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The Circus (She Devil; 1/3)
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The Circus - Part 1
by She-Devil
*****
I give you a circus story.
It was better than most hospital rooms: bigger, better-
equipped, comfortably furnished, and conscientiously attended by a
trained staff. But at this moment it wasn't much better than the
Drunk Tank at the City Jail, thanks to the hordes of screaming
relatives that clustered around the bed where my Uncle Hubert lay,
taking his own good time about dying.
"You can't do that! moaned Aunt Mary.
"It's a disgrace!" groaned Cousin Charles.
"We'll be ruined socially!" wailed a blue-haired old lady who
relationship to me I never was sure of.
"None-the-less," the strong tones of Uncle Hubert's voice
silenced them all, even from his death bed. "It's what I want and
it's what I'm going to do!"
"But you can't!" Aunt Mary repeated. "You just can't leave
all your money to a bastard child you've never even seen ... the
daughter of-of a common performer -- or worse!"
"I can and I will," Uncle Hubert's voice grated more firmer
than ever. "The lawyers have already rewritten my will, and all I
have to do know is find the child... And by damn, I'm going to!
Now get out of here, all of you -- except you Martin -- Go on, get
out!"
The others were herded from the room by a nurse who looked
like a pro-football linebacker and I was left alone with my Uncle
Hubert.
"Any progress?" He asked eagerly.
"Some," I said, watching his old eyes light up. "The
detectives have been following up every lead you've given us, and
it seems they might be on to something. They're checking out
rumors about a girl working in a circus or something somewhere out
west. They say it looks really hopeful, and if it turns out good
they should have some news in a few weeks."
"Good!" The old man knew he could hold out that long easily.
"You know, Martin, it's funny; I never thought much of you. Guess
some of your ideas were a little too far out for an old man like
me. But now it seems that you're the only one I can trust to do
this. Maybe it's because I never tried to buy your love like I did
all those others," he cast a disparaging glance at the hallway full
of greedy relatives. "Anyway, I want you to know I appreciate it
and, if it works out, if you find the child, you'll be well taken
care of!"
"Sure, Uncle Hubert," I smiled, rising. "But the main thing
now is for you to rest. I may not be back for a few weeks, but when
I do return, it'll be with good news!"
Out in the hallway, the others ignored me as I left. Except
for my cousin Roderick, that is; I heard his mincing footsteps
growing louder in the hallway as he hurried to catch up with me.
"Well," he trilled, touching my sleeve softly. "How's the pet
nephew today?"
"Still poor, but happy," I smiled, hiding the distaste I've
always felt for Roderick as best I could. For years I used to tell
myself that I was unfairly prejudiced against Roderick because he's
gay and I'm not. But recently I had come to realize that my
dislike of the man had nothing to do with his sexual preferences;
he was just a little twerp, that's all. And a very irritating one
at that.
"And how are things with the upper classes?" I continued.
"Oh, you know that crowd," he wrinkled his nose at my
reference to our mutual relations. "Always worried about losing an
odd hundred million or so. But just what have you and Uncle Hubert
been plotting, anyway?"
That was the one thing I liked about Roderick: you could see
through him like air. Clever he might be, but subtle? Never!
"Nothing very important," I lied, "but why should you care?
You were never in the will for very much anyway -- not that you
needed it -- and I know you don't lose any sleep over the welfare
of us paupers."
We smiled at the half-truth of my remark. By conventional
standards, I'm not a pauper at all, with a trust fund that nets me
a few hundred grand a year after taxes. But in our family, that
strictly a poor relation.
"Oh, you must know I've always liked you Martin," Roderick
lied right back. "But I must say that whatever it is you've been
doing lately has changed you somehow. I can't quite place it, but
your just a little ... different! Your clothes don't seem to fit
you anymore, your voice seems higher, your skin paler, and ... you
walk funny. You almost remind me of an old boyfriend of mine. Did
I ever tell you about the fellow who was into dresses?"
I felt myself reddening at his remarks, wondering if he had
really guessed anything. Fortunately, we had reached my Mercedes
by that time and I broke the conversation off quickly and sped
home.
There, in the privacy of my luxury town house, I studied
myself closely in the mirror, then I doffed my clothing for a look
at how I was progressing.
