Gromet's PlazaPackaged, Encasement & Objectification Stories

The Audition

by Kassim

Email Feedback | Forum Feedback

© Copyright 2013 - Kassim - Used by permission

Storycodes: M/f; magic; cocoon; straitjacket; escape; cuffs; spandex; bagged; stuck; tickle; tease; cons/reluct; X

He looked at his watch. No one was coming. No one would ever come. It was only a matter of time, he thought, until word spread.

He had loved magic since he was eight years old. Eight when the magic show took place in his home village, nestled in the foothills of the Himalayas. he forgot the details of his early life, a whole lifetime and countless miles away from his life now, but he'd never forget the day the magician arrived. No, that wasn't true. He'd never forgot his assistant.

With a parade of colour and noise the magician and his entourage brought the villagers, one by one, out of their huts and houses. They were, as was he, dazzled by the spectacle; coloured scarfs appeared from his sleeves, birds from out of a handkerchief, rings that appeared solid and yet defied physics and linked and unlinked at his will. He even made a small boy climb a magic rope and disappear. For a young Indian boy these were great wonders to behold, but it was what happened after that changed his life forever.

Up from a corner of the crowd he brought out a young girl, maybe eighteen or nineteen years of age. She was a beautiful girl, dressed in a colourful sari, her wrists and ankles adorned with tiny golden bells. The magician produced from a whicker basket a roll of rich red silk, and the assistant took hold of one end.

The boy sat cross legged, anticipating what he hoped would happen next.

The old magician proceeded to unravel the silk, and as he did so the girl rotated, winding the sheet around her body. He began at her ankles, winding up to her knees, her thighs, her waist. The man remembed how as a boy his throat suddenly became dry, and a - now too familiar - stirring began in his stomach and groin.

The magician continued to unravel the silk sheet, and the girl dutifully spun, seemingly oblivious to her fate, tiny bells tinkling. He wrapped her stomach, then her arms, pinning them to her side. Her wrapped up her breasts, her shoulders. The boy watching gulped. With a few more turns he covered her neck, her mouth, her eyes and then she was gone.

But not gone. Instead she was now nothing more than a girl shaped object, completely trapped beneath the soft silky sheets. She had been mummified! Oh what a thing to see! But the magician hadn't finished. He returned to the basket and withdrew a length of rope. He circled his assistant, now nothing more than a silhouette, a shrouded mannequin, and tied her tightly from her ankles to her neck, crossing the rope around her waist and then underneath her breasts before tying a knot at the small of her back. He stepped away from the girl, and with a wave of his hand sought appreciation from the crowd for his handiwork. Was this not magic? He took a beautiful girl and made her submit to his whim. He'd covered her, encased her, bound her, trapped her! The young boy in the crowd looked on in wonder.

The magician clapped his hands. The girl shaped cocoon wriggled, and from beneath the fabric of the silk tiny bells jingled, a soft breathy sigh was barely audible emanating from the poor girl. The magician again returned to his basket and produced a long curved sword. The crowd hushed. The girl continued to squirm, her muffled struggles and bells now louder than before. He walked around her, sword raised. By now her movements were frantic. She hopped on her toes, which were just visible beneath the red cloth, and she bent forward at the waist. Her hands could be seen pushing out against the silk, and her breath had darkened the fabric stretched tightly across her face. The thin rope squeaked as she strained against its embrace.

The magician paused in front of the girl, in front of the crowd, sword aloft. What drama! Then he spun on his heels, cutting across and through the wrapped girl. Gasp! Went the crowd. The shredded silk sheet and rope fell to the floor. The girl had vanished! The crowd hesitated, not sure of the appropriate response. The Magician sensed this, predicted this, and with a loud clap the girl emerged from out of the basket, smiling and unscathed, none the worse for her ordeal. The crowd erupted in cheers around the boy, but he just sat there, mesmerised by what he had seen. What he had felt! Just like that his destiny had been decided.

He would become a magician.

And he would be kinky.

He left the village behind a few years later, imminent promises of war forcing his family to emigrate first to Africa and then Canada, but he had learnt card tricks and simple illusions from the town elders. Tricks that would help him at his new schools, protect him from the taunts and threats, even earn respect and friends. But it was the control he yearned for. He wanted to make women submissive to his every whim - such power!

He became 'The Great Kassim'; magician, illusionist, sorcerer. And if modesty permitted it, he had to admit he was good, very good. True, he was one of the best card manipulators of his day, his dexterity and skill was the talk of the magic circle, but it wasn't ever his passion, not really. It was the girls. He loved to tie up girls, pure and simple. For a while at least he lived his dream.

As his mind returned back to the present, he felt a sinking feeling in his gut, where just now a raging fire of lust had resided. It was over and he was finished. It was only a matter of time, he told himself, before word spread. He had hired most of his girls through agencies but as news spread of his kinky obsessions they had started to dry up. Now it seemed they had stopped completely.

