Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
Chapter 5The night after that first performance I was high as the proverbial kite. Mum and Dad were mildly amused and just let me chatter on for I don’t know how long, all through the TV program they were trying to watch. I told them everything. Almost. The bit I wanted to talk about most, I couldn’t. Not to them. How do you tell your parents that you really enjoyed stripping down to a minimal bikini, on stage, in front of an audience, at the direction of a man your parents’ age?It wasn’t long before bedtime, and after a quick shower and the usual bedtime routine, I was under my duvet in a loose long t-shirt and pastel cotton bikini-cut briefs. But I couldn’t sleep. My body was all a-tingle as if I’d just gluttonized a dozen energy bars. And drinks. How does a girl sleep after an experience like that? I wanted to hug myself and release the pent-up feelings. I let my left hand drift down my body to rest on my briefs. That felt better, but it wasn’t enough. The hand crept under the waistband and my fingers curled into the short, trimmed, soft hairs. Better, but still not enough. Lower still, caressing the delicate, damp folds. Much better. Nearly enough. Almost.I had no idea how Marvin was doing while I was all wound up. He, of course, was a professional and used to it. I was a novice. I decided to text him. After all, my right hand was free.“Hey, Marv, so … ?”“You should be asleep.”“I can’t.”“Count sheep.”“They keep moving.”“Put them in a pen.” Damn, but did he have an answer for everything?“Pouts ”“It doesn’t suit you.”“But the bikini does?” I held my breath. I wanted him to say something nice.I had to wait longer than I expected.“It does. Goodnight.”“Meanie!”“You mean, Marvellous.”“Marvin the Meanie.” If I could stick out my tongue, I would have done.“Mandy the Magnificent.”“Grin ”“Better than a pout.”“It was good, wasn’t it?”“You were great. There, I’ve said what you wanted. Goodnight. Go to sleep.”He hadn’t said what I wanted. It seemed that mind-reading wasn’t among his magical gifts. I wanted to hear how I looked in the bikini on stage. I wanted to relive that moment when I was revealed. I wanted to enjoy again the applause at the end, when Marvin held my hand and made me bow low but with my chin up. I wanted to know just how good a view of my boobs the front row got. I wanted to do it all again. Reluctantly I put the phone down, took my left hand out of my briefs, and rolled over to go to sleep, knowing there was no way I’d manage it. The next thing I knew it was morning and sunshine was turning my bedroom to liquid gold.It was Saturday. A working morning for us stage performers. Time for a shower, breakfast, and bus ride to Magic HQ. Lots of Ms. Magic, Marvin, Mandy, Marvellous, Magnificent. At MHQ Marvin was already at his desk when I walked in and poured the coffees.“Hey, magician superstar,” I greeted him.“Hey, alluring assistant,” he countered. I liked that. Alluring assistant. isvecbahis Okay, so not everything was an M.Marvin’s mobile rang. I removed my outer travel clothes while he dealt with the call, and then I put the coffees on the desk while wearing nothing but my leotard and dance slippers. As soon as he finished, the phone went again. I tidied the already tidy office. When that call was done he looked at me a little pensively.“That’s two new bookings. I’ve never had that before. Word is out about last night’s performance.”I didn’t know what to say. That was good news, surely, but Marvin seemed unsure.“What?” I asked. Okay, so not very eloquent, but then he hadn’t employed me for my way with words.“They made a point of requesting the Disappearing Girl trick.”The way he said it and the look he gave me spoke volumes. It was a euphemism for Disappearing Clothes. I got it. He could tell that I got it.“Well?” He asked, letting me decide.I couldn’t help grinning. It was the nearest I was going to get to the answer I’d wanted last night. I looked good enough in the bikini to be asked for again.“Well, what?” I replied.He picked his phone up again and made two calls. Obviously, I was listening. He accepted the two gigs. Next weekend and the weekend after. Two performances each. Friday and Saturday. That, if I could manage the complicated arithmetic, made four performances of me on stage in my tiny bikini, with Marvin displaying me at the curtain call. When he’d finished he put the phone down carefully and looked at me. Marvin wasn’t the only one who couldn’t read minds. I tried looking straight back at him but had to lower my eyes.“Well?” I asked, my turn now.Marvin did that throat-clearing thing again. “Four more performances. We need to practice.”Then it was all business. He worked me hard, but by lunchtime, we were as slick as we were going to get. Marvin had decided to concentrate on a small number of illusions that would make up a fixed routine for the new bookings. All that was left was to rehearse them in the right sequence.While I fixed more coffees Marvin took another three calls. We were getting busy; a full schedule, but Marvin could only accept one of the new bookings because of my return to school.Chapter 6By the time Friday came around I was nervous. Things had changed. We now had a reputation, were known. The audience had expectations. We were booked because of what had been said after our first performance the week before.It was another Working Men’s Club, which meant men and women, obviously, just like before. Adults. Marvin had refined the Act to make the most of my appearance, including dramatic stage make-up like the showgirls in Paris, to accentuate my looks while preserving anonymity according to Marvin. He knew his audience and what they wanted. Which was to look at me, apparently. In as little as possible. Which in this case was the same blue long-sleeved leotard, black fishnet isveçbahis giriş hold-up stockings, black medium