It was better than I had expected. My skin was smooth, soft,
and -- except for a triangular patch over my male organs --
hairless. My shapely legs and round ass would have looked great on
any girl. But most impressive of all, above my nipped-in waist,
were a pair of full firm breasts that had grown so they were not
easy to hide anymore. Well, I thought, after tonight there would
be no need to hide them at all. And in a month or so, if
everything went right, I'd be completely rid of them and back to
being my old 100% male self.
You're probably wondering what all this is about. The fact is
that I had been giving serious thought to the question of my Uncle
Hubert's lost bastard child for over a year. Ever since the old
bastard had been diagnosed as terminal he'd been talking more and
more about his lost youth and the mistakes he'd made and the wrong
he'd done.
One thing in particular had seemed to bother him more than
most: About twenty years ago, he'd had a fling with some girl who
must have really impressed him. He had even promised to marry her,
or hinted around that he might, anyway. Whatever the case, when
the lady in question got pregnant, he'd dropped her like a greasy
hand grenade, which was why the girl was so ashamed at having been
made such a fool of that she dropped out of college (she'd been in
some athletic program or something) and joined a travelling circus.
Can you imagine anything like that in this day and age? I
couldn't either, but Uncle Hubert had insisted it had happened, and
the detectives I'd hired confirmed it: A girl with the plebeian
name of Kitty O'Malley had really dropped out of an Ivy League
school twenty years ago and taken up employment with an acrobatic
troupe passing through the area that summer! And this was none
other than the woman whom Uncle Hubert had seduced and abandoned.
As I said, I had hired detectives to dig all this information
out for several months ago. You see, I could tell by the way Uncle
Hubert had been talking about this things that it was really
preying on his mind and it occurred to me that he would probably be
looking to make amends before he died.
I was right. The old reprobate broke down and cried one
evening, just after he'd gone into the hospital, swearing that he'd
do anything if only he could make things up to his poor, poor
Kitty. He'd hired some detectives himself by that time, and it had
come as quite a shock to him when they'd reported back that Kitty
had died over fifteen years earlier. But you should have seen his
eyes light up when I reminded him that Kitty had been pregnant,
after all, there was still a very strong possibility that he had a
son or a daughter running around someplace who could be found and
provided for!
That's when Uncle Hubert and I finally started to get along.
He was amazed that any of his relatives would be so understanding
and self-sacrificing as to actually try and dig out another
relative to share his billions with. But I put my pious look on my
face and told him that I could see how much it all meant to him,
and from that day on, I was put in charge of `The Search for the
Missing Heir/ess.'
Since I was already several months ahead of the detectives
he'd hired, it was fairly easy to put them all on false trails
while I sent my own detective on a short-cut.
Then, when that had just almost found my uncle's lost child,
I thanked them, paid them generously, and told them to forget it,
that I would have the second team of investigators (the ones Uncle
Hubert knew about) finish the job.
By now, you're probably wondering about my motives in all
this. Well frankly, I was wondering myself. You see, I knew that
there was a lot of money at stake her. And it seemed to me that
whoever found this missing child (actually a young lady by now, I
had discovered) would hold the key to the whole situation; if I
found her, I could always present her to Uncle Hubert and count on
being cut in for a share of his gratitude. If I ever did present
her to my uncle, that is! It had also occurred to me that if I --
and I alone -- knew where she was, it might be possible to remove
forever any proof of her identity and sound my other relatives out
on "How much would they be willing to pay if I could guarantee that
the missing child would never be found?"
So everything I'd done up to a few months ago had been to
ensure myself that I would find Uncle Hubert's daughter long before
anyone else could. Then I could see what the situation looked like
and make my plans accordingly. Only I'd hit a snag.
My detectives had traced Kitty O'Malley's daughter to an
outfit called "She Devil's Travelling All-Female Circus." But
there was something funny about this set-up. It seemed this circus
didn't play small towns, shopping centers, or hook with the big
circuses the way other travelling shows did. No, She Devil's troupe
seemed to play exclusively at very posh and private parties for
people in the same income bracket as my Uncle Hubert. And they had
their home base on the estate of a mega-billionaire who made even
Uncle Hubert seem like a piker. During the summer months they
would travel the country side like any other circus outfit, except
that they were a little better off than most, and as I said, they
only played at very swanky and very private events.