Over. With a sigh he stood up from the table and began to gather up his things.

"Excuse me?"

A voice, English with a trace of a French accent, as soft and warm as honey, gently echoed through the empty hall.

He turned his head sharply to see who could own such a voice, and for a moment time seemed to stop.

Standing in the door, one hand resting against the door frame, the other clutching one of his advertisements, was a vision of perfection.

She was tall, maybe five foot ten by his estimate, long, lean and yet curvy. He'd seen that type of body before, a body honed by Yoga or Pilates, athletic and toned yet not too muscular. She wore a loose plain T-shirt that hinted at her pert ample breasts beneath. Her long legs and cute behind were encased in tight dark blue denim jeans, and knee-high two inch heel boots completed her outfit. Superbly.

But it was her face. Such a face! Her skin tanned, the colour of caramel. It was framed by jet black hair, with subtle tints of red, tied back into a long plaited pony tail with a fringe covering her forehead almost down to her eyes. These were two large dark gemstones, too dark to make out the detail but they seemed to shimmer even from across the room. She had slender cheekbones which lead down to her dark red lips, full and round. Centrepiece to this dazzling array of features was a gentle curve, ending in a ever-so-slightly upturned button nose. Damn! He thought, even her nostrils were perfect. Simply put, she was beauty personified.

"Yes... can I help you," These simple words seem to struggle and fight in his throat.

"Maybe." She gazed around the empty room, then held up the advertisement. ''Is this the audition for the magician's assistant?"

Seconds, perhaps maybe minutes seemed to pass.

"Erm, yes. Yes it is." Smooth, he thought.

"Great. Thought I'd got here too late. Am I too late?"

"No, not. Er, I mean you're not. Too late. Come in, please."

She seemed to hesitate, then frown and bite down on her lips in a clear display of consideration. Slowly she stepped forward into the hall, and walked towards him.

What a walk! With one foot in front of the other she slinked, glided, swayed, strutted, prowled towards him. Metaphors have no place here; she walked with the grace and elegance of a cat. Not on all fours like a cat, but this thought created a mental image that he stored away for a later use.

She paused at the table facing him, hands on hips. Then, with a dramatic gesture she thrust out her hand.

"Vanessa. Vanessa Raynes."

He took her hand, so small and warm in his. "Kassim. As in 'The great Kassim" He stammered.

A broad grin spread across her face, her eyes seem to dance, to twinkle. They were dark brown, like milk chocolate. She held out the advertisement. "Yes, I kind of guessed that!"

"Oh, of course. Please, won't you?" He gestured to the chair next to her, and with a slight shrug of the shoulders she sat down. He took the seat opposite.

He sat looking at her for what felt like an eternity. Up close she was even more dazzling. But there was something else. She looked familiar to him, but from where? She had a touch of Liv Tyler, in fact she could have been an Elfish Princess. There was also some Kate Beckinsale, maybe even some Angelina Jolie in there. But somehow she was more than the sum of these parts. And yet so very familiar.

"Ahem!" she coughed politely, breaking him out of his trance.

He looked up at her. She had crossed her legs and folded her arms. Her head was tilted upon her long graceful neck her gaze was intense. She leaned forward in her chair, her eyes fixed on his.

She leant towards him. "Isn't this where you ask me if I have any experience?" She purred softly, a whisper.

"Yes, I guess. Do you?" He asked.

"Uh, no. Well, not exactly." She sat back, her eyes darted down, then away. She blushed faintly, her cheeks turning the colour of sunset.

"But... I've had experience of... being tied up!"

He coughed. Now it was his turn to blush. She looked away again, and ran her hand through hair, exposing an ear. Not pointed, just small, cute, indeed a perfect ear. So not an Elf Princess then.

He fought to compose himself. Here, in front of him was perfection personified. God had worked overtime on this one, really put in some hours, pulled an all-nighter. And she had been tied up. No, more than that, maybe she LIKED being tied up! His mind raced. He felt that oh-so-familiar tightening in his stomach, his crotch.



Although every fibre in his being, his entire essence and very soul screamed 'what are you waiting for??? Let's tie her up!' he had to be cautious. He'd lost too many girls through being forward, careless, inpatient.

Not this time, he would not lose her so easily. Plus he had sell-out shows booked, and they began in a few months. This was it, make or break. He'd worked hard, had come up with lot's of new tricks. This would put him back on the map. Be smart, he told himself, good things come to those... he suddenly realised that she was still talking.

