Boxing Clever, Part 1

A ‘real magic’ story

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. And of course they’re all restored at the end (eventually, anyway!).

This one has sexual content too.

The box design is here.

P.S. I’ve already written the last 2 parts, so I will definitely finish this one. Honest!

Enjoy!

Viv watched with trepidation as Finella’s two leather-clad assistants wheeled the contraption on stage. It consisted of a box, worryingly coffin-like in size and shape, suspended horizontally at about waist height by a stirrup-like heavy duty metal cradle. The box itself had clear sides through which the metal back could be seen. The whole thing was anchored on a base of metal struts that looked thick enough to support a jet engine, an assessment borne out by the grinding noise the wheels made against the wooden stage, and the the strain apparent in the athletic forms of Finella’s assistants as they maneouvred it into place. Not for the first time Viv eyed the shapely but powerful forms of the two women, emphasized by the head-to-toe tight black leather suits they wore, their masks adding to their allure by rendering them quite anonymous. What she’d give to have one of them maneouvre her around into whatever position they desired. As she’d been the one to draw the short straw, from the two ‘volunteers’ Finella picked out from the audience, it was pretty certain she’d be the one going in the box, and just maybe it would ‘Hottie A’ or ‘Hottie B’ (as she’d mentally named them) who would manhandle her into it.

Or maybe it would be Alice – the other ‘volunteer’ – who would take her arm and help her into the box. Alice was no slouch in the looks department either, not with her trim figure, long legs, and flowing blond-streaked hair. Viv wouldn’t say no to that one either. Same height as her, too, almost exactly. Perfect for 69-ing.

Her fantasy was sharply interrupted by the clunk of the wheels being locked. Viv snapped back to reality just in time for Finella to take her by the elbow and lead her towards the large prop.

At a nod from Finella, Hottie A turned a handle on the side, rotating the cabinet to the vertical then slowly spinning it around its vertical axis to let everyone see it from all angles. From close up, Viv could see the sides were made of a good dozen flat panels of transparent material – plastic or glass – angled to mimic the prone human form with the head, arms, hips, and tapering legs all represented, albeit in an abstract, angular way. It was narrower than she’d first guessed, too. Imagining herself squeezed in there sent a shiver running through her. It would be a tight fit, pressing in on her from all sides, rendering her immobile even without the use of any restraints. The only parts of her free to move would be her hands and feet, those extremities remaining outside the box thanks to the truncated arm and leg sections with holes which would fit snugly around her wrists and ankles.

The bottom of the box – or back, now that it was upright – seemed at first to be a solid, thick sheet of metal, but as the box rotated the light caught narrow cracks that suggested it could be split apart into several pieces. Five, Viv thought, as she picked out the lines across neck and waist, low across the hips, and just above the knees. No – nine parts, for there was a vertical line down the middle of all parts except the head. She bit her lip. How many times had she worked herself into a frenzy over videos of magic shows where a woman was sawn vertically, the blade going right through her sex? And now here she was on stage, taking part in the same sort of illusion (for illusion it must be). She hoped it would live up to her fantasy, and that finding out how it was actually done wouldn’t spoil it for her.

Hottie A now lowered the box back to the horizontal and turned it side on to both Viv and the audience. Finella took Viv’s elbow again, and without a word led her right up to the contraption then up the steps which Hottie B had put in place without Viv even really noticing.

“Kick your shoes off, dear,” Finella said, speaking for the first time since she’d offered Viv and Alice the choice of straws. “Then let my assistants help you into the box.”

Viv did as instructed. Thankfully, although her wrap-around scarlet dress came down to mid calf on one side it was high enough on the other to make it easy to lift her leg over the side of the box, and although the high slit probably meant she was showing more thigh than she intended, only the four women close in around the prop stood any chance of glimpsing her underwear. Viv didn’t mind flashing them.

Hottie B took her hand and helped her first to sit, then to lie down, Hottie A supporting Viv’s shoulders and guiding her carefully into the box. As she’d guessed, it was a tight fit. She could feel the transparent sides touching her ears and shoulders, waist and hips and knees, pressing her carefully arranged hair down against the top of her head. As she settled into place, Hottie A lifted each of her feet in turn, then lowered them back into the lunette which she’d deftly flipped open. The device close again with a thunk and a distinct click. As the lether-clad woman repeated the process with each of Viv’s arms in turn, Viv tried, and failed, to lift her right leg. Just as she’d assumed, she was locked in place, very securely indeed.

As the final lunette closed around her left wrist, Viv let out a long slow breath. She’d not been given any instructions, which must mean the trick was in the apparatus and didn’t require her to do anything special. She just needed to lie still, stay calm, and trust that whatever stops, guards, or retracting devices Finella had devised would prevent the blades – which would come on stage soon, as surely as night followed day – would not chop her into pieces.