Well, if there's one thing learned from being rich, it's that
rich people don't waste their time going to the circus. S it was
pretty obvious to me that She Devil's Travelling All-Female Circus
must be offering some extra attraction for the jaded wealthy, and
it didn't take me long to discover what that was: SEX!
Through my connections with other wealthy young men of leisure
just like myself, I soon learned that She Devil's Circus
specialized in the bizarre. My friend mentioned bondage displays,
exotic sexual freaks, and feats of eroto-acrobatics that would have
amazed the Flying Wallendas.
So this was where my long lost cousin was working.
And this was where I would have to go to find her.
That was where my problem started. Because for my purposes, I
would have to not only find the girl, but find out all I could
about her private situation. If there was any way she could be
privately hidden away, spirited off, or just have the proof of her
identity removed, I had to know where it was. And if there wasn't,
I had to know that too, so I could be as delighted as Uncle Hubert
over her discovery. Therefore, I would have to conduct my own
private investigation incognito. It would never do for Uncle
Hubert to discover that someone of my description had been
continuing to search around She Devil's Circus long after he should
have found his long-lost daughter and brought her home.
The answer stared me in the face for a long time before I
finally admitted it. The only way that I could effectively
disguise myself and do a close investigation of She Devil's All
Girl Travelling Circus was to disguise myself as a woman! And for
s et-up like this, it would have to be not just a disguise, but
almost a complete transformation!
As I say, it took me a long time to admit this to myself;
after all, though not particularly big or masculine-looking, I am
completely male and definitely heterosexual, so the idea of turning
myself into a woman -- even temporarily -- was naturally repugnant
to me. But once I decided that this was the only way to do it, I
threw myself into the project with a vengeance. I read everything
I could about transvestism and transsexualism. I discussed things
with well-known female impersonators and transsexuals. I even spoke
to doctors who did the male-to-female operation. And at last I had
developed a way to carry the whole thing off.
Expensive creams and hormones had softened my skin and almost
completely deadened my body hair. Shots had rounded my buttocks
and swelled my breasts up to what would become impressive 38-D
dimensions. Corsetting and exercise had nipped in my waist while
another daily regimen had softened the muscles in my arms and
shoulders and shaped up my legs. And hours of constant practice
had finally made me an expert in makeup, hair styling, and feminine
deportment. I could now look and act completely feminine whenever
I wanted.
Or almost completely. There was just one detail to take care
of: my male organs .. some detail! But I had at last found a way to
get around even that obstacle without doing myself any permanent
harm.
Weeks of nightly soaking in a special astringent lotion had
succeeded in shrinking my cock and balls to about half their normal
size. And for an outrageous fee, an obliging doctor had permanently
stitched small loops of surgical thread into the skin around my
genitals. I had been anaesthetized during this procedure, of
course, but the result was that I now had a network of incredibly
strong and tiny loops of thread completely around the area I wanted
to hide.
Now I picked up the device that I had ordered from an
expensive special effects lab in Hollywood: An artificial vagina!
It was made of a durable flesh-like substance and designed to fit
comfortably over my real genitals, holding them back in a small
package between my legs. There was even a realistic permanently-
moistened female passageway between the pussy-lips, equipped with
a nylon spring to keep it convincingly tight yet seductively
yielding. And the entire thing was surrounded by dark hair that
could be easily and invisibly laced into the loops at my crotch!
Did I say "easily?" It took me almost an hour of bending
forward, trying to see between my jiggling breasts, to get the
thing laced on! But when I had finished at last and looked at
myself in the mirror once more, I felt an enormous glow of
satisfaction. There, reflected back at me, was the perfect image of
an attractive -- even voluptuous -- woman! Her curly dark hair
fell neatly to the nape of her neck in a perfectly feminine style.
And framed by this dark hair, her softly made-up features smiled
back at me: Gracefully arched eyebrows over demure, shadowed brown
eyes with long dark lashes, just a hint of blush at the cheeks, and
the skin so soft as to need no foundation. And a perfectly drawn
pair of oh so kissable lips!
Below the neck, the shoulders were smooth and soft like the
arms, betraying no hint of masculinity. At the chest were those
firm, lovely breasts for which I had worked so hard. Below the flat
tummy was an inviting triangle of dark pubic hair with just a hint
of pink nether lips behind it. Behind this, I could see the twin
curves of a round, bouncing pink bottom. And beneath my gracefully
swelling hips was a pair of legs that would make any woman envious.
