratively, and I guess literally too, pressed hard against me, our tongues twisted together as the drill twisted its way out of her back and into the wooden sheet behing her.
       Again I smelled fresh sawdust.
       Dave, the taller of the two audience witnesses, gasped.
       “It’s…” he called out. “It’s gone right through her!”
       Jenny shuddered through the aftershocks of her climax as the drill slowed to a halt. Then she leaned back a little to look me in the eyes.
       “Good?” I mouthed.
       She didn’t say anything at all. She just waggled her eyebrows, pursed her lips and blew out slowly.
       I smiled back.
       “Ladies?”
       It was the Boss, looking up at us from the stage.
       I gave her a thumbs up and Jenny did the same.
       She asked the two witnesses to climb up onto the platform and check that the drill was still solid, and did seem to be going right through both of us. Dave and Jason gave the apparatus, and us, a thorough investigation (with a few more pokes and prods than was strictly necessary) then nodded their satisfaction. Dave still seemed a little dazed by what he’d witnessed.
       “Ready to be restored, Quinn?” the Boss asked. “Jenny?”
       We both nodded.
       “Well bad luck,” she commented. “There’s still one traditional part to do.”
       She stepped up and unlatched the clamps at the base of the frame that surrounded us. Then she pressed a button and a second motor whirred into life. With a loud clunk the frame separated from the platform as the drill bit was raised up slowly from the horizontal, lifting Jenny and me first onto our tip toes, then up into the air.
       The drill rose to a dizzying forty-five degrees before it stopped, leaving us hanging there, suspended by the steel through our midriffs. Being slightly further along the drill, Jenny’s weight pressed her down against me even more. The soft swell of her breasts against mine was delicious, though the tug of the drill’s spiral edge against my insides was considerably less so.
       “Well, this is awkward,” I whispered.
       She laughed softly in reply.
       We were probably only left like that for twenty seconds or so, as the audience burst into rapturous applause. When the clapping finally died away, the motor came on again and lowered us back into place.
       I sighed as my weight was taken back off my insides and onto my feet where it belonged.
       I looked at the Boss.
       “I hope you enjoyed your special birthday experience?” she asked. “And you too, Jenny?”
       Jenny nodded vigorously, me just a little less. After all, I’d not quite… well… you know. Almost, but not quite. But then maybe the reversing of the drill as it withdrew from us would do the job.
       Thankfully it did. More than once, in fact. Jenny seemed to enjoy it coming out just as much as she had it going in too. We were both pretty wrung out by the time the drill was clear of us and had come to a final stop.
       I tried to regain my composure as I waited for the Boss to restore us. No luck there, though. Instead Mina came back onto stage, carrying two hollow metal tubes, each with a flange on one end. The Boss took them, waved them at the audience, then thrust them through the wooden boards, one from each direction, and right through our middles. The tube passing through me was really quite cold, and tugged at my insides in a strange way. A moment later I felt the tubes hit each other somewhere inside the wooden panel that separated our bellies.
       The Boss then invited the two witness to check that there was indeed a large hole right through us both. Handkerchiefs were passed through it, from one side to the other, then the two men performed a handshake, one from each side, their hands meeting somewhere around where our belly buttons should have been. It tickled, as if my stomach was half there and half not. Phantom tummy syndrome?
       At last it was time for the trick to end.
       Or so I thought.
       The Boss whispered to Jenny, then instead of releasing us she turned to the audience.
       “Do you want more?”
       “Yes!” came the reply from hundreds of throats.
       “Really? You don’t sound sure.”
       “YES!”
       The Boss turned to us and shrugged, in an exaggerated ‘well they’re the punters’ way, before bending to flick open some clasps I’d not noticed at the corners of the frame.
       I wondered what was to come.