Double Booking: Allie and the Drill Spiker

A ‘real magic’ story featuring FanOfBlades’ character Dark Allie.


Content warning: this story is based on the fantasy that stage magicians with real powers are - without most of the audience realising - actually sawing, impaling, transforming or vanishing their assistants and volunteers for real, but with the aid of magic that prevents the subject suffering any lasting harm and which transforms their experience into one they can even enjoy. This one is gore-free and sex-free, but I’ve given it a mature content tag anyway, for its suggestiveness.



Finella waited for Dark Allie to finish her trick before stepping onto the stage. The applause from the audience suddenly stuttered and died, but Finella ignored the gasps her interruption had caused. She simply kept on clapping as approached the rival magician, though her applause was slow, steady, and clearly very deliberately ironic.

“Well done, Allie,” Finella said. “Impressive!”

And it actually had been, Finella’s sarcasm notwithstanding. As a warm-up, Allie had chosen a volunteer (a redhead in a white blouse) and given her a soft toy rabbit. She’d had the volunteer put the toy into a top hat then pull it out again, now transformed into a live rabbit. After a moment for everyone to coo over the cute creature, she’d had it put back into the hat before getting the volunteer to confirm that it had vanished.

Then came the illusion proper. A persex board had been wheeled on stage. It was around three feet by seven and was angled mid-way between the vertical and horizontal. Allie had inserted her hat, top downwards, though a hole in the middle of the board, the brim stopping the hat from falling all the way through. Then she’d asked the volunteer to tie her blouse up to bare her stomach before strapping the redhead down onto the clear board. Finally, Allie had produced a handkerchief from her pocket, cut a slit in it, and laid it over the woman’s bare stomach. With those preparations done, Allie had rolled up her sleeve and promptly thrust her hand through the slit in the handkerchief right up to the elbow, her arm apparently passing right through the grimacing volunteer! Allie had then rummaged about and had then ever so slowly drawn out the rabbit, through the slit in the handkerchief and apparantly through the redhead’s middle too.

Yes, it had been impressive. The audience had certainly thought so too. But now the applause was replaced by a painful silence, all eyes on the new woman who had so unexpectedly strode on stage.

“Who...” Allie began. “Finella?” Allie held the rabbit in front of her, almost defensively. The volunteer, still strapped to the clear board, turned her head to see what was happening.

“Yes,” Finella said. “And I believe this stage is mine, at least from 8:30. It’s now 8:40, so sling your hook!”

“I have it until nine o’clock,” Allie countered. “If there’s been a double booking, go see Mr Davidson about it.”

“Oh, I have.” Finella set the item she was holding down on a table and whipped off the cloth cover. It was cage, containing a head. Mr Davidson’s head.

Finella rapped the bars, prompting the head to speak. “I’m sorry, Allie,” the body-less man said. “My mistake. Finella did book first, so I’m afraid you’ll have to vacate the stage.”

Finella waited for him to finish, then clicked her fingers. There was a flash and a burst of flame. When it cleared, all that was left inside the cage was ash and a charred skull.

“You heard the man,” Finella said, moving in the direction of the board and starting to unstrap the redhead.

“I will not!” Allie replied, hand on her hip. The effect was, however, rather spoiled by the rabbit she stil held in the other hand, especially when said rabbit pulled a strained face. Several berry-shaped droppings fell to the floor, much to the amusement of the audience, who had started to enjoy the unfolding drama.

Finella finished releasing the volunteer before responding. She patted the woman on the bottom and sent her to wait off to one side, then strode over to Allie. She clicked her fingers again, Allie froze.

Finella plucked the rabbit (now a happy bunny again for having answered the call of nature) from Allie’s unprotesting fingers. She removed her own top hat and thrust the rabbit inside. Then she placed the hat atop Allie’s head.

She clicked her fingers again. The moment Allie snapped back to life, Finella slammed down on the crown of the hat with her palm, pushing it right down over Allie’s eyes.

“Hey!”

Another thump sent the hat brim down around Allie’s neck.

“Mmmph!” Allie’s cry of annoyance was unmistakable, but rather muffled.

A third whack collapsed the hat in on itself, leaving Allie’s head (and the rabbit, too) apparently occupying a space no more than three inches high.