"...And then some modelling, different types of modelling, fashion mostly. So I can, you know..." She threw her head back dramatically and thrust her arms out and upwards. "...pose, and point and stuff." And with that, to demonstrate, she stood up, almost knocking the chair flying, crossed her legs one in front of the other and proceeded to gesticulate, point and pull faces that on anyone other than this delectable creature would have seemed ludicrous. With a final flourish she placed both hands on her hips and stared at him intensely. Her breasts were heaving gently under her shirt.

"Well?" She asked.

"Well?" He responded.

"Well, what do you think?" She sat back down, leaning in with her elbows on the table, head resting between her hands. Oh, that face! Those eyes!

"Well, yes but I'm afraid there's a little bit more to it than that."

Her face changed suddenly, as if a shadow had passed unseen overhead.

"But..." he stammered. "...But it's mostly just posing, pointing and..." He gulped "...getting tied up."

Her eyes narrowed, then a broad smile created across her face.

"Does that mean...?" She asked hesitantly.

"Yes. Well I mean we'll have to try you out first but..." he knew of course that the second he laid eyes on her that she was the one. The only one!

Her eyes positively glowed, he could feel himself melt before them.

"Really? Oh my, really?" She clapped her hands together and laughed, a sound so delightful, so pure that it made him shuffle awkwardly in his seat and cross his legs.

"That's fantastic!" She cooed. Her smile quickly evaporated as she composed herself. "When do I start?"

'Now!' He screamed in his mind.

"Tomorrow morning sound okay?" He tried to sound professional but the words barely left his lips before tumbling weakly to the floor.

She sprang lightly to her feet. "Tomorrow morning." She stated, with a matter of fact nod of the head. She looked around the hall. "Here?"

"No, not here. I have a studio, it's not far." He wrote the address on the back of the advertisement she had brought, and handed to her. She thrust out her hand once again. He stood and took it, and she cupped her other hand over the top of his.

"You won't regret it." She beamed.

No, I won't, he thought.

But you might.

God, he hoped so much that he wouldn't fuck this up. Again.

With that she turned sprightly on her heels and marched out, her beautiful pert behind swaying hypnotically in her tight jeans.

He watched her leave, frozen still and just a little bit stiff, before deciding that he needed a beer.

He barely slept a wink.

She was waiting outside the door to his studio right on time. He had wondered that night whether she was really that pretty, that perfect. He opened the door and realised that yes, she was that perfect. And familiar.

Her hair was tied back in the same fashion, her upper body covered in a jacket, opened and revealing another plain T-shirt, but tighter than before. She had great breasts. She wore leggings, black and shiny. On her feet she wore the same knee high black boots.

"Won't you come on in?" He mumbled.

She stepped in, and he shut the door behind her. He was standing close to her now, could smell her delicate perfume, the fragrance of her hair. Her skin was as smooth as silk. Flawless.

Again, she was the first to break the silence.

"Right, where do we start?" She asked, her face bright with enthusiasm.

A tsunami wave of kinky thoughts crashed over him: Handcuffs. Blindfold. Straight jacket. Chains. Rope. Bag.

He shook these loose from his mind and spoke.

"Let's go through and I'll show you the basics."

They went through to his studio, a large room filled with all manner of props and toys.

Over the next few days he showed her how flags can appear from a seemingly empty hat. He showed her how a bird cage can miraculously disappear from beneath a sheet. He ran a sword through her neck and left her untouched.

He showed her his rings and then he showed her his balls.

"Wow! So they're up your sleeve all the time?" She gasped in amazement, not entirely sincere.

"Yep. It's all about misdirection, making people see what you want them to see."

"Oh, I see." She had started to sound bored with all this trivial stuff, and to her credit she was picking it up far quicker than his previous assistants.

He took a chance.

"Ever wondered how to get out of a straight jacket?" He enquired.

Suddenly she was awake and alert again, her eyes wide and radiating anticipation.

"Yes! Yes!" She cried. He felt his legs go weak, blood redirected to another location.

He went to an old battered chest, opened it, and removed a cream coloured straight jacket with many brown straps fastened to it.

She eyed it with awe.

"Now, stand up, take off your jacket and turn around."

She gave another sharp nod of understanding, slipped off her jacket and turned around. Slow enough that he could take in the full shape of her impeccable physique, her narrow waist, her round, full breasts and her soft, curvy behind. She is perfect he repeated to himself. His hands were ever so slightly trembling.

He reached around her with the straight jacket, guiding her arms into it's sleeves. He pulled them across her chest, showing her how to lift her arms up slightly - but not noticeably - to give her enough slack, just like Houdini did. He tied the strap up tight across her back and buckled her up. His hands were now quivering like a fish out of water.

He then grabbed the lowest strap and pulled it beneath her legs. As his hand passed between her upper thighs he allowed himself the most casual of glances, the back of his hand brushing against her soft spandex leggings. He brushed against her buttocks, soft and yet firm. He could feel the warmth of her body through the fabric. His hands shook wildly. He suddenly realised that she was watching over her shoulder, a look of suspicion etched onto her delicate features.

