The Magician's Assistant

"I know, but you'll shut up just the same when I say so. Be sure and turn your face to the audience. We can't have them looking at your feet."

With my lips pressed into a line, I turned to look toward the empty seats. My eyes landed where my family had sat so recently. Was I there only last night; Mom, Dad, Sarah and me, right there? The pain was such that I could not even answer my own question. I tried to turn my gaze to the heavens and perhaps ask why God had allowed this to come to pass, but even this I could not do. Constrained by Gino's words, I could but look at the rows of benches, suffer, and weep.

Three hours later, I endured it all again, my agony magnified by the presence of a crowd that found it all so amusing. After the torture of the box, having Gino throw knives at me was a blessing of sorts. I found myself praying he would miss the balloons that surrounded my body and thus end my misery but, just as in the rehearsal, the blades flew true, curving to find their target no matter what direction he tossed them.

After we took our bows, I had some hope we might just go home, but I soon discovered whose job it was to clean the peanuts and other assorted refuse left on the floor by discourteous patrons.

"Good job," the magician said when we at last we slid between the curtains. "You deserve a little reward."

I closed my eyes and sighed. "I don't suppose it's a Hershey bar?"

Gino issued that subtle chuckle, the one I was already sick of. "We can get you one of those too, but for now to the dressing room. Take off your costume and prop one leg up on the counter just like before."

My feet started carrying me toward the dressing room. "Aren't you worried I'll get pregnant?" I protested over my shoulder. "I won't be able to fit in the box."

The magician's chuckle turned into a laugh. "Those ovaries exhausted their egg supply long ago."

My brow fell. "What?"

"Better quit asking questions and ... "

My lungs emptied with a grunt as I walked into the edge of the dressing room door. Staggering back a step, I shook my head and clutched my shoulder.

"... and watch where you are going," Gino continued in a tone that reminded me all too much of my father's sarcasm. "A good wife doesn't ask so many questions. Now shut up and do what I said."

Under his leering eyes, I disrobed in silence. Once naked, I put one foot on the floor, the other and both hands on the counter top. Wearing that same sickening smirk, Gino dropped his trousers and moved behind me. I could only stare at the red eyes and pouty lips of my reflection while the magician stroked the rubbery head of his cock over my moistening sex. I closed my eyes and awaited his penetration, almost hoping it would hurt; but it didn't even though he plowed the length of his member into me with but a single thrust.

My eyes snapped open. I grunted, then looked into my wanton eyes while I savored the fullness of having him inside. Grasping my shoulder, he began to fuck me in earnest, long, powerful strokes; nothing gentle about it. I watched as my eyes widened in time with his thrusts. Beads of sweat broke out on my forehead. I told myself it was heat from the light bulbs surrounding the mirror, but I knew better. Soon, my breathing came in bursts, my chest matching the bulging of my eyes and the movement of his cock within me.

Gino moved his lips near my ear. My eyes shifted from my face to his. His right hand left my shoulder, snaking under my arm to find my bosom. His groping was like his fucking- hard, urgent, primal. The warmth of his breath reached my ear a moment before his words.

"Repeat after me, slut. I will not masturbate without permission."

I wasn't sure what the word meant, but I repeated the sentence just the same.

"Go ahead," Gino whispered. "I give you permission when I'm fucking you. Touch yourself. You know where."

My hand slid across his groping fingers and over my tummy, then down to the apex of my crease. There, my fingers turned slow circles in my supple flesh. At once, my abused clit responded to their caress, sending tendrils of warmth coursing through my loins, and beyond. Breaths exited my nose in labored bursts. The muscles of my ass began to flex in a rhythm that matched the movement of my fingers. Soon all of my body quaked and relaxed in time with my fucking.

I swallowed as I recognized the hot tingling spreading within me, more powerful than any electrical current. If I'm going to be tortured, I reasoned, I may as well enjoy what I can. And I did.

An hour later I sat on the davenport and devoured the chocolate bar Gino had purchased for me on the way home. Home. I shook my head, loathing myself for thinking in those terms though one glance at my surroundings confirmed it was simply the truth.

I stopped eating and glanced to my body. It's you now, I admitted with a sigh. Your body. Your life. You better learn to make the best of it. My chest rose and fell through a second, larger sigh.

