I Need a Volunteer, Part 2: Quinn and Cat Impaled

A ‘real magic’ story featuring QuinnTheAssistant, written for Quinn’s I Need a Volunteer from the Audience contest.

This story follows directly on from I Need a Volunteer, Part 1: Prelude, which sets the scene.

Content warning: this story is based on the fantasy that stage magicians with real powers are - without most of the audience realising - actually sawing and slicing their assistants and volunteers into pieces for real, but with the aid of magic that prevents them suffering any lasting harm and which transforms their experience into one they can even enjoy. And of course they’re all restored at the end (eventually, anyway!). Oh, and there’s  some crude language and explicit sexual content too (yay!)



“I need a volunteer from the audience.”

Those words always sent a flutter of hope through me, and this time was no exception. Never mind that this time they were directed at an ‘audience’ of one – cheating somewhat, as it meant it was a dead cert I’d be chosen. Never mind, either, that ‘auditorium’ was actually the theatre prop store, which Finella and Quinn had caught me sneaking into, and that the ‘stage’ was just an area they’d cleared to trial their new magical prop in. No, as far as I was concerned my dream was coming true and I was actually going to be in a stage magic show.

Finella looked towards me, then around, as if scanning an imaginary audience. “Put your hands up, please, if you’d like to volunteer,” she said to the invisible crowd. Of course I immediately thrust my hand up in the air. And not just because to back out now would trigger whatever penalty clauses were in the magical contract I’d agreed to. No, this was exactly what I’d come to the theatre every evening this week to experience, if not exactly in the setting I’d imagined.

Finella pretended to cast her eye over a whole host of eager volunteers before settling on me. “You,” she said. “The blonde in the white cropped t-shirt and jeans. Please come forward.”

I did as Finella asked, even stepping sideways first as if squeezing my way along a row of auditorium seats to get to the aisle. Quinn, in full magician’s assistant mode again, stepped forward to take my hand and guide me into the area standing in for a stage. Her eyes sparkled with amusement, and what I fondly imagined to be desire. Her hand was warm, and the mere touch of her flesh sent a shiver down my spine.

Quinn positioned me beside Finella, angled slightly in towards her, a stance I recognised as one designed to maintain rapport whilst still letting the (imaginary) audience see both of us clearly. Finella waited for me,  imposing in her stage magician’s black leather trousers and jacket, the pristine white corset underneath adding an air of formality to her look. The entire outfit radiated control, with a pinch of sexuality. Her eyes had subtly raked me up and down as I approached, pausing briefly on my bared midriff. I’d chosen that top because I’d noticed that volunteers with bared waists tended to be the ones chosen, more often than not, for sawing-in-two tricks. It had been a crude ploy – akin to slapping a label on my waist saying “cut here” – and it hadn’t worked, at least when I’d been sat in the audience upstairs a couple of hours ago. But here I was, getting a second chance, and I hoped the outfit would still do its job.

Even though there was no actual audience, and even though she already knew my name, Finella went through the motions of asking it.

“Catriona,” I replied, looking her in the eye then turning gazing out over the imaginary audience. I was very glad Finella had chosen not to drop this aspect of the performance. Like most stage magic groupies, I’ve got a definite exhibitionist steak, and the pretence of being watched by hundreds was giving me quite a thrill.

While Finella engaged me in a little small talk a rumbling behind us told me that Quinn was bringing out some apparatus. I assumed it was the Two-Person Sword Bench – whatever that was – that she’d mentioned when she’d first caught me here in the store. I wanted to turn round and look, but that would be breaking role.

When Finella finally bid me turn, I was confronted by a strange lumpy shape under a large black sheet. It was maybe three feet wide and the same in height, though the sheet hid any real detail. The middle section sagged, so whatever it was, it was higher at the edges than in the middle.