"You know what you're doing, right?" A pointed question that he took as rhetorical, but at the same time sobering him up from his lustful stupor.

"Of course. I've done this many times before, just not with anyone... quite like you." He'd said it before he could check himself and he felt himself blush. To his relief, so did she.

She turned away and carried on looking straight ahead. "That's okay then. Carry on!"

He pulled the strap up between her thighs tight, making her give a little squeal, then a giggle. "Be careful down there!"

"Sorry!" He replied, without sincerity.

He buckled the final strap and stepped back to admire his work. She was bound up tightly into the straight jacket.

With all the effort he could muster he said, "Okay, now try to get out."

She composed herself and set a determined expression upon her face. Her lips tightened, her eyes narrowed, and her perfect nostrils even flared a little. Then she began to wriggle. Not much at first, but she wriggled. She twisted and turned, thrusting our her chest and bending her knees.

Oh what ecstasy! He sat down on the the chest, and watched. Her face grew steadier redder, darker. Sweat formed on her face, pasting her fringe down onto her forehead. All the time she avoided eye contact, but he never once took his eyes off her.

For a few minutes he just watched. She dropped to her knees, then rolled backwards onto the floor, her movements getting more and more frantic. She flipped over onto her side. Finally she stopped moving, turned and looked up at him.

"A little help over here? Some words of advice? A few words of encouragement maybe? " She panted.

He leaned back and chuckled, folding his arms. "You're doing great. You're almost there."

She flashed him an angry glare then grunted in frustration. "Fine! I'll get out of it myself!"

He continued to watch her wriggle and squirm for a minute or so more, and was getting ready to lend a hand, when he suddenly noticed that she was actually getting free of the shackles by herself. She began by loosening her arms, made easier by the extra slack at the start. She was then able to slide her arms down within the straight jacket, and reach down to the buckle between her legs. With that unfastened she slid the whole thing up over her head, wriggling free before dropping it onto the floor in front of her.

She stood there, breathing deeply, her legs wide and hands on her hips. Her face was still flushed and damp with sweat, but she wore a broad smirk across it. "There, done it!"

He was impressed. She was quick, quicker than most people, and a little too quick for his liking. He would have liked to see her struggle some more. He also wondered whether she'd been tied up in a straight jacket before. He guessed yes, and found that the thought excited him.

"Well, did I pass your 'test'?" She was still breathing heavy, but had recovered fast.

"Passed what?" He asked.

"Well, surely that was some kind of test right? To see if I could cope with the big stuff?" She bent down to pick up the straight jacket and slowly stepped across the room, stopping in front of him and dropping the jacket at his feet.

He looked down at it, all crumpled on the floor. Thick canvas, leather straps, steel buckles. He was amazed that she escaped - and so quickly - but another thought crossed his mind, a darker thought; what if she couldn't be bound? Couldn't be contained, restrained, harnessed? It would make sense, she was closer to a Goddess than any mortal he'd ever seen. This unsettled him deeply.

"Ahem!" She coughed loudly, bringing him back to his senses. She was standing there, her hips jutting out, breasts pushed forward in a sexy model's pose. Yes, a Goddess.

She reached up to her forehead and brushed the hair from her eyes.

"What do you have planned for me next?" She asked confidently, perhaps even a touch arrogant

He was taken aback a little by this. He'd thought he'd overstepped himself, put her off. He was worried she'd see through his charade, but on the contrary; she was enjoying herself. Hallelujah!

"What would you like to try?" He fumbled for the words, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Well, where do you keep the big stuff? You know, the iron maiden, origami box, the bed of death, the substitution trunk?" She looked around the room as if searching for something, and then stared directly into his eyes. Those beautiful dark eyes.

And then it clicked.

"Well, I was hoping to build up to this one, but seeing as you're keen and picking things up so quickly, how about we try something a little more... advanced?"

Her face lit up. "Oh wow! Really? Yes I'm up for trying anything!" She caressed the last word, letting it float across to him, a lust filled cloud full of promise.

He tried to focus as his upper lip dampened with sweat.

"Okay. Follow me."

He lead her through the studio and up a narrow flight of stairs. He opened up a door and ushered her into his bedroom.

He shut the door behind them as she spun around, a puzzled look on her face. He walked passed her and motioned towards the bed. She looked nervously back at him.

"Please. Sit. This is where I'll show you my special, secret tricks."

These words seemed to break a spell. She sat down on the edge of the bed, but staying close to the door.

He carried on, turning his back to her and walking across the room to an antique trunk in the corner of the room. Now it was his turn to be dramatic.