My eyes again found the Hershey bar. Him giving it to you doesn't make it taste bad, does it? I took another bite, confirming that it did not. Maybe his cock is just like the candy, I reasoned. Yes! It's just like that, a gift; separate from him. My eyes widened. The ends of my lips curved upward. It's ok to enjoy it. You can like his gift and still hate him.

Still sporting a broad grin, I moved my mouth back toward my chocolate treat.

* * * * *

Over the following few weeks my life continued in a surreal fashion, me serving my husband's needs in both the classic ways, in the kitchen and the bedroom. Except it was often not the bedroom. He fucked me in every room of the apartment, save the one I was not allowed to enter. But that was in the evening. Except when we had a performance, he left me alone during the day.

I cooked and swept and scrubbed, but even after I had cleaned everything twice, I still had too much time on my hands. Finding I could still not open the front door nor go upon the balcony, I but stood and looked out the windows of the French doors. Hours I must have spent staring at the distant waves, wondering what Christine was doing in my body, and what my parents might be thinking of her strange behavior.

My new body exhibited some strange behavior of its own. My loins seemed always to be tingling, like a simmering fire waiting to be stoked. This stoking I did often with my own fingers, discovering I did not need a man to take myself into the realm of quaking pleasures, as I had come to think of it.

At the beginning of the second week, I made what I thought at the time to be a mistake. After several days, I forced myself to do something that seemed productive; read. One book beckoned above all others and I finished the massive tome on sex in but three days.

I had hoped to learn why my body responded to his touch in the manner it did, but much of the text focused instead on demographics and social norms. What I learned mostly was that I wasn't alone amongst women in my lust for the feel of a man upon me and within me. Far from it, my desires were common, shared by most. Society may have told us we weren't supposed to like it as men did, but our bodies knew better.

To my chagrin, I also learned in no uncertain terms what masturbation was, and in that instant, my own words bound me. After that, I could no longer satisfy my wants with my fingers; I had to wait for my husband's return. Soon my heart raced and my sex warmed at the sound of the door handle in the evening. I loved the way he served my carnal hunger. And I hated him for making me love it.

After finishing the book on sex, I continued reading the classics, and also the newspaper. The latter garnered most of my attention, but even the death of James Dean and the Dodgers victory over the Yankees could not eclipse a tiny article Gino found one Friday morning.

"Look at this," he said, sliding the folded newspaper across the breakfast table.

My eyes fell to where his finger tapped an article. My brow dropped with my heart as I read of the upcoming nuptials of Megan O'Reilly and Thomas Collard.

"I like how she's already dyed her hair for him," Gino added. "Although, I confess I did like her pigtails the way they were. Rather cute and innocent, but I guess that wouldn't be appropriate any longer, would it?"

I barely heard him. It was the date, not the color of the girl's hair that had caught my eye. "November eighth," I muttered. "That's barely a month."

"Yes. Thirty-two days to be exact. Our dear Megan is moving fast. I like how the announcement doesn't come from Megan's parents."

My mind flew to my family. "I'm sure my father is appalled. I bet he won't even give me away."

Gino chuckled. "Interesting, that. A century ago, most fathers would have been thrilled to have their daughter marry a successful businessman." He paused for a lengthy, sarcastic sigh. "Ah, the good old days."

My eyes dropped to the picture beside the article, the picture of me and an old man, both smiling. I looked away, my thoughts going to my family. A tear crept out, and down my cheek.

"Now, now," Gino chortled. "You needn't be unhappy. I asked Thomas not to wed on a Saturday. I knew you wouldn't want to miss the happy occasion."

With a gasp, my mouth fell open. "I don't want to go."

He smiled. "Sure you do. It'll be good for you; help set things straight in your mind. Tell you what. Don't make dinner tonight. Put on that red sweater and the tan skirt. A little makeup too. We'll go someplace nice and celebrate."

My lips set into a line. There was only one thing I needed to get straight in my mind; I was still Megan, no matter where he took me, no matter what he made me say or do.

"I know what you need." He stood, and loosened the sash of his robe. "Lean over the table."

Ten minutes later, when his body stiffened and he spent himself within me, I found a wry, satisfied grin on my face. For the first time, I hadn't enjoyed it.

