The skeptic becomes a believer

The cheers finally began to settle, leaving a heavy, electric tension hanging in the air. It wasn't the polite applause of a theater audience — it was hungry, anticipatory. Every woman in the room leaned forward in her seat, grinning, whispering, eager.

Elanor spun on her heel to face you fully, her smile slow and merciless.

"So, skeptic," she purred, tapping the wand lightly against her gloved palm, "tell me — are you still wearing underwear?"

You blinked. The question hit you sideways, making you stumble mentally.

"I... yeah. Of course."

"Ohhh," Elanor said, a glint of pure mischief in her dark eyes. "Well, then... be a dear and check."

The crowd giggled, already buzzing.

Before you could respond, Talia was at your side — so close you could feel the heat from her body — leaning up to whisper against your ear, her breath warm and wicked.

"Come on, brave boy," she murmured, soft and teasing. "Check for us."

You flushed, the heat creeping all the way to your ears. Still, you obediently glanced downward — the black cloth still covering you from the crowd — and made a show of adjusting, confirming that yes, your underwear was still there.

The crowd roared with laughter and catcalls at your awkward compliance.

Talia gave you a slow, delighted clap like you were the most adorable fool she'd ever seen.

"Excellent," Elanor drawled, clearly savoring every inch of your growing discomfort. "Now. For this next trick, all you have to do... is take your pants off."

The whoops and whistles were instant — louder than before.

You lifted an eyebrow behind the silver mask, trying to play it cool.

"My pants?" you echoed.

"Yes, skeptic," Elanor said, pacing languidly, letting the tails of her coat flare with each turn like a hunting cat's tail. "If you can do that, and no magic occurs, you'll win tonight's grand prize: one thousand dollars and your dignity." She paused, letting the words settle. "But if something... unexpected happens... well. Then you're ours for a little while longer."

Talia beamed at you, biting her lower lip — pure mischief incarnate.

"Come on," she teased sweetly. "Be a good boy for us."

The way she said it sent a visible shudder through you — and the crowd caught it, erupting again into delighted squeals.

You blew out a dramatic sigh, shrugging theatrically. "Fine. Pants it is."

You hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your jeans and pushed them down, wiggling them awkwardly past your hips. They pooled around your ankles — and that's when you felt it.

A whisper of air. A sensation of emptiness.

Your pants flew backward like they'd been yanked by invisible hands, soaring straight into Talia’s waiting grasp.

She caught them with a flourish, laughing softly — and then her gaze dropped.

Right to you.

Her eyes widened, then narrowed wickedly, and her lips parted in a slow, hungry grin.

She blew you a playful kiss — "Mwah!" — loud enough for the microphone to pick up, sending fresh giggles through the crowd.

You snapped your hands downward instinctively, cupping yourself.

Because you weren't wearing anything anymore.

Your boxers had vanished.

The realization — and the heat of Talia’s open stare — made your blood thunder in your ears.

Gasps and shrieks of laughter rippled through the room. Even though the black panel still shielded you from public view, everyone knew exactly what had happened. Your face gave it away.

Talia’s tongue peeked out to wet her bottom lip, her cheeks flushed — with triumph, with excitement.

And somehow, impossibly, the worst part wasn't the public exposure. It was the way Talia looked at you — like she wanted to devour you. Her tongue flicked against her lip, her thighs pressing together slightly. That look made you harder than all the eyes on you combined. You were humiliatingly, stupidly turned on, making it harder for your hands to cover up.

Elanor gave you a few luxurious seconds to squirm before stepping closer — her boots slow and deliberate against the stage — riding crop tapping lightly against her thigh.

"Now, skeptic," she said, voice dripping with sweetness, "where did your underwear go?"

Your mouth opened — then closed — then opened again. No words came out.

"I—I don't know," you stammered helplessly. "It just... vanished."

The audience roared, some literally slapping the table in front of them.

Elanor tilted her head mockingly. "And what, pray tell, would you call that?"

You gaped at her, your brain a smoldering wreck.

Finally, shoulders slumping, cheeks burning hotter than a furnace, you muttered:

"Magic."

The explosion of cheers and applause almost rattled the chandeliers.

Elanor clapped her gloved hands together in a mockingly sweet, schoolteacher way.

"CORRECT!" she cried. "Give the skeptic a huge round of applause — he finally believes!"

The women screamed and whistled. Talia clapped loudly, bouncing on the balls of her feet, absolutely delighted.

The black cloths remained in place — for now — offering a pitiful scrap of modesty. But standing there trembling, naked except for the flimsiest barrier and a silver mask, you had never felt more exposed.

Talia sauntered toward the side of the stage, twirling your pants around her finger like a trophy before tossing them dramatically into a box marked LOST ITEMS.

She turned back to you, flashing a slow, almost tender smile.

"You're doing so good," she mouthed at you, her hands pressed to her heart — mock-sincere, but her eyes shining with affection.

Elanor stepped center stage again, her coat swirling dramatically around her boots.

She tapped her riding crop once, sharply, against her palm.

"Well, ladies," she purred, "now that we've gotten our sweet skeptic properly warmed up..."

She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a decadent purr:

"...shall we see just how far down the rabbit hole he can go?"

The crowd screamed their approval.

You swallowed hard.

Because somehow — against all logic, against every scrap of dignity —you knew:

You were only just getting started.