"In here are" He said, patting the trunk, "are secrets handed down from generation to generation." He spoke in his best stage voice, quietly at first to build the tension, looking intently at her. He could see the wonder in those eyes. He had her, he thought with an inward smile.

"I will show you a trick" his voice now louder, "that no one has ever seen since the days of the Maharaja and the sultans!"

Her mouth gaped, her eyes shone.

"But!" He now lowered his voice. "For this trick I will need an assistant. Do I have any volunteers?" He pretended to scan the audience.

"Ooh! Me! Pick me!" She raised her hand and jiggled up and down like an excited school girl.

He continued to look around the room before letting his eyes rest on hers. Yes, you will do. You will do perfectly.

"Ladies and Gentleman we have a volunteer! Young lady will you please join me up on stage?"

She pretended to look behind, stunned that she'd been chosen. She pointed to herself, mouthing 'me?' in mock surprise. She stood up from the bed, straightened herself up, ran a hand lightly through her hair and stepped towards him.

He took her hand, smiling broadly, and with his other hand resting gently on the small of her back, guided her to the old battered trunk.

"Okay, now as I said this is a very special illusion, very old, very rare. This is a modified version of that trick, jazzed up - if you will - for today's generation." She nodded as he spoke, her eyes twinkling with excitement.

He stood for a second just taking her in. Then he turned, reached into the trunk and produced a pair of handcuffs. He noticed that for a split second her eyes widened. In awe? Shock? Horror? Maybe none of these, given how she had escaped the straight jacket so easily.

Holding the handcuffs in one hand he asked, "Please hold out your wrists."

She looked at him, then at the cuffs, and slowly raised both arms, palms upwards.

He cuffed both her wrists, gently but firmly, and gave the chain between her wrists a sharp tug.

"Please show the audience that these are real handcuffs, and that there is no way you can get out of them."

She turned on one heel - as if to face an audience - raised the cuffs above her head and began trying to pull her wrists apart. She groaned a little at the effort, before turning back to face him once again. She gave a little shake of the head and a little shrug of the shoulders, a contrived gesture of defeat.

He looked down at her shapely legs and those black knee high boots.

"Now for this next part I'm going to have to ask you to take of your shoes."

"Umm..." She replied softly "...I might need a little help with those."

At first he didn't get her meaning, then to make herself clear she raised her handcuffed wrists, raised her eyebrows and gave a lopsided grin.

"Oh I see, of course." He replied, a little awkwardly.

She sat back down on the bed and raised up one of her long lean legs, pointing her booted foot towards him. She was enjoying this, he thought, but not as much as I am. I wonder how long she'll enjoy this for?

With one hand he supported her ankle, with the other he reached up to her calf. He turned her leg gently, found the zip and slowly pulled it towards him.

Once the zip had reached her ankle he moved his hand down to her heel, and moved his other hand to her toes. He gave the boot a sharp tug downwards, and it came free from her bare foot. Almost with a groan of monotony, he realised that her feet were perfect. Her feet were small and shapely. Like the rest of her body the skin was tanned, but her soles were pale with a light pinkish tinge. Her toes were delicate, short and straight, her nails trim and white. The skin was soft and smooth.

Somewhere deep inside he lost a war for control. As he lowered her naked foot to the floor, he couldn't help but run a finger along her sole, from the heel, across her arch and up to the ball of her foot.

She let out a loud giggle, then snatched her foot free from his grasp. He regretted it instantly. Not what he had done, he'd always loved girls feet and these were loveliest feet he'd ever seen. He regretted the sudden loss of control. Not yet, he told himself, not yet.

"Sorry" he lied, "I thought you had something stuck to your foot."

She leaned forward and regarded him closely, her face flushed. She smiled shyly.

"That's okay" her breath was short and rasping. "It's just that my feet are very ticklish." Was there a sense of mischief in those eyes? "And I hate being tickled."

He took a mental note of her remark, he'd refer back to it again very soon. For now he just needed to focus on the task at hand.

He took her other leg and unzipped then removed her boot as before. This time he fought off the strong urge to caress the beautiful object inside.

As he put her boots to one side she sat up on the bed watching him keenly. Her cuffed wrists sat on her lap, her legs were pressed together with her feet touching and raised slightly on her toes.

He was enjoying himself more now. The drama of it all, this is what he loved. The chase was great, the thrill of the hunt, but it was the capture that he truly desired. And she was his captive. But, there was still more to come.

He stood up, took a step back towards the chest and produced a second set of cuffs. She eyed them nervously, and, sensing what was coming, instinctively pulled her legs in further. Her smile had vanished.

He walked slowly towards her, keeping the handcuffs raised, letting her see them as he brought them nearer.

"Would you be so kind as to roll over please?" He was speaking now in his stage voice, a voice that rang with power and control. Her face showed a tremor of concern, but she dutifully rolled over, stretching her cuffed wrists out in front of her and turning her head to one-side so she could continue to watch.