I was ready!
*********
"So you're Mattie Huntington?"
She Devil looked at ne over the strong, bitter tea that we
were sharing in her well-equipped trailer, her green eyes softly
glowing. They were fascinating, those eyes of hers, and as we
talked, I felt myself looking into them more and more deeply.
"That's right," I lied in my soft feminine voice. "I believe
you received a letter about me from my -ah- friend, Martin Howard?"
"Yes, Martin vouched for you alright; he said you're not an
undercover policeman or anything. But I don't actually know Martin.
He himself was referred to me by some long-standing patrons of
mine. So your references are good but just slightly second hand."
"Isn't the money I'm paying you enough to settle any doubts?"
I asked. "I mean, it - it's hard enough for me just getting up the
nerve to try this thing without having to go through this- this ...
"Interrogation?" She Devil smiled. "Relax. Mattie: you're not
the first woman who has offered to pay me to hire her. You'd be
surprised how many women have a latent streak of exhibitionism or
submissiveness in them and decide they'd like to try a few weeks
with She Devil's Circus. Your request was a little different from
most, however."
"You mean my stipulation that I shouldn't have to-to...."
"That you didn't want to perform for the customers but just
wanted to help out with the girls backstage," She Devil prompted.
"That's right. In fact, it might be very difficult to arrange.
This is a circus, after all, and part of the system is that every
girl must pitch in wherever she's needed. That's the only way we
can get by."
"But-but I'm paying for this!" I insisted. "And I really,
really don't want to have to -- have sex with-with men and things!
Isn't it possible for me just to clean the girls rooms and care for
their things? Liked I asked?"
"I'll do what I can," She Devil said evenly, looking deeply
into my brown eyes with her smoldering green ones as she went on in
her soft, compelling voice, "But I want you to prepare yourself
mentally for the times when we'll ask you to do something else for
us; to help in some way with the customers. Of course, we won't
force you to do anything against your will, but you may find, after
a little while with us, that you have more potential than you ever
thought. As you relax, you'll find your mind expanding and your
horizons broadening. And although you can refuse anytime you wish,
you may simply feel better by helping out. That will all come later
prehaps. Meanwhile, I want you to remember that this arrangement
will continue only for as long as you can pay for it. Is that
clear?"
I shook myself out of the reverie into which I had somehow
fallen and nodded.
"Much as I might like you personally," She Devil continued,
"and I do find myself strangely attracted to you, I can only
survive as long as this show prospers. We serve a rich clientele,
but that also means that our expenses are high and our arrangements
complicated. I had a girl here, very much like you, once who could
not understand that ours was a business relationship: We provide
our services only as long as you can pay for the. That's all right
with you, isn't it?"
I nodded again, thinking comfortably of how well I had
prepared for all this. Not only had I changed my appearance, but
I had also obtained false identification papers and even set up a
well stocked checking account through a large bank in the name of
Mattie Huntington. And in case of emergency, I had all my real
identification, credit cards, and such safely hidden away in the
trailer I had bought to travel in with the circus. I sipped my tea
and felt myself relaxing even more.
"Very good," She Devil smiled. "Now, let's talk Mattie. I want
to discuss the things you'll be wearing and the duties you'll be
performing for me and the other girls. After all, we have to know
just what you'lll be doing before we know what outfits to have made
for you. So I want you to relax and tell me all about your
innermost thouhgts and fantasies. And about yourself. Tell me,
Mattie, how old are you?"
We talked for almost two hours about all sorts of things: Did
I like my body? What did I think was my most attractive feature?
Howold was I? Where was I raised? Brothers and sisters? What
were my favorite colors? My favorite fabrics? Did I enjoy the cool
swish of silk? Or the warm caress of leather? Both? How about
the comfortable squeeze of tight instep-arching high heels, and the
delightful rythym they impart to a woman's gait? How about the
rustle of silken petticoats or the whisper of black silk stockings?
Had I ever felt the erotic constriction of a corset? The delicate
touch of a leather collar?