* * *

That evening, 'someplace nice' turned out to be a Chinese restaurant in Flatbush. Though it was pleasant enough and was a welcome change from sweating in the kitchen, I had been expecting something more.

Afterward, Gino and I strolled hand in hand along the sidewalks in the cool of an early autumn evening. In spite of being so obviously accompanied, almost every man I passed gave me a look. I knew it didn't help that Gino had insisted I don one of those sweaters like movie vixens wore. Some men but cast a glance until my eyes met theirs; others downright gawked. I confess I found the first few ogles a thrill; guys had never looked at me before. Soon though, the attention grew tiresome, even a bit scary. I knew what they wanted, and it wasn't me.

With my eyes fluttering to the concrete, my mind rushed to the only boy who'd ever looked at me, Ricky. He'd always looked me in the face and smiled. My eyes moistened. He liked me. I knew he did. He had to. I clamped my eyelids closed and I started to ask for his forgiveness, that I hadn't saved myself for him. Then I realized he couldn't forgive me. He didn't even know. I opened my now-clouded eyes. All Ricky would ever know was that Megan had married some old man.

Unless I find a way to stop it! My teeth found my lower lip. Yes, I determined with a puissant breath. I won't give up.

"Wind the clock," Gino instructed later as we settled into bed. "And set the alarm for eight."

I rolled toward the bed stand and extended my hand toward the clock. "Eight?"

"Yes," he replied. "No more sleeping late. It's time for the next stages of your instruction."

I picked up the clock and began winding the spring. Me eyes wandered. Though I hadn't enjoyed my earlier fuck, I still found my body craving his touch. My touch would have done just as well, but this was now forbidden. Beneath the sheets, my loins clenched their want. I slid my fingers down, but they only got to my navel.

Passing a sigh through clenched teeth, I rolled and sent my hand to the genitals I was allowed to touch, his.

Gino grunted. His hand found mine and shoved it back to my side of the bed. "That's a nice enough way for a wife to ask," he said, "but not tonight. I've something special in mind for tomorrow and the waiting will make it all the better."

I swallowed and opened my mouth to ask, but in that moment, he continued, "I grew up when women didn't wear makeup, so I often forget how contemporary men like it. After you get dinner in the oven tomorrow, put some makeup on and some nice clothes too, just like you wore tonight. It's time you learned how a good wife greets her husband when he gets home from a long day's work. Now shut up and go to sleep."

With that, he rolled over, leaving me with but the ticking clock and my own anxieties for company.

* * *

As instructed, I wore a blouse, skirt, and makeup when my husband arrived home the following evening.

"Good," Gino noted. "Except you must meet your husband at the door. Let him know you were waiting for him. That makes a man feel important."

I nodded, and walked toward the door.

"And say," he continued, "something like, 'Welcome home, can I do anything to ease your tension?' "

"Welcome home. Can I ..."

"Wait," Gino interrupted. "When you're saying it, lick you lips and look to my cock. Let me know just how you intend to relieve my tension."

With a swallow, I nodded, then spoke the words, licking my lips and looking to his loins.

"Very good," he said. "Your husband will almost always agree. Then you come forward and snuggle your body to his, then rub your palm along his cock and ask him what he wants. Do it."

I stepped toward him, then leaned my body unto his. Between our forms, I brought my hand to his member. He was already hard, and my own loins warmed and clenched their want in response to his.

I forced my eyes to his. "What did you have in mind?"

"A blowjob would be nice."

My head fell to one side.

"You don't know what that is?" he asked.

My mind reviewed what I could recall from the sex tome. Unable to recall the term, I shook my head.

"Good. It's always better that way." He strode past me to the davenport and unfastened his belt. Thinking to undress as well, I reached for the buttons of my blouse, but he stopped me. "You don't need to take anything off. Just get on your knees."

At once I leaned forward, coming to rest on my haunches. His hands moved to his belt and my eyes followed. My attention remained fixed on his fingers while he loosened his pants and freed his member. I inhaled a crisp breath the instant his rampant form sprang into view.

"Still have no idea what a blowjob is?"

The question snapped me from my trance. I looked up to his face and shook my head.

He smiled. "It's the best way to relieve your husband's stress. You'll do it often, maybe more than fucking. Come here, hold me in your hand."

