Chapter 5

The night after that first performance I was high as the proverbial kite. Mum and Dad were mildly amused and just let me chatter on for I don't know how long, all through the TV program they were trying to watch. I told them everything. Almost. The bit I wanted to talk about most, I couldn't. Not to them. How do you tell your parents that you really enjoyed stripping down to a minimal bikini, on stage, in front of an audience, at the direction of a man your parents' age?

It wasn't long before bedtime, and after a quick shower and the usual bedtime routine, I was under my duvet in a loose long t-shirt and pastel cotton bikini-cut briefs. But I couldn't sleep. My body was all a-tingle as if I'd just gluttonized a dozen energy bars. And drinks. How does a girl sleep after an experience like that? I wanted to hug myself and release the pent-up feelings. I let my left hand drift down my body to rest on my briefs. That felt better, but it wasn't enough. The hand crept under the waistband and my fingers curled into the short, trimmed, soft hairs. Better, but still not enough. Lower still, caressing the delicate, damp folds. Much better. Nearly enough. Almost.

I had no idea how Marvin was doing while I was all wound up. He, of course, was a professional and used to it. I was a novice. I decided to text him. After all, my right hand was free.

“Hey, Marv, so ... ?”

“You should be asleep.”

“I can't.”

“Count sheep.”

“They keep moving.”

“Put them in a pen.” Damn, but did he have an answer for everything?

“Pouts ”

“It doesn't suit you.”

“But the bikini does?” I held my breath. I wanted him to say something nice.

I had to wait longer than I expected.

“It does. Goodnight.”

“Meanie!”

“You mean, Marvellous.”

“Marvin the Meanie.” If I could stick out my tongue, I would have done.

“Mandy the Magnificent.”

“Grin ”

“Better than a pout.”

“It was good, wasn't it?”

“You were great. There, I've said what you wanted. Goodnight. Go to sleep.”

He hadn't said what I wanted. It seemed that mind-reading wasn't among his magical gifts. I wanted to hear how I looked in the bikini on stage. I wanted to relive that moment when I was revealed. I wanted to enjoy again the applause at the end, when Marvin held my hand and made me bow low but with my chin up. I wanted to know just how good a view of my boobs the front row got. I wanted to do it all again. Reluctantly I put the phone down, took my left hand out of my briefs, and rolled over to go to sleep, knowing there was no way I'd manage it. The next thing I knew it was morning and sunshine was turning my bedroom to liquid gold.

It was Saturday. A working morning for us stage performers. Time for a shower, breakfast, and bus ride to Magic HQ. Lots of Ms. Magic, Marvin, Mandy, Marvellous, Magnificent. At MHQ Marvin was already at his desk when I walked in and poured the coffees.

“Hey, magician superstar,” I greeted him.

“Hey, alluring assistant,” he countered. I liked that. Alluring assistant. Okay, so not everything was an M.

Marvin's mobile rang. I removed my outer travel clothes while he dealt with the call, and then I put the coffees on the desk while wearing nothing but my leotard and dance slippers. As soon as he finished, the phone went again. I tidied the already tidy office. When that call was done he looked at me a little pensively.

“That's two new bookings. I've never had that before. Word is out about last night's performance.”

I didn't know what to say. That was good news, surely, but Marvin seemed unsure.

“What?” I asked. Okay, so not very eloquent, but then he hadn't employed me for my way with words.

“They made a point of requesting the Disappearing Girl trick.”

The way he said it and the look he gave me spoke volumes. It was a euphemism for Disappearing Clothes. I got it. He could tell that I got it.

“Well?” He asked, letting me decide.

I couldn't help grinning. It was the nearest I was going to get to the answer I'd wanted last night. I looked good enough in the bikini to be asked for again.

“Well, what?” I replied.

He picked his phone up again and made two calls. Obviously, I was listening. He accepted the two gigs. Next weekend and the weekend after. Two performances each. Friday and Saturday. That, if I could manage the complicated arithmetic, made four performances of me on stage in my tiny bikini, with Marvin displaying me at the curtain call. When he'd finished he put the phone down carefully and looked at me. Marvin wasn't the only one who couldn't read minds. I tried looking straight back at him but had to lower my eyes.

