“My Wife and the Magician”,
a story by Haxa.
As most stories of adventure do, this one begins innocently enough, I guess. My wife and three of her friends decided to do a girls’ night out that would include lots of dancing, drinking, and an overnight at a new, fairly upscale, downtown hotel that was walking distance from the drinking and dancing places. Good, responsible partying and an excellent excuse for all of them to but some revealing and outrageously expensive clothes.
Samantha (she hates it when people call her “Sam”), my wife, is in her mid-thirties though most people feel that she looks and acts younger. Her best friends (the group in issue) are all in their late twenties and are, as is Samantha, really attractive. My wife is around 5′5″ and definitely has some meat on her bones, though she’s not at all fat. Her best features are her light blond hair, light blue eyes, and heavy, firm breasts. She wears a 36D bra but she does so somewhat uncomfortably, wearing the material out quickly as her confined breasts are always trying to push their way out to the next size up.
So, to the tale itself...
On this night, as was the case on any and all of the other party nights that would take place about four times a year, the “babes,” as they like to call themselves (since I’m sure that everyone sees them that way) were at least half on their way to a good buzz by the time they arrived at their first club. The evening proved uneventful and, given that two of the group were uncharacteristically tired, they ended up back at the hotel’s decent, but not outstanding, bar/dance club by just after midnight.
Samantha convinced the others to have one or two drinks there as they were “practically not drunk at all,” as she described it. There was a pretty decent sized crowd and they enjoyed themselves for the better part of an hour. As the clock was about to strike one, an unassuming man in his early twenties approached her group. He was good-looking but in a very generic way, as nothing really distinguished him from the swarms of men who tended to gravitate towards my wife’s group when they were out on the town. Understandably, Samantha and her friends could and would make heads turn when they entered a room.
He introduced himself, and while Samantha’s friends were not exactly fighting over him, they were content to at least engage in some friendly conversation. He explained that he was in town “on business” and one of Samantha’s friends asked him what sort of work he did.
“I’m a magician, actually.”
While the others were uncharacteristcally slow to follow up on his comment, and started to gravitiate back towards the dance floor, Samantha was quite curious.
“Magician? As in ‘stage magician,’ or ‘turning people into newts’ magician?”
He laughed at her innocent question.
“Um, I’ve never been sure what a newt is, actually.”
“Oh,” she smiled, and said teasingly “So, you turn them into things other than newts. That makes sense.”
At that, Samantha turned and prepared to leave her few minute acquaintance but then he replied “Right. No newts. Other things.”
“Excuse me?” Samantha said, with a slightly confused look on her face, as if she had misheard him. “Did you say ‘other things’?”
“Yes. I don’t know what a newt is, but if you told me I’d be happy to turn someone into a newt for you,” he smiled.
Still willing to talk with this stranger, probably for lack of any better company since all of her friends had vanished, she asked “but, of course, you’re not planning to turn me into anything, right?”
“Hmm. I haven’t really decided yet. Do you think that I should turn you into something?”
“Uh, no. I don’t think so,” she replied, as she finished her drink and was about to bid him goodbye.
Before walking away, Samantha turned back to him and right as she did, he very gently placed the index and pinky finger of his right hand on the upper part of her stomach, right in the middle, right below her breasts. Just as his two fingers touched her tight black shirt she felt the most strangely intriguing sensation. She couldn’t move, nor did she necessarily wish to. All she could do was look at this self-proclaimed “magician” and listen to his words.
“What’s your name?”
“Samantha.”
“Do you now believe that I’m a magician, Samantha?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Do you now know what kind of magician?” he asked, as his hand remained in place, her breasts touching the back of his hand each time she exhaled.
“A witch. You’re a witch,” she replied, utterly fascinated, both literally and figuratively.
“Exactly. You win the prize,” he smiled.
“Prize?”
“Sure. Life is full of prizes, Samantha. Don’t you know that?”
As he spoke her name, she felt her body temperature drop and her nipples quickly harden.
“Samantha. Say it again. What kind of magician am I,” he asked, as they remained locked in position, by all outward appearances simply engaged in intimate conversation.
“A witch,” she said, and as she did she could feel an intense orgasm take her over. Still entranced by his gaze and touch, Samantha felt the entire world focus upon his power.
“Follow me. Now,” he said as they slipped out of the club and quickly up to the twenty-third floor and his small room.
As soon as he closed the door behind them, he told Samantha to sit on the bed, which she did, and then he explained to her that he had only begun to control her mind and body. “The best,” he elaborated, “is yet to come.”
“I am going to—well, there’s no better way to describe it, I guess—‘zap’ you. For lack of a more descriptive term, to use a cliche, I’m going to cast a spell on you.
“A spell?” she whispered, dreadfully confused and disoriented.
“Yes. A spell.”
As the potential irony of the situation dawned upon Samantha, she found the will to utter the words “are you going to turn me into something?”
“No. Not that kind of spell. Better.”
Still profoundly entraced, sitting on the bed, and before she could again reply. he moved back two steps, slowly lifted his arms and was interrupted by loud and somewhat uncontrolled pounding on the door. Disturbed and at least a bit upset, he left Samantha staring seemingly at nothing and opened the door to find her friend, Dana.
Dana, much more a doer than a thinker, barged into the room to find Samantha still sitting on the bed, fully clothed in her black blouse, black skirt, and black knee-high boots. The image of Samantha frozen on the magician’s bed, breasts straining against her top, was something that caught Dana’s eye and also something that the magician did not wish to have interrupted.
“What the hell is —” Dana blurtued out, before the magician rapidly passed his hand in front of her face.
Now frozen in place, Dana no longer had much to say.
“Samantha, what should we do with your friend here,” he asked rhetorically. Samantha was fully aware of what was going on around her, just unable to run, or fight, or do much of anything. “Tell me, Samantha, what should we do?”
She found herself able to speak much more easily, though still completely unable to move. The words formed in her mouth, without rhyme or reason.
“Cast a spell on her,” she said, then softly repeated “a magic spell.”
“Very good, Samantha. Watch this—I think you’ll be impressed,” he told her.
He then made a full, slow, clockwise motion three times with his right arm and directed his outstretched fingers towards Dana’s face. She reacted as if very surprised then ... poof! ... she simply vansihed.
“Now, Samantha, what am I again? Please refresh my memory.”
“Witch,” she slowly, intensely replied.
He moved towards her and without saying or doing a thing she moved closer to the end of the bed, reached out to him, and took him in her mouth. She quickly brought him to climax and as he released what felt like cups of warm, sweet cum down her throat she felt a profound change take hold of her.
The next morning I awoke early, surprised not only to find Samantha in our bedroom, but to find her fully clothed in exactly what she wore out the night before.
Just as I was about to ask her why she was home, a man entered the room and stood behind her. As I sat up to, who knows what I was going to do—react, I guess—I heard him say “Now.”
She stood upright with a look of intense concentration on her face. She gently brushed a lock of hair from her neck, he hand absently brushing her full breast.
My wife then made a full, slow, clockwise motion three times with her right arm and directed her outstretched fingers towards my face...