He took a second to admire that small, beautiful behind, tightly clad in those spandex leggings. Spandex! That gave him an idea, but first he had one last job to finish. He reached out with one hand and lifted one of her feet up into the air. With the other hand he shut fast the cuff around her ankle. He did the same with her other foot.

She sat like that, on her front with her feet raised for a few seconds, watching him watch her.

"Now!" he boomed, causing her to flinch slightly.

"Again I ask, could you please demonstrate to our lovely audience that you can in no way escape from these cuffs?"

She responded by lowering her legs onto the bed, and then began to wiggle her ankles against the steel cuffs. She kicked and thrashed her legs and after a while abruptly stopped. She was panting heavier now. Fear, he thought. Perhaps she knows.

He walked around to the side of the bed and leaned over her. Her eyes widened. He reached around her waist and pulled her towards the edge of the bed. There! He had heard it, so very quiet but it was undeniably there. She had whimpered.

He sat her upright on the edge of the bed, bound feet on the floor, bound hands again resting on her lap.

Now she was his captive. She looked up at him, her large dark eyes seemed to grow even larger, as if asking 'what now?' What now indeed!

He turned again to face his invisible audience.

"So, as you can plainly see, our lovely assistant is tightly bound and unable to escape." With a wave of his hands he directed their unseen seeing eyes to the beautiful girl tightly bound on the bed.

This touch of theatre seemed to reassure her somehow, and with a beaming smile she sat up straight and waved her cuffed wrists, wiggled her bound feet up and down.

"But!" He cried out, raising a finger out in front of his face, "we aren't finished with her just yet!"

Her smile once again disappeared.

He paused for a moment, letting the tension build, then stepped slowly, methodically towards the chest one last time. It was lurking at the bottom of the chest, unwrapped, unused. He rummaged around for sometime looking for it. From the bed she peered over, waiting for what was to inevitably follow.

He finally caught sight of what he had been looking for, a glimpse of red fabric.

He turned around and held the object aloft in one hand.

At first her gaze narrowed, as she tried to work out what it was. Then, as it dawned on her, her eyes widened, her mouth was agape. A perfectly perfect look of amazement!

He opened up the large, shiny red spandex bag, and placed it down at her feet.

'Erm, is this really necessary?" Her voice trembled slightly, her eyes locked onto the bag. "I mean you haven't even explained how the trick works?"

"Patience" he whispered. "All will become clear in due course." It seemed to him that these words did little to reassure her.

He continued on. "You will learn secrets that are known only to a few!" That seemed to work, as her body relaxed slightly, but her face still showed concern.

Once again he reached over the bed and wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her to her feet, placing them within the bag.

He bent down slowly, taking one long, lingering last look at her shapely figure before it was encased within the bag. She followed him down with her eyes but said nothing, instead biting down on her bottom lip nervously.

He clasped the bag in both hands and began to pull it up her legs. It would be a tight fit, as he had intended.

He remembered that girl so many years ago in the village, tightly encased in red silk. This was his homage to that memory.

He tugged the bag up to her knees, up around her thighs. He allowed his hands to brush against her legs this time, certain that her focus would now be elsewhere. It was difficult at first, but to his surprise she started to hop up and down, allowing the fabric to flow more easily. He looked up at her and smiled. A brief, nervous smile touched her lips then 'Poof!' it was gone again.

He returned his attention to the bag, pulling it up and over her cute, peachy bum. She wriggled slightly as she slid her arms down into the sack. He pulled the sack up higher, around her waist, covering her elbows and then her breasts. It clung to her body like a second skin, as he had hoped. He pulled it up to her shoulders, tucking her long pony tail inside and stopped.

She wriggled gently, adjusting to her cocoon. He walked around to her front and looked into her perfect face. Her skin still shone dazzling coffee cream, glistening under a layer of perspiration.

Her beautiful eyes scanned his, as if trying to read an invisible book.

Her lips were slightly apart, and he could feel her hot, sweet breath on his face.

Suddenly he leaned forwards, put his hands on her shoulders and whispered.

"I know who you really are!" He could feel her body tense up from within the sack.

"What do you mean?" She could barely form the words. "My name is Vanessa, I told you that. Remember?"

Grinning, he continued. "It took me a while, it really did. God! What a fool! I knew as soon as I saw you that I recognised you, but I couldn't think where." He watched as she licked her dry lips, sweat began to bead on her upper lip.

"Then, when I saw you get out of that straight jacket so quickly it got me thinking. Where did you learn how to do that? But it wasn't until you listed all the big illusions in my act that it hit me." He slapped a hand over his face. "How else could you know?"

She was gazing back at him through blinking eyes.

"Then I remembered you. Yes Rachel Bouchard, I remembered!"