Had I ever gone swimming in the nude? How did I feel in
school when I showered with the other girls in Gym Class? What
would it to be like to be photographed nude? I was asked to relax
and imagine myself in a situation where I was meeting a few friends
for an important luncheon at a fashionable restaurant. I was
elegantly dressed, as I was now, in a heavy white silk blouse,
attractive mauve skirt, expensive silk slip and matching undies,
with sheer stockings on my legs, and fashionable shoes with two
inch heels. But as we all sat down, I suddenly realized that there
was a bigger than life size poster on the wall behind me in which
I was completely naked, down on all fours, with a collar around my
neck, being walked down a city street by She Devil who was wearing
my clothes.
I blinked, suddenly startled by the bizarre picture She Devil
had created, a little surprised to discover that I was not in that
restaurant with all my dream friends, but still here in She Devil's
trailer.
"I'm sorry." I said stupidly. "What was I saying?"
"Oh, nothing," She Devil smiled, rising. "But I have a pretty
good idea now how I'm going to dress you and what you'll be doing!
It's late now, though. Why don't you go back to your trailer and
relax while I mnake some arrangements. Then, tomorrow morning,
I'll introduce you to everyone and you can start your job!"
*********
Starting the next day, and over the next few weeks, I
discovered what a bizarre set-up indeed was She Devil's Travelling
All-Girl Circus. And what a strange cast of characters inhabited
it!
There was Ktanka, the Strong lady, for instance, a lovely but
muscular Russian Goddess who towered almost seven feet tall, and
whose proud boast was that she could wrestle anything on earth. I
watched her one day, practicing an odd combination of ballet moves
and wrestling maneuvers, amazed by the speed and agility of her
big, smooth legs and the quick strength of her arms, and I began to
believe that she was probably right: She could wrestle anything.
Only I wouldn't have bet on her oppponent!
Then there was Lila, the Tattooed Lady, who bragged that every
inch of her skin was tattooed and charged customers to explore the
truth of her claim. I saw her quite often, showering, sweating in
the heat, even rubbing oil over her body to show everyone that the
tottoos were genuine; yet somehow, as I watched her from day to
day, the pattern of colorful pictures seemed to keep changing, so
that it was never the same fromone week to the next.
There was also Lasha, the Whip Woman, a dark-skinned leather-
clad girl who was never without some sort of stinging punishment
device hanging from her wrist or hip. I saw her in competition
once and gapsed as she knocked bottles, one at a time, from a
platform ten feet away before a sharpshooter could shatter them
with his target pistol!
And there were a host of others, even stranger: Sally
Swinger, the arealist; Armless Amanda and legless Lilly, twin
sisters; helga, the Horse-woman; Magica, the conjurer; Kathy Clown
(whose bag of X-rated tricks seemed as inexhaustible as it was
inventive); The Round-Up Girls, the Rubber Woman ... I could go on
all day!
One of the most interesting for me, though, was a pretty
twenty-year-old blonde who was introduced to me as just Molly. She
did an act with two leopards in which the big cats walked lovingly
between her legs, tickled her with their tales, then gently made
love to each other in a variety of human positions at her command.
It seemed as if the animals actually loved their blonde mistress,
an attitude which was shared by the rest of the troupe as well.
Molly's soft, gentle nature was cherished and protected by the
other girls in the troupe -- some of whom, as you may have
gathered, were quite hard-boiled -- and next to She Devil, she was
teh most popular person in the outfit.
Ah yes, She Devil. Aptly named, that woman. It wasn't that
she was overtly evil or anything; she just had an ineffable
sinister quality that I could never quite place. She told me that
she used to do a mind-reading and hypnosis act in night clubs, and
the more I came to know her entrancingly proportioned body and her
captivating green eyes, the easier it was for me to believe it.
And I saw quite a lot of She Devil. Since we were both
backstagers, we often had moments together while the others were
working, and gradually these moments lengthened into hours and then
evenings. Somehow, I always felt I could relax with She Devil.
She would talk to me in her low, melodic voice, rubbing the back of
my neck as I sipped tea in her trailer, and after awhile, I would
listen and it would be me talking. I only knew that when I left
her trailer, I always felt pleasantly refreshed, as if I had been
able to out down some terrible load for a little while.