Allie reached up to grab the brim, but Finella deftly seized her fingers and shoved them under the brim, forcing them up inside the hat to join her vanished head.

Now Allie was trapped. Finella took hold of the collapsed hat and started working it downwards, despite Allie’s attempts to wriggle away. By some weird combination of the hat brim expanding and Allie’s shoulders compressing inwards, the hat was quickly down over them. It took a bit more work to get it over her chest and her protruding elbows, but from there it was pretty much plain sailing.

Once the hat reached Allie’s hips she stopped struggling, making it even easier for Finella to get the hat down over the black satin boy shorts Allie had chosen to wear below her black waistcoat.

Next, her fishnet-stockinged legs started to disappear. Once the hat reached Allie’s knees, Finella tipped the truncated woman over, then upended her. She hoisted Allie, hat and all, onto a spare table and proceeded to shove the remainder of Allie’s legs down into the top hat. She stopped only when nothing more than Allie’s feet and ankles remained.

Finella turned to the audience. “Well, now that we’ve got that little unpleasantness out of the way, I suppose you want to see a trick?”

There was a scattering of yes’s from the audience. Finella repeated her question, more loudly this time, then again until she got a satisfactory response.

“Good. Because now you’ve got a real professional on stage, you’re going to see some proper magic.” She gestured towards the flattened upside down hat and the feet project from it. “And this uppity little so-and-so is going to be my assistant.”

That provoked some cheers, which almost – but not quite – drowned out the muffled “Oi!” coming from inside the hat.

Finella signalled towards the wings. A stage hand wheeled in a wheeled metal table with a shelf below it. Ominously, the top surface was perforated with over a dozen holes, each almost an inch in diameter, which lined up with an array of two-foot drill bits pointing upwards from the shelf below. Leather cuffs and straps hung open on the top, ready and waiting

The stage hand left the device in front of Finella, who beckoned the redhead volunteer over. Finella set the hat at one end of the table then tipped it up on its edge so that the projecting feet lay heels against the table, soles pointing towards the near end of the table.

Finella then grasped the hat tightly. “Hold Allie’s ankle’s please,” she told the volunteer. Very slowly Finella drew the hat away from the redhead, and very slowly Allie’s legs re-emerged. “As soon as you can get Allie’s feet far enough apart, buckle those straps round her ankles.”

The redhead nodded. Finella carried on easing the hat upwards, taking it slowly so that the volunteer had plenty of time to carry out her assigned task. But she needn’t have worried. The woman was amazingly adept with the straps and buckles. In mere moments Allie’s ankles were thoroughly strapped down, allowing Finella to pull just a little bit harder on the hat.

“You’re quite handy with those things,” Finella said to the volunteer, speaking in a chatty manner though still loudly enough for the audience to hear. “Looks like she’s had plenty of practice!” she added, before the woman could say anything in reply. This latter comment was directed straight at the audience, accompanied by an exaggerated wink which garnered the expected sniggers in return.

“I am,” the volunteer said, unfazed. “And don’t you forget it!”

“Ooo, we have a fiesty one here!” Finella responded, again to the audience. Then she turned to the volunteer. “Okay then,” she said. “I guess I don’t need to prompt you any more. You can see where the straps are, and it’s pretty obvious what each one is for. Just strap down each relevant part of Allie as it comes back out of the hat. We don’t want her escaping, after all!”

From that point onwards Finella and the redhead worked seamlessly as a team. Allie’s shins appeared first, then her knees, which the volunteer strapped down with leather bands just above each kneecap.

Next, Allie’s thighs came into view. They were nicely curved but powerful, well muscled, her tan visible through the mesh of the fishnet stockings. Well formed legs indeed. But then Allie was a tall woman, in large part because of those very legs. Finella thought briefly of her regular assistant. Quinn would have tried to cop a feel, given an opportunity like this. Finella wasn’t so fluid in her sexuality, nor as forward, but seeing legs like these she could start to understand those who were.

A sliver of red cloth came next, the hem of a red minidress. “I’ve given you a change of clothing, Allie,” Finella said, directing her comment to the hat into which Allie’s head had last been seen disappearing. “After all, you’re an assistant now, and you should look like one, not like a magician.” A muffled complaint that might just have ended in ‘you!’ was the only response from inside the top hat.