At first she froze rigid. Then she closed her eyes and smiled weakly.

"I really don't know.." She began, but he cut her off.

"Oh, but I do know Rachel. I know how you worked as an assistant for Luis Marino. I remember how, with just weeks before his big new tour, his secrets were 'mysteriously' leaked and he was ruined, his career never recovered. Then there was Miguel Sanchez, Takeshi Kazagawa, Maxwell Jones, Dwayne Sanderson... you worked for them all and now they're all ruined." He stopped, pausing to compose himself. She had turned her head away on hearing the list of names, but slowly she turned her head back to face him. She opened her eyes. They flashed with menace.

"What do you want me to say hmm? Yes I told a few secrets to a few people who used them. They paid me well, so I kept doing it. I didn't think it would hurt anyone, not really, not at first. Maybe I was naive, but I stopped feeling guilty real quick. Know why? Do you think it's easy being a magicians assistant? Do you think it's glamorous? Well paid? Respected?" She gave a sharp sarcastic laugh.

"I hated it, every minute of it. Treated like an object, a toy to be picked up and played with. I was just another prop, something for people to look at. They used me." her eyes narrowed to slits, her gaze was fierce. "You all used me. This is my way of getting even. I'm going to put myself first. From now on I work for me, only me." A smirk spread across her lips.

"And you were going to do the same thing to me?" He asked, trying not to let his growing anger show. "Take my ideas, my secrets and sell them off to the media? Ruin me? Finish me?"

She shrugged and rolled her eyes but said nothing. He took it as a yes.

"Why should only magicians have all the power? Where would you all be without us? Why shouldn't I have my fun?" She had a faraway look on her face now, her eyes flashed as she spoke and her smirk had transformed into a beaming smile. "Isn't that what this is all about hmm? A little fun?"

From inside the bag she brought her handcuffed wrists up to her chest, she pressed her open palms into the fabric, a gesture of surrender. "But you caught me out. You win. I'll go away, I'll leave right now and I'll never come back." Her voice had softened now to a syrupy purr. "Your little secrets stay safe. I promise. What do you say hmm? Come on, just let me out this bag."

She composed herself once again, her features yet again returning to their prior angelic state. She looked up at a stray hair that had fallen across her eye. She tried to blow it away from the corner of her mouth.

He reached across and gently swept it back behind one of her delicate ears. He looked longingly at that face. Such beauty as he'd never known before. And she was right, what she had said. They had used her, them, we all had. And wasn't she entitled to a little fun? Yes, he thought. But after I've had mine.

He ran his hands down either side of her face, her warm cheeks, down her long slender neck, then her shoulders.

She was smiling sweetly at him. He smiled warmly back. He took it all in, one last time. Her perfect face.

And with a final sigh he pulled the sack up over her head.

She immediately thrust her hands up over her head, reaching for the opening of the bag. But he was quicker. Grasping the bag with one hand, he pulled the drawstring stitched into the mouth of the bag shut. As her fingers sought a way of escape, he was already tying it shut. She realised that she was trapped inside the bag.

She thrashed like a fish caught in a net! He stepped back and watched his masterpiece. Beauty may have slayed the beast, but he had trapped beauty and stuffed her into a sack!

When she realised that there was no way out the top of the bag, she brought her hands down and pushed at the tight fabric encasing her. Her head twisted and turned, searching for a way out. As the sack stuck tightly to her body he could make out the details of her struggle. The bag clung to her legs, her bum, her breasts, her face. Through the shiny spandex he could make out her jawline, her cheeks, a soft bump where her nose was, even the curves of her ears. Like a genie in a bottle she was trapped, encased, cocooned. As he watched her squirm and wriggle he couldn't remember feeling such pleasure. She turned this way and that, was she looking for him? Usually a spandex bag is vaguely see through, but he had ordered this one especially thicker, not enough to ruin the fine detail of the person held within, but enough to keep them in total darkness.

She grunted and moaned in frustration. She bent over double, trying to release the cuffs at her ankles. Even if she had a pick or a key, he thought, he was glad she hadn't noticed that the locks had been jammed up with glue.

Her movements became more and more frantic. She hopped up and down on her bare encased feet, and slowly rotated, giving him a wonderful view of that cute arse wiggling. He couldn't help but laugh.

She stopped struggling, and hearing the direction of his voice she turned slowly around towards him. He could hear that she was breathing heavily.

Through the tight silky mesh he could see her hands move up to her face, and straighten her hair. She brought her hands down to her side, and with a thrust of her hips struck a cocky pose.

"You do realise," she panted, "that eventually I'll get out of here?" He couldn't quite make out the details of her face, but he was sure she was smiling in there.

He stood up and walked towards her. He put his face against hers, almost touching the soft material smooth and taught over her face. Her breathing caused a tiny ripple in the fabric.