Just when we became lovers I could not say. It just seemed
that one night I opened my eyes and found myself crouched nude
between her legs, tonguing passionately between her pussy lips,
feeling the soft caress of her bare thighs on my ears. I had never
done this to a woman before, but I suddenly found myself hungry for
this exotic creature, physically aroused in a way I had never felt
before! My nipples were erect and tingling, and between my legs,
my captive cock, imprisoned behind the false pudenda, ached warmly
as it struggled to expand in the small space ... in vain! But the
pressure on my balls as my swelling organ pushed at them was
somehow more pleasant than painful.
After that night, it seemed I just couldn't get enough of She
Devil. Every chance I could, I would wait on her, attend her in
the bath, run little errands for her, or lovingly hand wash her
stockings and lingerie for her. I ignored the comments from the
other girls that She Devil was incurably fickle, and devoted as
much time and attention as I possibly could to this fascinating
lesbian! And, oddly enough, it seemed that, though still very much
a male underneath, I was coming to think of myself more and more as
... lesbian. I lusted after She Devil, it's true; What guy
wouldn't be turned on by her full, firm breasts, her shapely legs,
and the silken texture of her tawny skin. Beneath that false pussy
I wore, my cock stiffened every time she walked into a room! But
somehow, I also felt a stiffening in my nipples, a warm, moist
tingle in my crotch, and sometimes my mouth would actually salivate
with hunger to get between her thighs, like some kind of
conditioned reflex! At those moments, I almost forgot about my
real identity, even forgot that I was really male, and responded to
She Devil's charms in a distinctly feminine way. Soon, in fact,
whenever she entered a room I would feel my knees flex
automatically. Everyone assumed I was curtseying to her, but
actually it was a reflex action caused by my conditioned response
to go down on her, until I realized that we were in public.
But here I've been going on about She Devil and haven't gotten
around to telling you how she dressed me or some of the things I
had to do around the circus for the other girls -- and with them!
And there was also my gradual discovery of my uncle's missing
daughter, and how I uncovered proof of her identity at last... and
what happened when I did!
PART TWO
No, life with She Devil's Travelling All-Girl Circus was not
just an extended feast between She Devil's bewitching thighs, much
as I wished it could have been. In fact, I had to put up with
quite a few inconveniences and even indignities in order to keep up
my masquerade of femininity and pursue my search for my missing
cousin.
For one thing, there was the way She Devil dressed me. Since
I had agreed to be hired on her terms (although I was paying all
the expenses!) I had to wear whatever she thought appropriate. And
She Devil had decided that as my job was to be a back-stage
assistant and general helper to the other girls, the best outfit
for me would be a series of Maids Costumes!
But what costumes they were! They were in a variety of styles,
but all were of jet-black satin with white lace trim and
accessories, such as caps and aprons.
Aside from that, though, they were surprisingly different,
from each other and from any other kind of outfit I had ever
seen a maid wear!
There was one traditional maid's dress, with puffed sleeves,
lace collar, layers of starched petticoats and a darling apron and
cap set. But the skirt was so short that every time I walked in
this thing it flipped up, offering teasing glimpses of my black
panty-clad bottom as well as the tops of my opera-length black net
stockings, and bending over to do anything at all was ... well, I
might as well have raised my panties up a flag pole for all the
exposure they got
My next Maid's outfit was much more concealing, but much more
restrictive as well. The skirt on this one came clear to my
ankles, and the dress had a very high collar and long sleeves, as
well as matching black satin gloves. The problem was that the
whole thing was so tight -- and made of such heavy black satin --
that I could barely move in it! There was a corset built into the
bodice which kept my back rigid and just slightly curved, and the
high satin collar was almost as bad as the corset, forcing me to
keep my neck strained outward and my chin up, so that I had to bend
slightly forward just to see in front of me. The arms of this
thing were so snug that I couldn't bend my elbows very far or even
raise my arms above my head. It was a chore just feeding myself,
especially since the tight satin gloves were as restrictive as the
rest of the outfit, making it impossible for me to even close my
fingers very tightly. It took She Devil a full fifteen minutes to
button me into this thing and lace the corset straps, and when she
was finished I couldn't get out of it without help.