I sidled forward and extended my right hand. Forming a fist about his shaft, I squeezed. He was hard, much like a broom handle surrounded by a thin sponge, but also hot in the way only a living thing can be. I squeezed harder and moved my fist, feeling the skin slide over his shaft within my grip.

"Nice," he whispered. "You are quite the little slut already. Now, lick the side toward you, right along the bulge, all the way from my balls to the head."

My face contorted. My lower lip fell. Surely he can't mean... His acrid flavor assaulted my tongue. My eyes widened. I had already started!

"Yes," he said. "That's right. All the way to the top. Run your tongue all over the head, especially lick the hole, then do it again."

Lick the hole! That's where he pees! Before I had time to be revolted, my tongue was already there, exploring the tiny slit. I did it, over and over, licking him up and down, his shaft growing harder and hotter with each pass of my tongue. In spite of everything I thought I ought to feel, there was something enticing about feeling his want of me grow thus.

Soon his hips began to move upon the cushions. "Good," he whispered. "Now give me a nice slutty moan when you taste my salt."

Taste his salt? I barely had time to wonder what he meant before my tongue encountered a saline droplet at the apex of his crown. A moan resonated within my throat. Below, my stomach clenched its revulsion.

"Good, little slut," he said. "Now go ahead, take my head between your lips."

Before I could even think, I had done it. His thing was in my mouth!

"Yes," he hissed. "Just pinch the head with your lips."

I obeyed, clamping my lips about his rubbery crown and massaging it. Yet more of his flavor seeped into my mouth.

"Lick the end," he said. "Get used to the feel of a man in your mouth."

My tongue roamed the smoothness of his head, pushing at his supple skin, teasing his aperture, sampling the fluid it produced. Soon I found a smooth spot just below his cleft, one that induced both moans from him and additional seepage from his aperture.

"Good, slut," he whispered. "You are learning things you will never forget. That's the beauty of the human mind. You'll remember how to suck cock long after you've forgotten all about fat little Megan. Now, take more of me in your mouth. Slide your lips back and forth over me just like your mouth was a cunt."

I complied, of course.

He inhaled a crisp breath through his teeth, then continued, "Use your tongue too. Lick all over the end, and underneath. Oh! And watch your teeth. Cover your uppers with your lip and keep your tongue over the lowers."

This I did, moving my mouth back and forth over several inches of his length. My tongue explored the bulge of his head, the folds of his foreskin, the smooth underside, all of it hot with his want of me.

"Don't forget your hand. Squeeze me a bit. Move it in time with your mouth. And keep looking at me, just like that."

I barely had time to comply before he dispensed additional instruction. "It's called cocksucking for a reason. Start sucking on it as you pull your mouth back. Let me see your cheeks flexing in and out."

At once, I started drawing on the outstroke. What had been but a seepage became a steady flow. But seconds later I could taste nothing other than his subtle saltiness.

"Oh yeah," he said. "I can tell you're already going to be a great cocksucker. Keep it up. Just like that."

Hearing his praise, I felt my chest swell with a breath of pride. At once I hated myself for it. What is he doing to me? I wondered. I can't like this too!

But I did. The subtle flavor of him touched something in my soul. The heat of him within my mouth stirred a similar heat within my own loins. Before I knew it, my hips were moving, undulating. My free hand fell to linger just below where I longed to put my fingers.

I looked up, hoping he would grant me permission to touch myself. Instead, one of his hands found my head. He wrapped his fingers in my hair and pulled, urging me to take more of him into my mouth. "I'm ready. Suck it harder. Faster."

I had no clue what being ready meant, but I did his bidding just the same, increasing the tempo and force of my suckling. His hips soon joined his hand in motion, compelling my mouth to accept yet more of him.

"Oh, yeah," he gasped. The force from his grip within my hair increased. His ass slid back and forth on the sofa, taking his cock with it, compelling me to follow. "Keep sucking. Here it comes. Lick the bottom as I'm coming, but as soon as you taste my seed, the rest of your mouth must remain still. Keep all of it in your mouth; don't swallow or spill any."

Seed? I wondered. What's that?

My answer came in the form of a wad of goo deposited upon the length of my tongue. Unlike his previous subtle flavor, this was a sharp, sour, pungency; a taste that was no way appealing. My impulse was to gag, to spit, but my body obeyed his orders instead of my instincts.