Quinn gripped the corner of the sheet and whipped it away in one fluid motion, letting it pool beside her feet. I gasped at the sight of what she’d revealed. It was a little like the bench of a multi-gym, being constructed of white-enamelled metal beams supporting a rectangular seat and back of black faux-leather padding. Various levers and pins were presumably to allow adjustment to the size of the user. But there the similarity to a multi-gym ended. For one thing, this apparatus had two backs, one each end of a long bench with two seat pads, positioned so the occupants would sit facing one another.  The seat pads were separated by a gap of just under a foot between, though they both sat atop the same frame and it looked like they could be pushed together, bringing the people sat on them almost nose to nose.

Another difference from regular gym equipment was the presence of hinged stocks fixed to the seat backs at both waist and neck level. There were also straps dangling from the hinged arm rests that projected either side of the seats, and from padded slabs fixed to the legs on either side. The occupants were clearly meant to be strapped in firmly before the stocks were closed around them. Right now, the stocks were swung open, ready for someone to ease back into them. I felt a tickle right around my neck as I imagined leaning back against the fixed part of the stock then having the front closed around me, trapping me so tightly that I could barely swallow.

Even from here I could see that the stocks were transparent, presumably some sort of heavy-duty perspex, with inserts of a black material at strategic positions. It didn’t take a genius to work out that this construction would let any on-stage witness see any blade or sword actually pass through the stocks, dispelling any doubt that the blade somehow diverted around the voulnteer-assistant-victim. The only thing that would be concealed would be the actual point of entry into the trapped girl’s body, avoiding any risk of a squeamish witness or volunteer passing out.

As Finella led me closer, I caught a glimpse of the back of one seat. There were various large and small slots, obviously there to take the blades and swords which would be going through me. The largest slot was horizontal, level with the neck stocks, but there were smaller ones about six inches lower down as well as one level with the waist stocks. I shuddered at the idea of so many sharp objects being rammed through me. At least, given the symmetrical design of the apparatus, I’d have company in my peril.

And what company! As a pre-eminent magician’s assistant, as well as a stunning beauty, Quinn was my idol. I had an almost girlish crush on her, to be honest. The idea of sitting face to face as we were impaled together in tandem was both thrilling and very, very arousing. If only we were rather more scantily dressed so that I could actuall feel her skin against mine...

“It’s certainly impressive,” Finella said, snapping my attention back to her. She wasn’t talking to me, though. “Just like your sketch,” she said to Quinn. “Well done!” I blinked with surprise. Not only was this apparatus new, but it seemed like Finella hadn’t even seen it before, let alone had a chance to rehearse with it. I would truly be their guinea pig! At least Quinn would be sharing the risks alongside me.

“There’s just one thing,” Finella continued. “You’re not exactly dressed for the occasion, Quinn. Why don’t you ditch the cocktail dress for an assistant’s costume?”

Quinn grinned and reached behind her back. I heard some clasps pop and her dress pooled around her feet, revealing that all this time – and through the after-show party too, I guessed – she’d had the sparkly red mini-dress she’d worn on stage on underneath the looser black robe. She cocked a hip and pose. I could barely suppress a low whistle.

“What about me?” I asked.

Finella shook her head gently. “You’re the volunteer. You have to be in civvies.” I felt a little crestfallen until she added, “For now, at least.”

Then without further ado I was being led to the left side of the bench. Finella lifted up the armrest and gestured for me to sit down on the edge of the seat. I did so, the backrest against my right arm and something else prodding me in the left hip. Looking down I saw it was a low padded triangular wedge which jutted up from the seat.

Quinn took over the instruction. “Now swivel on your bottom and lift your leg over so you’re straddling the seat,” she said. I managed to do so without whacking myself on the wedge which, once I’d settled into position, was now snugly between my thighs, pressing in against my crotch, holding my legs apart. Not that I could have closed them anyway, for the bench was wide enough that I had to sit splay-legged to straddle it.

Unsurprisingly, my calves lined up perfectly with the padded rectangles attached to two of the middle legs of the bench. Rectangles that I knew had open straps hanging from them, waiting to be secured around my legs.

Even though I was having to sit legs-akimbo, my muscles weren’t overstretched so it wasn’t phjysically uncomfortable. But in other ways it was uncomfortable as hell. I felt vulnerable, open-legged like that. And the stocks at my waist and neck were actually pleasingly supportive. At least so long as I didn’t think too hard about the blades that would come through them to penetrate my body.