But even that outfit was better than the next one, an ensemble
so brief that it was barely there at all. It consisted of a tight
(and I mean really tight!) satin corset with a small patch sewn on
the bottom at the front, in the shape of an elongated triangle,
with the base sewn to the corset bottom and narrowing at the tip to
a thin strap that passed between my legs and ass cheeks and then
tied to the back of the corset. With this on, my pussy was just
about hidden, but that was all. There was an apron sewn to the
front of the corset, the skirt portion hanging just inches below my
waist and the bib portion held up by pasties on my nipples. And
this, along with skyscraper-high heels, black-net stockings held up
by black satin garters, arm length black net fingerless gloves and
the ubiquitous maid's cap was all there was to it; My shoulders,
the tops of my breasts, most of my back, and my entire bottom were
completely bare! She Devil used to make me wear this when I'd been
disobedient, she said, and everyone in the group laughed heartily
at the sight of modest me scampering around camp on my duties,
trying all the while to keep my backside from view.
And this wasn't always easy, considering some of my duties.
Normally, all I had to do was dust and vacuum the dozen or so
trailers of the girls in the troupe, easy enough considering their
compact size and convenient layout. I had specifically picked out
this job because it enabled me to snoop privately through the
papers in each girl's possessions, picking the locks on strong
boxes when necessary in my search for birth certificates, old
photographs, and anything else that might prove someone's identity.
It was this way that I was able to discover... but I'm getting
ahead of myself.
As I said, my job occasionally called for a little work above
and beyond the call, and sometimes I found myself roped into
something, that I certainly hadn't figured on when starting.
There was the time, for instance, when Magica asked m to
assist her in an illusion. For this one, I was attired in a
sweeping, floor-length strapless gown of light green silk, no
underwear, dark silk stockings and elbow length white gloves, along
with a string of pearls and the usual four inch high heel shoes, of
course. Dressed like this, I waited in the stands of our portable
arena until she asked for a volunteer from the audience and someone
pushed me out. Acting a bit nervous and reluctant (which wasn't
really acting) I came into the spotlight with her and introduced
myself as Mattie Huntington, a wealthy visitor. Magica thanked me
for "volunteering" and led me up to a heavy wooden X-frame up on a
small platform.
In no time at all, Magica had my wrists securely tied with
strong rope to the top of the X and my ankles similarly secured at
the bottom. Then she called for another volunteer to make sure I
was really helplessly bound.
Suddenly Kathy Clown came running up from the darkness at the
edge of the spotlight. In slapstick pantomime, she conveyed to the
audience that she wanted to test me, to make sure I couldn't move,
and the audience applauded wildly.
All at once I found myself hit in the face by a stream of
seltzer water. I sputtered in protest, then screamed shrilly as
Kathy directed the stream down the front of my dress, soaking it to
a clinging, near transparent mess that outlined every inch of me.
From up her sleeve, Kathy produced a huge bouquet of feather
flowers and proceeded to plant these down my decolletage. I looked
down in wonder, only to be hit full in the face again by another
stream of seltzer.
But Kathy was just getting started. Smiling impishly, she
plucked a feather from the bouquet between my breasts and began
tickling me!
Oooo! I writhed, I giggled. I screamed for help as I tugged
frantically at the ropes that imprisoned my wrists and ankles. But
it was no use. I felt the merciless caress of the feather as it
swept artfully up my sides to my armpits, behind my ears and under
my chin, then darted down to the insides of my thighs. How long it
went on I couldn't say, but at last I was hanging exhausted by my
wrists and Kathy was bowing as the audience applauded wildly in the
darkness beyond the spotlight.
Now Magica proceeded with her act. Two stagehands brought out
an ornate red lacquer oriental cabinet, about six feet square, and
Magica made a big production of showing everyone that it was empty.
Then, with a flourish, she swept off her oversized cape and draped
it over the wooden X-frame, covering me completely. Through the
heavy fabric, I heard a "poof!" and saw a flash of light, and then
I suddenly felt a trap door opening beneath my feet as razor sharp
blades concealed in the X-frame flashed out and back, severing my
bonds. Instantly, I was plummeting downwards as hooks caught my
dress and ripped it from me. Then I was rolling down a short
passageway and onto a small platform. My weight flipped a trigger
somewhere, and before I could even realize what was happening, I
was shot upwards into some kind of black closet about six feet
square.
And then the sides suddenly fell from the closet. Dazed, I
blinked and looked around
On the stage, Magica was bowing and showing off Molly, who,
attired in an outfit identical to my green dress, was now bound to
the X-frame.
TO BE CONTINUED
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