“Well?” I asked, my turn now.

Marvin did that throat-clearing thing again. “Four more performances. We need to practice.”

Then it was all business. He worked me hard, but by lunchtime, we were as slick as we were going to get. Marvin had decided to concentrate on a small number of illusions that would make up a fixed routine for the new bookings. All that was left was to rehearse them in the right sequence.

While I fixed more coffees Marvin took another three calls. We were getting busy; a full schedule, but Marvin could only accept one of the new bookings because of my return to school.

Chapter 6

By the time Friday came around I was nervous. Things had changed. We now had a reputation, were known. The audience had expectations. We were booked because of what had been said after our first performance the week before.

It was another Working Men's Club, which meant men and women, obviously, just like before. Adults. Marvin had refined the Act to make the most of my appearance, including dramatic stage make-up like the showgirls in Paris, to accentuate my looks while preserving anonymity according to Marvin. He knew his audience and what they wanted. Which was to look at me, apparently. In as little as possible. Which in this case was the same blue long-sleeved leotard, black fishnet hold-up stockings, black medium heels and the cutaway black-tail coat on top that didn't really cover anything. No underwear, of course. To say I didn't mind was an understatement. We even had the Press there, the local Advertiser newspaper. And Mum and Dad were in the audience.

As before, Marvin went on first in his white dinner jacket, frilled shirt, and black bow tie, and I followed angled towards the audience. He began with sleight-of-hand and me posing, then me losing my coat in the ‘failed’ Disappearing Girl trick. He chopped me up and mended me and showed everyone that I really was whole again, making the absolute most of the opportunity to display my body, just one thin layer between me and their eyes. It was exactly what everyone wanted.

Marvin was a master showman, I was discovering. He did his conjuring in a way that kept me on show but continually teased the audience. I loved it, so did they, and from the twinkle in his eye, so did Marvin. He was totally in his element, playing the audience, getting gasps and groans and laughs from them just how he wanted. We were to have a repeat performance the following night with presumably a different crowd, so this was like a rehearsal performance for all the others to come. It went really well. We kept the 'Reappearing Girl' for the end like before and had five curtain calls complete with skimpy low bows and twirls. Even Mum and Dad seemed to enjoy it and thought that we'd kept on the right side of good taste, as they put it once we were home. In bed, I once again relieved my pent-up tension with a hand inside my briefs while texting Marvin. Thankfully, he didn't know what I was up to.

On Saturday morning at MHQ, we received my new costume.

With a little anxious excitement, I opened the package next to where I'd placed my own shop bag with its slightly modified contents. Inside the newly delivered box were three items, none of them taking up much room. Marvin and I had discussed the choices at length, hoping to get the tone just right. As I lifted the first one out of the packaging we looked at it carefully. It was, essentially, a pair of girl's shorts. In black. Vinyl. Wet-look. The sides secured with that hook-and-loop stuff that tears open. Basically stripper shorts.

“We'll need the right background soundtrack,” I suggested as I ripped the detachable seams apart to find out how noisy it was.

“Yes, fairly high frequency, I think,” Marvin replied. “What about the top?”

I fished out another garment and held it up. A matching black bikini top, halter style, the small triangles joined together by thin black elastic. “Should work much the same as the white one from last night?” I suggested. Marvin nodded. I could see that he was enjoying this. I picked up the bikini bottoms that went with it. It wasn't much more than a g-string, but similar to the top. I swallowed nervously and looked to Marvin for reassurance.

“Only if you want to,” he said, though I could tell what his verdict was likely to be. Quickly moving on he nodded to the bag I'd brought.

With a deep sigh of resignation, I showed him what I'd managed to put together. We'd initially liked one of the tops from the Stage Catalogue, a sort of minimal female version of a man's formal white shirt front with black studs in place of buttons and an attached wing collar complete with a black bow tie. Not the whole shirt, just the front. More of a bib, really. It looked fun and sexy and would look great with the shorts and stockings and tailcoat. But we decided, Marvin decided, that it hid my chest too well. I'd had to agree. Hence my own made-up offering.

