The Magician’s Assistant
Claire put her foot down and drove away from the scene of the crime, hoping that the police hadn’t seen her.
Eventually she pulled up outside her house, not remembering exactly how she’d got back home such was her shock at seeing her boss, Bobby Flapjack, being manhandled into a police car.
She had driven to work that morning and parked around the corner before making her way to his flat. She had come to a dead halt, astonished to see several police cars and Bobby being dragged to one by two hefty policemen.
When she’d asked a curious bystander what was happening, he’d shaken his head and laughed, telling her that he’d heard Bobby was being arrested for running a brothel.
Not wanting to be involved, Claire had hastily left to get back home.
Safely back in her house, Claire had time to think.
She’d been working with Bobby for the past six weeks as a corporate trainer, specialising in educating businessmen on the subject of sexual harassment, or rather on how to avoid it.
Claire had been really happy in her job, communicating the ins and outs of sexual discrimination legislation as well as showing the trainees exactly what constituted harassment and what didn’t, allowing Bobby to use her body as a kind of live mannequin. For instance, when a client had forced her to give him oral sex and ejaculated in her mouth, Bobby had pointed out that, in a real work situation, this might be considered to be crossing the line between ambiguous playful banter and most definite harassment.
She’d also got extremely adept at one-on-one coaching the delegates on how to resist seduction through active role-play. She prided herself on being able to break down their barriers no matter hard they resisted her advances, all of them eventually coming inside one of her various moist orifices. Bobby had been most complimentary about her 100% commitment to her work and she’d certainly generated a lot of income for him which he’d happily shared with her.
She’d been particularly pleased that she was holding down a well-paid job after struggling to keep one for the last year. And so it came as a real blow to her to find out that Bobby might have been running a whorehouse on the side!
Although she tried, she couldn’t work out when he was supposed to have done so. She had generally spent all day with him and not seen anything so she supposed it must have been in the evenings or at the weekends.
In any case, for the next few days she stayed at home, keeping her head down, dreading a visit from the police. Not, of course, that she’d done anything wrong herself but it would have been difficult to explain some of the details of her role to her boyfriend. She guessed that, to someone not versed in advanced training techniques, some of the things she had done with her clients might technically have been considered sexual in their nature. And of course she prided herself in her unwavering faithfulness to her partner.
Feeling somewhat guilty about not supporting Bobby she had secretly hoped that nothing would come of his arrest so she was horrified to read in the local paper that a 46-year old man had been charged with keeping a brothel for the use of prostitution.
She didn’t leave the house for another week.
After she hadn’t heard anything for a while, Claire began to relax. It looked like, whatever Bobby had been getting up to in his spare time, she hadn’t been implicated and for that she was extremely grateful.
She’d told her boyfriend, Danny, that she had been let go because of a downturn in the training market and he had attributed her melancholy to losing her job.
Gradually though she began to get back to a normal routine and demeanour, starting once more to feel dissatisfied with her lack of employment. However times were hard and, despite desperate and diligent searching, no-one seemed to be hiring.
To cheer herself up she agreed to help out at Danny’s nephew’s sixth birthday party. She enjoyed the company of children and Danny’s sister, Megan, had hired a magician which sounded like a lot of fun.
As ever, Claire made sure that her clothes made the best of her tall big-breasted long-legged figure, deciding to wear her favourite low-cut clingy red minidress, black hold-up stockings and knee-length black patent leather stiletto-heeled boots. She felt her outfit went perfectly with her long auburn hair, creamy freckled skin and lambent green eyes.
The party was in Megan’s suburban semi-detached house and Claire enjoyed it immensely. The jelly and ice-cream, the silly party games and the unbounded energy of the happy and excited children made Claire feel giggly and content. The four generous glasses of wine she downed helped too.
So it was with huge enthusiasm that she sat down to watch The Great Phellatio, the magician that Megan had booked for the party. She’d always loved magic and she was looking forward to being amazed.
The Great Phellatio was a tall cadaverous man with a pointed beard and slicked back dark hair as well as great stage presence to go with his mysterious accent. He was wearing a dark ruffled shirt and a deep purple cape.
Claire watched in wonder as he worked through a series of astounding tricks involving top hats, rabbits, doves, glittery explosions and teddy bears. She clapped her hands girlishly along with the children at a complete loss how he managed to perform such amazing illusions. In fact, if she didn’t know better, she’d have believed that he actually was a real magician. How else could he be doing such amazing tricks?
So when The Great Phellatio announced that he was almost finished, she groaned along with the rest of the young audience.
“For this last trick I need a volunteer,” The Great Phellatio said in his sly enigmatic voice. Claire smiled as every child in the room put his or her hand up immediately.
“I’m afraid I need a much taller volunteer, a grown-up perhaps. Hmmm. Let’s see. Yes. Let’s have the delightful young lady in the beautiful red dress. Yes, you my dear,” he gestured to a wide-eyed Claire.
After some more cheerful encouragement from the children, Claire, blushing slightly, stood up and joined the illusionist at the front of the room, who put his arm around her waist familiarly.
“And what’s your name, my dear?” he asked with a smile, his hand slipping down to pat her bottom gently.
“Claire!” she replied with a snigger.
“Claire. Good. A beautiful name. Claire, I need you answer a question for me. Are you ticklish?” he asked squeezing her buttocks.
“Yes,” Claire giggled, her body feeling sensitive just thinking about being tickled.