The Magician (Standalone)

Contains: Enema, Messing, Public Humiliation 

Posting this a day early because you can't tell me what to do! 

The Gothic Castle loomed, the sort of club I didn’t typically attend.

My friends had insisted on dragging me along anyways. To ‘get me out of the house’, though I didn’t see why being home was a bad thing–all my stuff was at home, I had plenty of books to read, and the way they described this magic show sounded pretty lame.

Here’s the thing: There’s no such thing as a ‘hardcore’ magic show. Anyone who tells you there is, they’re just doing free marketing for the magician. The magic is never real, and once you know how to see through the illusions, it’s just halloween makeup and whatever gimmick the performer wants to prop up bad tricks.

After much insistence and back and forth, I’d agreed to come along, if only so that my friends would have a designated driver along. They wanted to watch the show, and I wanted to make sure they got home safe.

“I don’t know what you’re so excited about,” I said under my breath, as our group walked to a table. The place was low and dimly lit with those shitty faux-candles, stone walls that I was reasonably sure were actually plastic, all the crappy decor meant to make it feel ‘spooky’ one could ask for. Even the stage was little more than a raised platform with a couple lights. “Look, I’ll be able to see through every trick.”

“Doubt it,” Melanie shot back. “This is the best show–it’s super realistic. Like it seems real. Just give it a shot and stop being such a downer, okay?”

“Okay,” I said, rolling my eyes.

We took our seats, one of my friends ordered a pitcher of beer, I got a tall glass of cranberry juice and ensured we also were brought a pitcher of water.

The opening act–a standup bit–was cringe inducing at best. The jokes were a flaccid attempt at sexual innuendo and edginess, and not a one of them was remotely funny. I sat through it, wondering why I’d bothered to come along, while my friends grew increasingly wasted.

The magician, when he arrived, looked like a straight-up joke. He had the red cape, the top hat, the plastic wand. It was absurd. Like something you’d see on a cardboard box full of cheap magic tricks for toddlers to learn.

He started his monologue, and I rolled my eyes. Talking about the history of magic, the background of the tricks, while he shuffled a card in his hands. Classic misdirection, and not particularly well done.

“That’s just a math trick,” I whispered over the table, when he correctly identified a card an audience member had chosen.

Next was a blitheringly simple matrix coin trick, only with cock rings instead of coins–as though it made the trick any different to be any more shocking. As he finished up and started setting out a new trick from his briefcase, onto the small table, I pointed out how the table worked while he did it. My friends all groaned.

Whatever. They knew what they were in for when they invited me, and these tricks were weak.

Next, the obvious audience plant. He called up a girl from a front table, whipped his plastic wand around, and claimed to have produced her panties. She looked shocked, and pulled up her dress to look–sure enough, no panties. She looked shocked and embarrassed, but still swooned at a comment from the performer. The audience hooted and hollered, and I once again rolled my eyes.

“Come on,” I said. “She obviously wasn’t wearing them to begin with–are you kidding me with this kiddie magic crap? Boo!”

The room fell quiet. A spotlight turned to face me.

“It appears,” the magician said, “That we’ve got a heckler here tonight.”

I wasn’t intimidated. Rolling my eyes, I shouted back, “Yeah, your show sucks. Am I supposed to pretend to be impressed?”

Someone else in the audience called, “Just let him do the show!”

The magician, though, simply smiled. “What’s your name?”

“Does it matter?” I shot back.

“Come on up here,” he said, stepping back and gesturing towards the stage.

I stood, walking up, ready to ruin the night for everyone else. If he wanted to keep things on the rails, he could have at least learned some decent tricks. “You know that being shocking doesn’t make the show any good, right?” I asked, once I was a couple feet away. Leaning in so the mic would pick my voice up, I added, “What, just flashing some bush at the audience is enough to hide the fact that she was obviously a plant? This is baby-level magic, seriously.”

Boos erupted, for some reason directed at me. The magician raised a hand. “Alright, alright,” he said. “Let’s let the kid speak.”

“I’m not a kid,” I shot back. “Though I’d have to be to think your tricks were impressive.”

More boos. Whatever. I didn’t care. The magician calmed them again, and said, “So, to be clear, you think my trick with this fine young woman’s panties was because she was a plant?”

“Obviously,” I said. “You didn’t just steal someone’s panties without them noticing.”

“And, can you state for the record that you are not an audience plant?” He asked, leaning in a little, winking at the audience.

“What, are you going to steal my panties too?” I asked. “No. I’m not a plant.”

He grinned, and I awaited the punchline. Maybe he’d try to pull something less obvious on me–plant a card in my pocket or something, but he never got close enough to touch me. “So, then, whatever’s about to happen, whatever you’re wearing, it’s because you wanted to wear it and do it. Right?”

“Sure, whatever. Unless you pull something on me, then I’ll just explain how you did it.”

He nodded. “Alright. Could you please stand at the end of the stage?”

I moved to where he directed. No trap doors, no obvious trick setup. The stage seemed to be just some old pallets that’d been dressed up a bit, I couldn’t imagine there was anything that elaborate going on here.

“So, to be clear, this young man has established that he is not a plant and that I cannot do any magic on him,” the magician said, walking over to his briefcase of tricks. He took out a liter bottle of water and a glass, setting them on the table.

Is he going to pretend to fill the glass? I thought. Another obvious baby trick, there’d be a hose up his sleeve or something else so the bottle would appear to be emptying but wouldn’t flow into the cup. I was surprised by the next object, though–he removed a large, puffy adult diaper, showing it off to the audience.

“Our guest here did say these were baby tricks,” he pointed out, “So this should be appropriate.”

