Right Door (Author: Psydonis)

It felt as if her body dissolved into a mist of nothingness. It was eerie, hovering in mid-air, mind perfectly clear and all-knowing. She was still trying to make sense of her surroundings when she spotted the exact scene pictured in the image just a few feet away and excitedly levitated over there.

Hovering right above the scene, she suddenly realized that she knew the names of the people and how they got into this awkward situation.

With bated breath, she watched the story unfold right beneath her.

The job posting had looked basic enough. “Magician’s assistant needed. No experience necessary, just have a knack for drawing and holding the attention of others.” After all, that’s what assistants typically are in the magic performance world. They may hold tools and climb into boxes, but their REAL job is to always make sure the audience’s gaze is angled away juuuuust enough to not notice the secret slights-of-hand that make the illusion mystifying.

And…well…Wanda knew she definitely filled that requirement in spades. Emphasis on “filled”. Like, in a “two watermelons **** in a 2-cent plastic grocery bag” way.

The magician’s mouth had dropped open just a couple seconds after she came in the door, and at the exact moment she’d finished sitting down into the interview chair, he was up on his feet shoving his right hand out to her and proclaiming “You’re HIRED!”.

Her initial performances had gone well. In fact, to her boss’s startled realization, she was actually a little TOO “gifted” for this job, so to speak. He spent almost as much stage time bringing the audience’s attention back to the trick as he did actually performing it.

But then…he’d gotten that fated, cursed inspiration about how to fix the problem. If she was distracting too much from the show, then he’d simply make her the show!

Every “trick”, every “illusion”, from then on, was all about “Wanda’s Wonder-Wobble-Whoppers”.

• Levitating them.
• Making objects appear/disappear using her cleavage (complete with letting the audience get good, long peeks down it to prove nothing was there).
• But most of all, forcing them into or through as many awkwardly small openings as he could imagine. Hoops. Guillotine stocks. Tiny cupboard boxes. He’d purposefully spend several minutes, every time, “struggling” to help her make them fit inside something. Grunting, panting, making his face turn a little bit red. Until, finally, things POPPED through or SNAPPED closed.
• And the uniforms…oh GOD the uniforms! Every one of them specially tailored to wrench and maul her aching melons into one perverse presentation after another. Ranging from shoving them up and together so hard they practically pressed into her cheeks when she talked, to pulling them out and forward like two bobbing ballista torpedoes, and everything in-between.

And, unfortunately, the ordeals didn’t end when the curtain fell either. Her boss liked to frequently “forget” to release her “magic balls” from whatever predicament they were still locked in at the end of the show. Or chide her for one of any number of made-up “infractions” she’d committed that day, necessitating an extra “punishment” chore that she’d be required to complete before being allowed to head home. Chores like “re-test the trampoline’s springs for 10 minutes”.

Today, though, she’d allowed her mind to drift off during the “Body-Box Mix-Up” trick, and hadn’t pulled her hands back up into the Chest section in time, before the separators were secured. She suddenly found herself unable to slap and push away his roving hands like she usually could, and when the mixed boxes were re-opened on stage and he’d realized her positional slip-up…he knew this lucky chance was too important to pass up.

So now, here she was. The curtain down, but still locked in the trick box, with her WWWs thrust out in a grand offering. Her boss, of course, began listing off a short list of her latest “lazy oversights” in stage prep work she’d committed this morning, and how she would have to make that up before leaving tonight. Wanda hissed and cursed out into the empty air outside her head’s box a little more. Partially at her ever-pervy employer, and partially at herself for letting her guard down.

Suddenly, she heard the clattering of many little items being picked up and gathered around, and caught glimpses of him pop across the sides of her vision. Once, with some sort of paddle. Another time, with clamps. Yet another time, it looked like he was nabbing some sort of…motor? Attached to tubes?

Then she heard him speak again. “I’ve been having some new ideas about how you can amuse and delight our audience, my neglectful little melon stand. So tonight…you can make up for your failings by joining me in some…very SPECIAL experiments! Let’s see if we can bring your ‘peak performance’ up a few notches, eh?”

The last thing she saw was the front of her head’s box locking shut again. As it soon afterward began actively muffling all manner of wails and yelps on into the late night.

Suddenly, a gust of wind grabbed Becca and pulled her back through the door.