Allie’s hips slid out next. Then a trim waist, which was quickly strapped down by the volunteer. Finella had to tug a bit harder to get Allie’s chest to emerge from the hat. The woman’s breasts jiggled a little when they finally popped out. That didn’t prevent the redhead from doing up yet another strap just below them, though.

As soon as Allie’s shoulders reappeared Finella paused again. She pointed to the narrow bands of flesh, all that was visible of Allie’s arms between her shoulders and the point where her limbs disappeared back into the hat. The volunteer quickly and efficiently buckled another pair of straps tight, exactly where indicated.

Allie’s neck was now also in view. Normally Finella would have taken over the strapping down when it came to the ones going around a person’s neck, but this volunteer seemed more than competent.Finella decided, on the spur of the moment, to trust her to do the neck strap up tight enough to prevent movement without restricting Allie’s breathing. And if she’d judged it wrong... well she had excellent liability insurance cover!

With Allie’s arms secured so that they’d remain above her head, and with her neck strapped down too, Finella resumed drawing the hat upwards to reveal the last remaining portions of the magician-turned-assistant. Allie’s face was set in a scowl, but she wisely remained silent. Her strawberry blond hair was mussed as if she’d just got out of bed. At least there was no rabbit droppings in it, Finella thought.

Of the rabbit itself, there was still no sign.

Finella kept going, allowing Allie’s arms to come out at last, now pulled up above her head. The volunteer quickly secured them at elbow and at wrist. Finally, Finella whisked the hat away with a flourish, thumped the top from the inside to resore it to its normal height, and placed it back on her own head.

“Well, Allie, how do you like being the assistant for a change?” Finella asked.

“What are you going to do to me?” Allie asked, pointedly ignoring the question.

“Can’t you work it out for yourself?” Finella reponded. “Pay attention to what you can feel.”

Allie paused,a look of concentration on her face. “I’m on a table. Strapped down. It’s flat and hard.” She wriggled her shoulder and butt that tiny fraction of an inch the leather straps allowed her. “There seem to be holes in the table. Lots of holes.”

“So?”

“Is it a spiker table?”

Finella grinned. She thought she could spy the tiniest hint of hope in the woman’s eyes. So was this Allie’s secret fantasy, then? To have the tables turned on her and to be perforated on the spiker table like one of her own assistants?

“Almost,” Finella replied. She grinned, but didn’t elaborate. Instead she turned to the volunteer. Suddenly she realised she didn’t know the woman’s name, but it would be too awkard to ask now. It didn’t really matter anyway.

Finella directed the anonymous volunteer to squat down and to choose any one of the long drill bits that were pointing up towards Allie’s back. “Give it a twist clockwise and lift it out,” she instructed. “Show it to Allie and the audience. Handle it. Check it’s nice and solid, with no trick telescoping sections or anything.”

As the volunteer did that, Finella addressed the audience, making sure to stand so that Allie was included. After all, it was as much to inform her as it was to inform the audience. Allie deserved to know what was about to happen to her.

“These are one-inch diameter machine grade tungsten steel drill bits. Two feet long and capable of drilling through the hardest of metals. There are thirty of them below the body of my less than willing assistant here, in three rows, each bit fitted into a motor that will spin it at one thousand revs per minute. When I press the red button, the lower shelf will rise, ever so slowly, and push the drill bits through the holes in the table top and into Allie’s body, perforating her pretty much everywhere. I can assure you that the motors are powerful enough, and the drill bits sharp enough, that she won’t present the slightest resistance to them.”

She turned to look at the redhead. “You agree? The bits are real, and sharp? No tricks?”

“No tricks,” the volunteer confirmed. She rapped the bit she held against the edge of the table to prove how solid it was. The metal rang clear as a bell.

Finella had her return the bit to the empty chuck, then addressed the audience again. “There is no safety cutoff, ladies and gentlemen,” she said. “Once I press this, Allie’s fate is sealed.” Her finger paused over a red button on the side of the apparatus then drew back.

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” Finella said, faking sudden realisation. “The box. This is a 12-rated show, so I need to cover Allie up in case there’s any blood or guts spilled. The magic should keep everything in place, but one never knows for sure.” She winked and the audience laughed.