I'd found what I thought was ideal in a fashion shop. Basically a white, high neck, backless t-shirt type of halter crop top. I showed Marvin how I'd modified the high neck into a sort of soft wing collar and attached the front part of a black bow tie. I'd also sewed two black studs on the front as fake buttons.

Marvin had questions. “The collar. Is it elastic enough to slip over your head easily, when you need to? And will the bikini top show through?”

I slipped both hands inside the neck and tried it. It stretched, but not easily enough. “Maybe I need to make it another fastening like the shorts?” I suggested, then thought about his second question. I tried holding the black material behind the white top and yes, it clearly showed through. Marvin just looked at me. “There's always the white bikini?”

Chapter 7

That evening, as we waited in the wings for our introduction, I fidgeted anxiously and got shushes and irritated hand waves from Marvin. It was clear that he couldn't understand why I was nervous. It was just a change of costume, after all. But it was more than that. Last weekend we had been an unknown quantity, there had been no expectations. This time the audience had ideas about what they were about to see. The sudden influx of bookings proved that. We had a sort of reputation despite our short performance history. What if they were disappointed?

As soon as we were on, my reservations disappeared with Marvin taking charge as rehearsed and running our routine with precision and skill. And humor, and teasing. My new outfit was a hit. It seemed that the audience liked the black shorts, fishnets, heels, and white bib top. Marvin liked the top too. I'd decided that both the black and white bikinis showed through too clearly, and since I was only a b-cup on top and my boobs were only just about finishing growing they didn't exactly need any support. In the privacy of my bedroom, the white top had looked pretty good and discreet. I hadn't reckoned on the difference the stage lights would make, how much the bright spotlights would reveal through the thin fabric, or how my feelings at being on stage, the center of attention, would prompt my nipples to puff up and pucker. I started to get an inkling when Marvin's eyes repeatedly took in my chest, framed as it was by the cutaway black tailcoat.

When we got to the 'make the girl disappear' bit, I could sense the audience's anticipation, as if the rest of the Act might be entertaining but this was what they were waiting for. Of course, that was just my interpretation. It was the bit I was looking forward to as well. We did the curtain, the magic words from Marvin, the reveal and yes, my coat was gone. They liked it. Marvin had me prance about a bit and then went on to cut me in half, restore me, and show me off again, taking his time. The audience didn't mind at all.

After bows and applause we left the stage and as expected, were called back for the encore. They knew what they wanted. They'd heard about the previous show's encore. I was ready. Marvin did the build-up, announcing that he would make me disappear off the stage to reappear at the back of the room, but this time no one believed him or wanted that. They were waiting for my top to come off.

Sure enough, we did the trick, and as the special curtain dropped out of the way there I was with the black bikini, stockings, and heels. Both bits of the bikini. Top and bottoms.

Instead of the laughs and claps and cheers, we were met with sighs and groans. They were disappointed. Despite me having ripped the stripper shorts off they clearly felt cheated. I could only guess that my white top had so obviously had nothing but me under it, they expected me topless.

Shit!

I'd blown it. By not wearing the white bikini at the start of the Act I'd raised their expectations too high. We left the stage, Marvin so professional, me trying to hide my disappointment. In the wings, Marvin hugged me as I cried. It had all gone so wrong. I didn't want to talk about it. I knew Marvin would be nice, just as I knew it was all my fault. I'd screwed up. My inexperience had been my undoing. And we had another performance next weekend. I was now dreading it.

That night I didn't text Marv, but with my arms wrapped tight around me, I cried myself to sleep.