I frowned, staring at him. I didn’t know where this trick was going–maybe a joke? Maybe he’d pour water into the glass and it’d end up in the diaper? But why did he need me on stage?

“Would you please come over and confirm that this is a real diaper, young man?” the magician asked.

Ah, that’s it. Just a bit of audience participation. I walked over, picking it up, unfolding it. The plastic back crinkled a bit under my hand, and I opened it all the way, checking the inside, feeling the padding for any hidden tricks, any hoses, anything else that stood out. “Yeah, it’s normal,” I said, setting the diaper back on the small display table. “Can I check out that glass and bottle, or is that off limits?”

“By all means,” he said, stepping back.

That surprised me, but I repeated the inspection. As far as I could tell, it was an ordinary drinking glass, and an ordinary liter of water.

What’s he going to do?

I shrugged. “Okay, it’s all normal.”

“No tricks, no baby stunts?” he asked, walking up to the table and producing an actual honest-to-god silk handkerchief from his sleeve.

“Yeah. Nothing there.”

“Good.” He covered the diaper with his handkerchief, tapped it with his wand, and then pulled the cover away with a flourish.

On the table, in place of the diaper, was a pair of grey, slightly worn boxers.

My boxers.

Stepping back in alarm, I felt a sudden, unmistakable crinkle between my legs. My mouth fell open, agape. How–

I looked down, then back up. My jeans were still there, but I could tell they were bulging out a bit more than before. He’d–

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“No, I–” I started, shaking my head.

“Do you know where the diaper went?” he asked.

I blushed. “Er–” That was, honestly, a good trick. I had to admit it. “Okay, fine. You got me. How’d you do that?”

“I believe you confirmed that you weren’t a plant, and that these were all simple baby tricks,” the magician said. “So I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Blushing, I tried to phrase my question carefully. “Well I wasn’t wearing a diaper when I walked up here! How’d you–”

“So you’re wearing a diaper now?” the magician asked. “Well, you made it very clear you couldn’t just have your underwear magically removed, so I suppose I have to ask, why are you wearing that?”

“You did it!” I snapped. “How?”

The audience was laughing. Screw them–I needed to know how he did it.

Instead, the magician turned to face them. “Now, if this young man is to be believed, then I have some sort of paranormal way of, shall we say, moving things from here,” he tapped the table in front of him, “To there.” He pointed at my butt.

More laughter.

Then, the magician uncapped the water bottle and set the glass in the center of the table. “Let’s see if this works for other things–I’m not sure where this is going to end up, folks. Since I can’t do magic, I can’t really control it–perhaps it’ll end up somewhere over there?”

In spite of myself, I braced my body, expecting that somehow I’d feel the cool rush of water in my diaper. It just didn’t make sense how he was pulling this stunt, but I’d figure it out, and then–

I gaped, as I watched the water simply drain from my glass, as though a hole had appeared in the bottom. I wasn’t surprised that the water wasn’t going into the glass, but I hadn’t accurately guessed where the water would be going.

I’d had an enema once before–shut up, no, I’m not telling you why–so I recognized the sensation of water rushing inside me. I swallowed. It made no sense–I was fully clothed, standing five feet away, and somehow he was…pouring that water up inside my bowels. The sensation of cool water swelling inside me couldn’t be mistaken.

“Fuck this, I’m leaving,” I said, turning to walk away.

The magician snapped his fingers, and I felt something catch my feet. When I looked down, I saw a pair of handcuffs looped through an I-bolt that definitely hadn’t been there before, cuffing my ankles to the floor.

“Not until the trick is done, young man–don’t you want to explain to everyone how it works?” the magician purred, as the last dregs of water fell out of the bottle, ignored the cup, and ended up inside me.

My eyes widened. It was so much water sloshing around, and I was stuck on stage. “Let me go!” I yelled, angry.

“I didn’t do anything,” The magician replied, over raucous laughter. “I can’t do real magic, remember? And you were standing all the way over there–I certainly didn’t cuff you to the stage, so who did?”

“Just–” I started to say. The pressure had built with alarming speed, my body just wasn’t ready for that much water to suddenly be down there. “Please–”

My head reeled as it occurred to me that this really wasn’t a trick. He was doing actual magic. To everyone in the audience, I’d just be the stooge playing along in a particularly embarrassing audience stand-in trick, but for me, I’d just been presented with incontrovertible proof that my understanding of the world was deeply flawed.

And I’d been shoved butt-first into public humiliation in front of all my friends, of the sort I’d never live down.

“How?” I asked, quietly, meekly, the question just for the magician’s ears.

He smiled. “Why, I’d never reveal my secrets,” he said, raising his fingers and snapping them one more time.

The buckle on my pants came undone and they fell around my ankles, exposing the diaper he’d trapped me in, and in the same moment the enema won out. I clutched my belly, but there wasn’t much I could do to prevent the sudden tidal outpour of mush.

The audience’s laughter assaulted my ears as I very visibly, obviously crapped my pants–not even my pants, my diaper up on stage for all to see. There was enough liquid that the dark sludge soaked through the padding almost immediately, staining the back and middle of the diaper a deep brown. I saw a flash as someone took a photo–someone at my friends’ table, who were also hooting and hollering with laughter.

The magician crossed to my side, reaching down to give the back of my diaper a squeeze, sloshing the mush around against my skin. “Wow–I suppose you chose to do this of your own accord, hmm? Since you’re not an audience plant?”

I had no words. Nothing I could say to make the situation better.

Leaning in so only I could hear, the magician whispered, “Leave your pants on the floor and be my assistant for the rest of the show, and I’ll teach you how it’s done.”

I had to know. No matter if it meant my messy diaper being on display for another hour. I started to nod, but he cut in before I could finish.

“That’s not the only toy in my briefcase, little boy.”