As soon as I’d settled into position, Quinn and Finella went into action. They worked as a team, one on each side, making minor adjustments to my posture and to the apparatus. They lowered the arm rests so I could rest my forearms on them easily, then started to do up the straps. Finella was quite workmanlike about it, but I was sure that Quinn was getting a buzz from doing them up a bit tighter than strictly necessary. I wasn’t complaining, though, as the constriction was rather arousing and Quinn was giving me a splendid view down her cleavage as she worked.

Suddenly Quinn looked up, I flushed, embarrassed at being caught. To my relief, she just grinned and winked.

Now the pair did up the various side straps, securing my calves to the padded rests on the middle legs of the bench. Again Quinn was quite enthusiastic in her work, though she did take the time to run one finger down the back of my calf. I shivered and clenched my thighs around the intruding wedge between them. In doing so I thought I could feel something buried within the triangular block. What was it, I wondered, and what was it for?

I didn’t have time to really ponder that, because now Quinn was swinging the front half of the waist stock closed. The clear plastic felt warm against my belly, except for a tiny cold line over my belly button. Metal, I guessed. Some sort of sheath to protect the plastic from the sword that would be inserted there. It wouldn’t protect me, though. Instead, it would guide the sharp point right to my vulnerable bare stomach! I looked down to confirm how firmly I was locked in place, only for Quinn to push my head back so that Finella could shut and lock the set of stocks around my neck.

That done, the two women stepped back and surveyed their work. Despite the constrictin of the neck stock, I could still turn my head far enough to watch them. Finella had her arms crossed in a satisfied manner. Quinn, on the other hand, was much more animated, fairly buzzing with anticipation from what I could tell. It was a far cry from her cheerful but controlled stage persona. This was the real Quinn, something that most of her fans didn’t ever get to see.

I was buzzing too, despite hardly being able to move a muscle from the neck down. My lower quarters were almost zinging with need for... well... relief of one sort or another.

Finella turned to Quinn. “OK,” the magician said, “you can get on with your part now. Time to mount up.”

Quinn grinned. She bent down and whispered to me. “Hear that? I get to mount up. Mount this contraption. And mount you.” She paused. “I’m looking forward to it. Are you?”

My throat suddenly dry, I could only croak. Instead I nodded, as vigorously as the neck stock would allow, and swallowed.

Quinn placed a delicate kiss on my cheek then stood back up and with suprising grace managed to swing her leg over my mine, so that she stood straddling the bench right in front of me, her chest level with my face. And she’d achieved it without letting her dress ride up and without giving me more than the most fleeting of glimpses up it. Enough, though, for me to know her panties matched her dress, and were as skimpy as hell.

Then, her gaze locked with mine, she shuffled forward until her feet were beside mine, our knees touching. Putting her hands on my shoulders for support, she  sat down, slowly and gracefully, the matching triangular wedge on her bench sliding between her bare thighs. She gave a little wiggle and the nose of it disappeared up under her skirt.

At that moment, ridiculous though it sounds, I was actually jealous of that inanimate wedge of padded foam.

Quinn grinned back at me and winked. Then, ever so smoothly, she lifted her legs, pointed her toes, and slid them between my legs and the arm rests above them, so that the weight of her legs rested on my lap and her calves touched my hips on either side. Even through the denim of my jeans I could feel the warmth of her, the flexing of those powerful calves, and I almost wet myself with the need to touch her, or at least feel those beautiful legs wrap around me more tightly. I cursed the waist stock for partially getting in the way. As if she could read my mind, Quinn shook an admonitory finger at me. “Tut, tut,” she said. “No touching. Not yet.” Then she laid her hands down atop mine and held still as Finella closed her waist and neck stocks. Unlike mine, her legs remained free to move, however.

Now Finella moved out of my field of vision. Moments later she was back, pushing a cart laden with broad blades and four sharp-looking swords. Very long, sharp-looking swords. She picked up one of the swords and carried it over to us. Quinn raised her hands to receive it, holding it flat across her palms so that I could examine it.

