First tricks begin

Elanor continued, "Let's start simple."

She presented a deck of cards with a flourish, offering them to you. You plucked one — she didn’t even glance — then turned to Talia.

“Tuck it somewhere safe, Talia,” Eleanor commanded with an indulgent smile.

Talia grinned wickedly, took the card between two fingers, and — in full view of the room — slowly traced it down her throat, between the gentle swell of her breasts, and tucked it deep into the shimmering black valley of her cleavage. She didn’t rush. She savored it.

Talia’s eyes never left yours. She tilted her head slightly, a soft, wicked smile playing across her lips, as if daring you to admit what you wanted — what everyone here already knew you wanted. The heat between you was tangible. She didn’t have to say a word. The invitation, the tease, the trap, was all written on her skin.

A chorus of appreciative whistles and laughter rang out.

Eleanor clapped lightly, almost daintily — the sound somehow both polite and mocking. “My assistant," she said, glancing sideways at Talia, "always knows how to keep things... distracting."

Talia winked, her tongue barely grazing her top lip.

"Now," Eleanor said, twirling her wand lazily between her fingers, "let’s see if we can find that card again."

With a grand wave — a teasing swirl of her hands — Eleanor snapped her fingers once.

“Check your pockets, skeptic.”

Still trying to cling to your bravado, you patted your jeans. Nothing in the front. Nothing in the back.

Frowning slightly, you reached into your jacket — nothing.

Then Talia, standing much too close, whispered sweetly, "Check your wallet."

You blinked.

Wallet.

You pulled it free from your back pocket, flipping it open — and there, wedged neatly between your ID and your cash, was the card you had drawn.

The audience burst into delighted laughter and applause.

You stared for a moment, blinking. How the hell...?

You shook your head with a grin, trying to mask your rising arousal — and confusion. "Well," you said, voice dripping with mock superiority, "with all the... distractions up here," you gestured vaguely at Talia’s chest, earning another round of knowing giggles, "it’s pretty easy to do whatever you want when no one’s looking."

Eleanor’s smile sharpened.

"Oh, is that so, skeptic?" she purred, stepping closer until her riding crop lightly tapped against your thigh.

"Then by all means—" she gestured elegantly toward Talia, "—go retrieve what was tucked so safely away. That's where you were staring, right"

The audience whooped and hollered.

Talia gave you an exaggerated innocent look, pressing her arms together slightly to push her cleavage up — your card barely visible between her breasts.

You hesitated. Your body screamed yes. Your brain screamed trap.

Talia leaned in, whispering, "Come on, brave boy. Don't you want to put your hands down there?"

Her breath was warm against your ear. She smelled like vanilla and danger. Somewhere in the crowd, you swore you heard someone murmur, "He's blushing," which of course only made it worse.

You swallowed hard, stepped forward, and slowly reached between her breasts — the heat of her skin making your fingers tremble.

When you drew the card free, you frowned.

It wasn't the playing card.

It was your credit card.

The room exploded in laughter and cheers.

You jerked your head toward Eleanor, who was twirling her wand with a maddeningly innocent expression.

Talia leaned in, biting her lip to suppress a laugh. "Guess you’re paying for drinks later, skeptic," she whispered — and kissed the edge of your jaw, feather-light, before stepping back into line.

Elanor smiled slowly, as if she had been waiting for that answer.

"Well, you switched the card and my credit card when I was, um, looking at Talia. Then you put the credit card there when I was looking at my wallet!" You stammered, unsure of when that would have happened. But you've seen the videos online. Elanor must be very quick with her hands.

"Oh, is that so, skeptic?" she cooed.

You smirked. "Absolutely."

Talia sauntered back to your side, her hips swaying dramatically. She trailed a finger up your arm, sending a shiver through you.

"Then," Elanor said smoothly, "let's make this more... interesting."

She clapped her hands once.

From the wings, stagehands rolled out a tall metal frame — minimalist, sleek — draped with two horizontal panels of heavy black cloth. One covered neck to chest; the other shielded your waist to your knees.

Your stomach twisted a little, but you refused to show nerves.

The structure looked ominous — clinical and simple, designed for one purpose: to strip you bare, layer by layer, while giving you the dangerous illusion of dignity.

"Step behind it, skeptic," Elanor said with a commanding smile.

Talia took your hand again — so gently — and led you behind the stand. As she adjusted your position, she "accidentally" ran her hands slowly down your arms, across your back. Her fingers lingered, feather-light.

Talia took her time positioning you. Her hands ghosted over your shoulders, smoothing your clothes unnecessarily, her touch lingering just a little too long at the waistband of your jeans. Every nerve ending you had stood at full attention. She leaned up, her lips brushing your ear, and whispered, "You’re doing great, handsome. This is real. I promise. You might just lose more than your pride tonight. Don’t panic when they cheer louder. That just means you’re making them very, very happy."

Talia kissed the air beside your ear — not quite touching you — and when she pulled away, her grin was full of wicked, giddy affection. You weren’t just the mark tonight. You were her mark. And somehow, that made it all feel inevitable.

A thrill of excitement — and a flash of dread — coursed through you.

Once you were set behind the panels, Elanor circled in front of you, her boots clicking again as she took her time. She tapped her wand against her open palm, smiling darkly.

"Here are the rules, ladies and gentlemen — well, ladies and skeptic," she teased.

Giggles.

"I swear to everything I hold dear: if our skeptic guesses correctly how the trick is done, he stays covered. If he guesses wrong..." She smirked wide enough to show teeth. "A cloth comes down."

You looked down at the panels covering you and shrugged with bravado.

"Well, I’m already clothed behind here, so I don’t really see the big risk. But okay," you said, eliciting chuckles from the audience.

Talia clapped her hands lightly, like an excited schoolgirl. "Ooh, you're going to regret that," she whispered, only loud enough for you to hear.

Elanor raised her wand high, and without any warning, your shirt jerked sharply off your shoulders and whipped backward, landing in a heap behind you.

Gasps, cheers, whistles.

You blinked in shock.

"What the hell?"

Elanor smiled sweetly. "Skeptic — explain how that was done."

You paused, mind racing.

You thought back to Talia touching your back earlier... Had she hooked your shirt with something subtle? Some little latch or mechanism she triggered just now?

Confident, you said, "Talia must have hooked something onto my shirt when she was helping me get positioned. Probably some magnetic hook or... something."

The crowd buzzed with anticipation.

Elanor gave a theatrical sigh of disappointment.

"Oh-ho good guess," she teased, "but still... wrong."

She stepped forward and, with a quick flourish, whisked away the top cloth — revealing your bare chest to the screaming, laughing, hungry audience.

The lights gleamed off your skin. You were suddenly aware of every curve of your muscles, every bead of sweat.

The women howled with laughter and applause.

You burned red-hot.

A chorus of whistles and mock wolf-howls filled the air. Someone yelled, "Take it off, baby!" and another voice answered, "Patience! Let the poor thing sweat a little!"

Talia walked behind you, dragging her nails lightly down your now-exposed back, her touch both comforting and electrifying.

Elanor sauntered closer, holding the wand under your chin for a moment before saying, in a voice sweet enough to make your knees weak:

"One down, handsome. One to go."

The audience clapped wildly.

And you realized — you were well and truly trapped.