Viv was just beginning to settle into zen-like state when she was jolted back to reality by a pair of hands reaching under head, lifting her a few inches while more hands undid the hairdo that had taken her half an hour to get right. “Come forward and help,” she heard Finella say. “Guide her hair through the flap you’ll find under her head, then pop underneath and tie a knot to stop it coming back through.” Viv watched Alice lean over her, focussing more on the glimpse she got of Alice’s white lace bra between the widely spaced buttons of her crisp white blouse, than on the hands manipulating her hair. She stayed serene, even when Alice’s bosom withdrew from sight, staying silent except for a sharp ow of shock as her hair was tugged tight and knotted firmly.

“There’s one more feature I want to demonstrate,” Viv heard Finella say. “The box is made of toughened glass,” – a sharp tap and a low ringing sound by her elbow indicated that Finella was proving this by rapping on it – “But it’s not just any old toughened glass. It’s special glass that goes dark when a small electrical current is passed through it.”

Viv was hit by a jolt of electricity running through her from head to toe. She felt her hands clench, her toes point, her body turn as stiff as a board. She wanted to scream, but couldn’t. Then just as suddenly, the pain was gone.

“Oops,” she heard Finella say. “Wrong setting. Ten volts, not ten thousand. This isn’t the ‘fry the volunteer’ trick.” The audience responded with a round of laughter. Even Alice, who Viv could just see out of the corner of her eye, was grinning. To them, Viv’s spasms had presumably appeared staged, to raise a laugh. But no, it had been real. Frighteningly real.

She was just on the edge of calling out, calling a halt to this, when she remembered a drunken conversation she’d had with Sal, another of her friends. Sal had volunteered for one of Finella’s illusions. Afterwards she’d been completely close-mouthed about it, refusing to say anything about how it had been done. She’d just grinned smugly and stared off into space, a dreamy look in her eyes. Viv had been determined to get the details out of her, and one night after half a dozen strong martinis she’d finally succeeded. Not that Sal’s explanation made sense. Sal claimed – slurred, really – that she actually had been run through by a good half dozen swords, for real, but instead of being excruciating (and indeed lethal) it had actually felt damned good, at least after the first initial sting. And the drunken wink she gave made it clear what sort of ‘damned good’ she meant, especially with that final sword which had penetrated her between her legs and come out through her lower back. Viv had filed Sal’s confession away under ‘impossible things said while drunk’, at least until now.

Now, all of a sudden, she believed. And she’d probably never get another chance like this again to experience it herself. Finella might put her through the wringer, physically and psychologically, but if Sal’s story was typical of Finella’s volunteers the pleasure would outweigh the pain. And, once Alice’s turn was over, the two of them would have this extreme experience in common. They could bond over it. And – with luck – do a lot more than just bond.

So sudden and rapid was Viv’s realisation, that she had made up her mind before more than the first word of ‘Let me out of here’ could pass her lips. Realising what she’d been about to blurt out, she changed it into “Let’s get on with this,” to cover her slip. “I haven’t got all night,” she added. “Especially as I want time to enjoy locking Alice in a box.”

“Noted,” Finella replied. “Fair’s fair after all.” With a click and a low hum the sides of the box went a dark smoky grey, reducing Viv’s view to nothing more than the lighting rig above her. Viv kept her eyes on that rig as the illusion progressed. A rumble of wheels on wood indicated the arrival of a trolley, presumably bearing sharp implements of some sort, an assumption confirmed by the ring of knuckles on metal as their solidity was demonstrated to the audience. Then some footsteps. Now Finella was leaning over her, on the opposite side of the box from the audience, Alice at her side holding something that resembled a long, rectangular metal cookie cutter.

“Hold it over here,” Finella said, guiding Alice until the cutter was lined up over Viv’s right leg. “Make sure the ridge lines up with the guide slot in the side of the box, then ease it down until it’s just touching her leg.” Viv watched as well as she could from her horizontal position as the edges of the cutter – how sharp they looked, gleaming in the bright stage lights! – descended out of sight behind her chest. Moments later she felt a line of cold metal kiss her bare leg just above the knee.

“That’s good,” Finella said. Viv watched her step out from behind the box. “Now all I need is for someone to push the cutter down, and all the way through my brave volunteer.” She paused. “Who shall do the honours?” she asked, giving the audience the choice. “My assistants?” – there were a few faint ‘yes’s’ at that – “Or my other lovely volunteer, Alice?”

Judging from the whoops and catcalls, Alice was the clear winner. From her restricted vantage point inside the darkened box, Viv watched Finella reappear at the side of a now rather nervous-looking Alice, guiding her hands into place on the top of the cutter, which Viv now realised must have a closed top.

Alice bit her lip. Finella whispered something to her, but Alice shook her head. Spontaneously the audience began to chant “Do it. Do it. Do it.”

Still Alice hesitated. Fearing she might not ever get out of the box if Alice didn’t get a move on, Viv added her own voice to the chant, silently mouthing the words so that no-one else could hear. Alice’s eyes, which had been flicking between the cutter and Viv’s face, caught the message. She took a deep breath, braced her shoulders, and pushed.

To be continued…