The blade was a good inch wide and over four feet long. It seemed to be forged from the same piece of steel as the handle, with no hilt or binding to obscure the smooth flow from sharp edge to rounded handle. It clearly could have no collapsing or telescoping sections to give a false impression that the person it was seemingly thrust into was impaled when in fact she wasn’t. Where this blade appeared to go, it actually went. No tricks. And it looked wickedly sharp too.

Quinn lowered it for my inspection, holding it so that despite the arm restraints I could rap the blade and check its solidity. It rang with a tone as pure as its design.

“Yes, this is going right through you,” Quinn told me. “But don’t worry. It will pass through me first, If something goes wrong I can call a halt before it reaches you.” She grinned. “Hopefully, at least.”

I swallowed, but didn’t reply. I was committed. I’d been committed long before she’d said this, and nothing would change my mind. If my idol could take a risk, so could I.

Quinn handed the sword back to Finella, who carried off behind Quinn’s back. I watched Finella’s movements, gauging what she was doing back there. All the while, Quinn continued to explain the apparatus to me.

“You can see round me enough to tell that Finella’s lining the sword up with the slot at the small of my back?”

I nodded.

“In a moment,” Quinn continued, “she’ll start pushing. The sword blade will slide through the slit in the bench back and into the waist stock behind me.”

Quinn paused until a grating noise confirmed this was indeed happening. “Any moment now, it’ll reach my back.” Her eyes took on a vacant look as if she was focussing all her attention on that point of imminent penetration. Then she gave a tiny gasp.

“Yes, there it is,” she said. “I can feel the point.” She turned her head slightly towards the magician behind her. “Now push, Boss,” she said. “Slowly to start with. Very, very slowly.”

I watched as Quinn’s teeth bit down on her lower lip. “Oh!” she exclaimed softly. “It’s pierced my skin. Now comes the hard part.”

She set her jaw. A range of emotions played over her face. Pain. Determination not to let it show. Momentary fear. Then she let out a tiny explosive gasp, so faint it would have been drowned be the music or drumroll had this been a proper peformance, and her face relaxed.

“Good,” she said. “That’s it through my spine. Plain sailing from here on.”

I couldn’t imagine how having sharp, cold steel pushed through your internal organs and out through your belly could be even remotely considered plain sailing, but I guessed I’d be finding out soon. I remained silent for a few seconds before my curiousity got the better of me.

“How does it feel?” I asked in a quiet voice.

“Good, actually,” Quinn replied, swallowing.. “It pinches a bit, where the tip is, but behind that it’s... well, like a warm internal massage. And I’m getting tingles up and down my body each time the blade drags on a nerve. Some better than others.”

She paused, bit her lip again. “Now that was a good one. Must’ve been a nerve connecting straight to my... Well, to my pussy, to be blunt. That’s where I felt it, anyway.”

I’d guessed that already. Even before she’d explained I’d felt her legs clench tighter around my waist.

Once the dreamy look had left her face, she looked round and addressed Finella. “You can push a bit faster now,” she said.

Finella didn’t reply,  but the change in pace was evident from Quinn’s face, her expression flipping back and forth faster now between discomfort and pleasure. After a few moments of silence she looked me in the eye.

“It’s almost through me, now,” she said. “Look down and you’ll see the tip come out.”

It took quite an effort for me to tear my gaze away from Quinn’s face, but I managed. The gap between us was large enough for me to see her waist and the transparent stocks around it without my chest blocking my line of sight. I fixed my eyes on the tiny metal-lined channel running through the front of the stocks, waiting with a mixture of morbid fascination and horror for the tip of the sword to appear.

And there it was! The needle-sharp point gleamed in the harsh overhead light of the props store. For a moment my heart skipped a beat, then I realised the glistening effect was just reflection off polished steel, and that the sword tip was not damp with gore or any other internal fluids of the impaled Quinn. Somehow, it had gone right through her without drawing blood.