"Oh I know." He said softly. "Indeed I expect that." He felt her expression change. "And what then?" She asked, puzzled.

"Then," he said with a smile he knew she couldn't see, "then I start all over again!"

It took a few seconds for this to register before she reacted. He anticipated it, and took a step backwards.

This time he could make out the contours of her lips, as they formed a grimace. "Aaaahhh!" She cried out in rage, exploding inside her tight confines.

He watched as she continued to squirm and wriggle about, her body pressing tightly against her spandex prison.

He waited for the right moment, then stepped forward and grabbed her around the waist. For pushed her backwards, forcing her to double up at the waist. He lifted her up off her feet and carried her over his shoulder, her legs thrashing wildly, her upper body twisting in his arms. He couldn't resist giving her cute bum a quick spanking.

"Mmmhhh!" She grunted, "Let me out of this bag right now!"

"What's the magic word?" He whispered.

"Per-lease!" She yelled back.

"Actually no it was abra-cad-abra. Too bad!"

"Hmmmf!" Was all she could manage.

He carried her over to the bed, and gently laid her down on her back. She kicked up with her feet, pushed with her hands, but the bag stayed tightly clinging onto to her.

He lent over her, careful to keep clear of any vicious kicks that may connect.

He couldn't help but want to touch her. He started at the crown of head, her hair now softened flat beneath the tight spandex. He ran a finger lightly down her face, tracing the soft lines of her nose, her cheeks, her lips. She tried to resist his touch, but how could she? Where could she hide? Instead she lifted her head and tried to bite his finger through the sack. She couldn't and she screamed in frustration.

He moved down her struggling body, lightly caressing her breasts, stroking her stomach, moving ever downwards. He paused at her waist, just for a second. No. He was into many, many things, but rape certainly wasn't one of them. He moved on, running his hand against the soft material, pressed tightly against the body within.

When he saw his chance he pounced. He reached out and tucked her ankles under one arm, held her encased feet out in front of him. She tried to kick them free, but he held on tightly. She sensed what he had planned.

"No, no, no, please don't!" She begged. Her head swivelled this way and that, her smooth features pleading through her bright red cocoon.

Her feet were pressed tightly against the wall of the sack. It stretched around her toes, her heels, showing of the beautiful features of her delicate soles. He could see the balls of her feet, the graceful curve of her arches.

"What?" He replied with a chuckle. "Don't do this?" And with that the ran his hand over her feet and tickled like mad.

It was if she was a fatally wounded beast, fighting with everything she had to shake herself free. This is like a mummy rodeo, he thought, the more she bucks the harder I hold on.

He ran his fingers over her toes, scratched them down her arches, along the side, tickled the soft skin of each foot. She giggled and groaned in equal measure, with the occasional 'Stop!', a 'Let me out!' or a 'Please, no more!' thrown in for good measure.

Eventually he did stop, more because he was tired than through lack of want. He felt like he would explode! Was it really this possible to be so turned on, so excited, so happy?

He removed his arm slowly but she put up no resistance. Sweat had turned patches of the spandex dark red, and he could hear her panting hard. As he stepped back she pulled her legs up under herself and curled into a fetal position. I guess she's tired too, he thought.

He stood up from the bed, looking down at his shiny red parcel and thought about the girl inside, hot and sweaty.

He walked away from the bed and opened the door, but before he stepped through he turned around. She was laying there, with her back towards him, his trophy.

"Oh Rachel" he called out loudly. "There's just one last thing." She slowly rolled onto her back and lifted up her head. He thought that he could hear her sobbing quietly. Her chest rose and fell visibly. Poor Rachel.

"During our little conversation earlier I took the liberty of filming you." It was true, he had a small wireless camera posing as a button on his shirt. It had proved invaluable in many illusions before, and he hoped it would do now.

"I bet that a lot of your old employees would love to get their hands on that tape. You'd either spend the rest of your life in court fighting lawsuits" he looked down at her shapely form, laying still on his bed, "Or I could hand you over like you are now, bagged and ready for collection." He knew she couldn't see him, but at that last remark she turned her face towards him. He thought that he could feel her eyes on his, pleading, begging.

He stepped through the door way and as he closed the door behind him he yelled out.

"But that's not really what I wanted to tell you," He could hear the sound of the spandex crease as she sat up to listen. "Yes, in all the excitement I completely forgot to tell you..." The door was almost shut now...

"You're hired! You start on Monday. It's going to be a busy week, so get plenty of rest. You'll need it!"

She heard the door close, receding footsteps, and then silence. She laid her head back on the bed and tried to catch her breath.

If he's like this now, at the audition, she thought with a groan, what's he going to be like to work with?




If you've enjoyed this story, please write to the author and let them know - they may write more!
back to
Packaged Stories