heels and the cutaway black-tail coat on top that didn’t really cover anything. No underwear, of course. To say I didn’t mind was an understatement. We even had the Press there, the local Advertiser newspaper. And Mum and Dad were in the audience.As before, Marvin went on first in his white dinner jacket, frilled shirt, and black bow tie, and I followed angled towards the audience. He began with sleight-of-hand and me posing, then me losing my coat in the ‘failed’ Disappearing Girl trick. He chopped me up and mended me and showed everyone that I really was whole again, making the absolute most of the opportunity to display my body, just one thin layer between me and their eyes. It was exactly what everyone wanted.Marvin was a master showman, I was discovering. He did his conjuring in a way that kept me on show but continually teased the audience. I loved it, so did they, and from the twinkle in his eye, so did Marvin. He was totally in his element, playing the audience, getting gasps and groans and laughs from them just how he wanted. We were to have a repeat performance the following night with presumably a different crowd, so this was like a rehearsal performance for all the others to come. It went really well. We kept the ‘Reappearing Girl’ for the end like before and had five curtain calls complete with skimpy low bows and twirls. Even Mum and Dad seemed to enjoy it and thought that we’d kept on the right side of good taste, as they put it once we were home. In bed, I once again relieved my pent-up tension with a hand inside my briefs while texting Marvin. Thankfully, he didn’t know what I was up to.On Saturday morning at MHQ, we received my new costume.With a little anxious excitement, I opened the package next to where I’d placed my own shop bag with its slightly modified contents. Inside the newly delivered box were three items, none of them taking up much room. Marvin and I had discussed the choices at length, hoping to get the tone just right. As I lifted the first one out of the packaging we looked at it carefully. It was, essentially, a pair of girl’s shorts. In black. Vinyl. Wet-look. The sides secured with that hook-and-loop stuff that tears open. Basically stripper shorts.“We’ll need the right background soundtrack,” I suggested as I ripped the detachable seams apart to find out how noisy it was.“Yes, fairly high frequency, I think,” Marvin replied. “What about the top?”I fished out another garment and held it up. A matching black bikini top, halter style, the small triangles joined together by thin black elastic. “Should work much the same as the white one from last night?” I suggested. Marvin nodded. I could see that he was enjoying this. I picked up the bikini bottoms that went with it. It wasn’t much more than a g-string, but similar to the top. I swallowed isveçbahis yeni giriş nervously and looked to Marvin for reassurance.“Only if you want to,” he said, though I could tell what his verdict was likely to be. Quickly moving on he nodded to the bag I’d brought.With a deep sigh of resignation, I showed him what I’d managed to put together. We’d initially liked one of the tops from the Stage Catalogue, a sort of minimal female version of a man’s formal white shirt front with black studs in place of buttons and an attached wing collar complete with a black bow tie. Not the whole shirt, just the front. More of a bib, really. It looked fun and sexy and would look great with the shorts and stockings and tailcoat. But we decided, Marvin decided, that it hid my chest too well. I’d had to agree. Hence my own made-up offering.I’d found what I thought was ideal in a fashion shop. Basically a white, high neck, backless t-shirt type of halter crop top. I showed Marvin how I’d modified the high neck into a sort of soft wing collar and attached the front part of a black bow tie. I’d also sewed two black studs on the front as fake buttons.Marvin had questions. “The collar. Is it elastic enough to slip over your head easily, when you need to? And will the bikini top show through?”I slipped both hands inside the neck and tried it. It stretched, but not easily enough. “Maybe I need to make it another fastening like the shorts?” I suggested, then thought about his second question. I tried holding the black material behind the white top and yes, it clearly showed through. Marvin just looked at me. “There’s always the white bikini?”Chapter 7That evening, as we waited in the wings for our introduction, I fidgeted anxiously and got shushes and irritated hand waves from Marvin. It was clear that he couldn’t understand why I was nervous. It was just a change of costume, after all. But it was more than that. Last weekend we had been an unknown quantity, there had been no expectations. This time the audience had ideas about what they were about to see. The sudden influx of bookings proved that. We had a sort of reputation despite our short performance history. What if they were disappointed?As soon as we were on, my reservations disappeared with Marvin taking charge as rehearsed and running our routine with precision and skill. And humor, and teasing. My new outfit was a hit. It seemed that the audience liked the black shorts, fishnets, heels, and white bib top. Marvin liked the top too. I’d decided that both the black and white bikinis showed through too clearly, and since I was only a b-cup on top and my boobs were only just about finishing growing they didn’t exactly need any support. In the privacy of my bedroom, the white top had looked pretty good and discreet. I hadn’t reckoned on the difference the stage lights would make, how much the bright spotlights would reveal through the thin fabric, or how my feelings at being on stage, the center of attention, would prompt my nipples to puff up and pucker. I started to get an inkling when Marvin’s eyes repeatedly took in my chest, framed as it was by the cutaway black tailcoat.