“Keep watching it,” Quinn murmured. “Don’t take your eyes off that tip. Watch it cross the gap between us. Watch and wait. Wait for it to reach you, and impale you just like it’s impaled me.”

I swallowed. Damn Quinn! She seemed to know exactly the right thing to say to draw out the horrible anticipation. My belly clenched as the sword tip crept across the gap between us, drawing closer and closer to the clear stocks around my own waist.

Three inches to go. Then two. Then one. Then it was there, the tip slipping into the vertical slot in front of my belly. The lining of the slot prevented me from seeing its progress any further than that, and anyway my chest blocked my view of my stomach. My mind was whirring, though, instinctively gauging speeds and distances and telling me that any second now...

“Oh!” I felt the tip touch my belly and was unable to prevent myself from voicing my shock, even though I felt no pain. Not yet, anyway.

My cry was enough to cause Finella to stop pushing, leaving the razor-sharp tip barely touching my skin. I was almost afraid to breath, as the slightest movement would cause the steel to cut me.

“Are you OK?” Finella asked.

“Don’t go soft on her, Boss,” Quinn interjected before I could reply. “She doesn’t get to back out now. The only question is...” Quinn stared hard at me now, making it clear her next utterance was for me. “Fast or slow, Little Cat?”

“Er?” I replied.

“Fast or slow? Do you want the sword rammed through you so fast it’ll be over in a blink? That’ll hurt more, but only for an instant. Or slo-o-o-wly, so you’ve time to savour the sensations?”

I considered it. Much as I didn’t like the idea of making this more painful than it needed to be, there was merit to getting it over with. And given that there were three more swords still to be used I’d have plenty of opportunity to take it slow with those ones.

“Fast,” I replied, trying not to move my chest or tummy as I spoke.

Quinn grinned. Finella just nodded and braced herself.

I braced myself too, and closed my eyes.

Nothing.

Still nothing. I was shaking with fearful anticipation.

Then WHAM!

My word exploded. In one single second I felt a searing pain at my back, a tearing of skin, a ripping of muscles, a splintering of bones. My stomach dropped. Lightening shot up and down my spine and lights flashed in front of my eyes. My whole body was slammed backwards.

“Argh!” I cried. “Ar... a... oh!”

As quickly as it had come, the rod of pain running through me transformed into a warm, molten band. It felt like warm honey had been poured right through me. Not quite the internal massage that Quinn described, but pretty damn pleasant.

Then the other sensation she’d mentioned kicked in. The lightening bolts from overloaded nerve ends were replaced by a tingling, which quickly became a rather nice zinging feeling which concentrated between my thighs. I felt muscles clench in a way that I normally only experienced when I was sexually stimulated. I’d been feeling pretty horny already – the situation and the close presence of my idol turned me on something rotten – but how could I possibly be reacting positively to physical hurt like this?

“Oh!” I said, louder this time. I opened my eyes.

Quinn was looking at me. She was grinning like a Cheshire Cat. “It’s good, isn’t it,” she said. “And it only gets better.”

“Better?” I echoed, stupified. Did she mean that I could actually climax from this? Was that why magicians’ assistants put themselves through this? Not just for a good paycheque but for regular and intense orgasms too?

“It’s the magic,” Quinn said. “It protects us and it also transforms the sensations into something we can process mentally without being traumatised. Or so Finella tells me.”

“Oh?” I replied, for lack of anything more specific say. Words were kinda escaping me, right then.

I’d been trying to avoid moving my torso ever since the blade had run me through, but I’d have to take a deeper breath sooner or later. I steeled myself and tried.

Oh my! The movement, small as it was, set off some very nice-feeling zings as my body moved around the penetrating blade. I slowly let out my breath then inhaled even deeper. Yes, that was good. Not quite orgasmic, but very very good. I could get used to this feeling. But somehow I reckoned I wasn’t going to get to sit here all night and enjoy what I was experiencing right now. There must be more to come. After all there were three more swords and also those blades.

I looked queryingly at Quinn and waited.


Continued in I Need a Volunteer, Part 3: Face to Face...