She beckoned to the wings again. The stage hand returned, pushing a trolley on which sat a cover a little over six feet long. It was made of tinted glass, so dark as to almost be opaque, and had an array of holes in the top surface. On top of it lay a black blindfold.

Finella took the blindfold and tied it over Allie’s eyes. “This is for Allie’s benefit,” she told the audience. “I hear she’s a bit squeamish about seeing people’s insides, let alone her own. This will prevent her from seeing anything that might happen to leak out. Of course it won’t prevent her from feeling it, but you can’t have everything.”

Finella and the stage hand then took the cover and together lifted it above Allie, gently lowering it into place. It covered everything except for her feet, which stuck out one end, and her hands at the other. The shape of the rest of her, though, could still just about be made out through the tinted glass.

Finella dismissed the stage hand then led the redhead to the control box with the red button.

“You can do the honours,” Finella said.

The woman showed not the least bit of hesitation. CLICK!

Suddenly a dozen motors growled, the noise becoming a whine as they got up to speed. There was a clunk. The bottom shelf began to rise, lifting the motors and their madly spinning drill bits.

“Twelve inches to go, Alllie,” Finella said. “Twelve more inches before the drills start drilling into you!”

The shelf kept on rising, relentlessly.

“Six inches!”

“Finella?” Allie’s voice was just audible above the motors. “Finella, please let me...”

“Nothing I can do,” Finella cut in. “No stop button, remember.”

The motors changed pitch as the drill bits hit the holes in the upper platform. The holes were obviously a tight fit, for slivers of metal span off to litter the stage floor. The whole apparatus began to vibrate slightly.

Then suddenly Allie’s hands and feet were shaking violently, her fingers clenching and unclenching spasmodically. The silhouette of her body inside the box seemed to be writhing, at least as much as the leather straps would allow. A cry of “Nooooo!” echoed from inside, repeated three more times before it was cut off and her hands and feet went limp.

Just then the tips of the drills emerged from the top of the box. They span crazily for a few more seconds, then cut out.

The audience was silent. The volunteer was silent. Finella paused for a moment, then asked the question that was in everyone’s mind. “Allie, are you okay in there?”

There was a muffled “Yes,” and her right hand formed a thumbs-up sign.

Finella smiled, then pressed the red button again.

This time the drills span the other way, and more quietly too. The platform supporting them began to lower, quicker this time. In less than fifteen seconds the drills had re-emerged from the bottom of the table on which the now-perforated Allie lay.

There was another clunk, then silence.

The stage hand reappeared and helped Finella remove the box. She beckoned the volunteer over, and together the two women unstrapped Allie and helped her to sit up.

Her red minidress was ruined. Three rows of holes ran down the front. None quite threatened her modesty, but it was clear she’d have to move carefully to avoid a wardrobe malfunction. Her limbs bore rows of angry red circular marks, but there was no bleeding or scarring. The thing that made a good few of the audience gasp, though, was the pair circles torn through the blindfold that Allie still wore, one ragged hole over each eye. Through the holes, the whites of her eyes gleamed in the stage lights, so it was clear that her eyes were intact, but then how had these holes got there if two drill bits had not...

Finella decided to leave that question as something for the audience to mull over on their way home. For now, she simply took Allie’s hand, helped her off the table, and turned her to face the audience.

The pair took a deep bow. Finella held out a hand for the still-nameless volunteer and they all bowed, together.

Once the applause had almost died out, Finella held up a hand. Over the sudden silence she addressed the audience.

“Those of you who pay attention to details might be wondering what happened to the rabbit,” she said. She grinned and flicked back Allie’s strawberry blond hair to reveal small furry ears sprouting from Allie’s temples. They seemed to be growing larger even as Finella spoke.

“I’m afraid the rabbit has become a part of you, Mistress Dark Allie,” she said. She span the woman around. A round, white fluffy tail was poking through one of the torn holes in the back of Allie’s dress, right at the base of her spine!

Allie looked down and scowled. Then she glared back at Finella, fire in her eyes. Finella met her stare without flinching.

You want revenge? Finella thought. Bring it on!



(Now it’s over to you, FanOfBlades, to write your character’s revenge!)