We worked hard during the week perfecting everything but it wasn't the same. Marvin was lovely and never mentioned my choice of how to wear the costume the previous Saturday. The only comment he made was, ”Don't worry, Mands, they'll have lowered their expectations for this next performance.” It was his way of saying he supported me. It made me cry again, into Marvin's chest, and his strong warmth was a wonderful comfort, his hands so reassuring as they caressed my back and down to my hips, pulling me in close. The dance leotard that had been part of my original stage costume was now relegated to rehearsal wear, and the low back and thin fabric meant that I could feel Marvin's hands on me. On my costume, and even better, on my skin. It really was a very nice hug. I knew that if Marvin let his hands stray I wouldn't stop him. Either he had more self-control than me or he wasn't tempted. I didn't know how I felt about that.

Chapter 8

Mum and Dad could tell that something was up but I didn't try to explain, just reassure them that nothing was wrong; that I still liked working with Marvin, and the show must go on.

That Friday we did the whole show again at our third Club, and despite the upset from the previous weekend I recognized a few faces in the audience near the front, some guys who'd been to our other performances. Were we starting to get a fan base? We repeated the encore just like last Saturday, both halves of the black bikini, and this time got good-natured laughs and applause even though I'd again gone for wearing nothing under the white shirt-front top in the first part of the show. It was better, but nothing like the reaction we'd got to our first show. Maybe word from last weekend had indeed got around.

Marvin was really sweet in our after-performance texts, and while we chatted my hand again found its way inside my briefs, not leaving the warm comfort until he'd said goodnight.

Saturday we did it again, Marvin improvising his banter, making it a bit more naughty, showing me off more, or at least my chest under the white top which by now I realized was almost completely see-through; making me show off my legs, my bum in the black stripper-shorts, having me bend over, my bum towards the audience. They loved it, and it was starting to feel like we were recapturing the excitement of that very first show. I was keyed up, confident, soaking up all the attention and adoration I sensed. We got our encore.

Marvin did his intro. I stepped behind his magic curtain, coatless as was usual at this point. He said the words, the curtain dropped, and there I was still in the tiny white shirt-front top, the stockings, and heels, but my stripper shorts had gone and I just had the black bikini bottom g-string in their place. After a full second pause, I covered the bikini with my hands and gave Marvin a filthy look. The audience laughed with us. I made a small gesture we used often in rehearsal to indicate that we should do it again. Marvin nodded, guessing the bikini top would appear next and worked the audience with his usual skill.

Up went the special curtain hiding me, Marvin tried the magic words again, the curtain dropped, and … Gasp! The audience was silent like they were collectively holding their breath. I was still there, and yes, the white top had gone. And it hadn't been replaced.

I was totally topless. After the briefest of pauses, I covered my boobs and my bikini bottoms with my hands to rapturous applause and cheers. We'd done it. We'd won back our audience.

Marvin wrapped it up, using gestures while the audience was so noisy, then words as I joined him near the front of the stage. “I, er, won't try that for a third time,” he said, to supportive fake groans and laughs from the audience, but he held up my right hand leaving only my left arm free to cover my bare boobs. Which left my g-string uncovered. “Let's hear it for Mischievous Mandy!” and he had me do a twirl and bow, my bottom bare in the g-string, the front of which only just covered my trimmed bush. Marvin showed me off for as long as he could, much to everyone's enjoyment, and then lead me off stage, his reading of the audience and timing perfect.

I was as high as I could possibly get, and didn't stop talking. I have no idea what I said and it was probably completely meaningless, but all through our escape off stage, and then getting into street clothes in the changing room I just kept talking, letting my excitement flood out. I'd managed to slip into my coat while still in the wings, keeping my unfettered boobs hidden behind an arm, but I still received plenty of approving looks from both Marvin and the stagehands for the resulting outfit. Tailcoat that didn't cover my chest, black minimal g-string, hold up stockings, and heels. I was a very happy girl. Once dressed, an accomplishment considering I managed to avoid flashing, we decided to return to the Indian Restaurant for a celebration.

“How did you know?” Marvin asked, once we were seated, menus open in front of us.

“What?” I asked, half my mind on the menu, the other half on our performance.

“That being a members-only club, you could get away with, well, what you did?”

I glanced up, knowing now what he meant. “Er, I didn't. It never occurred to me. That I couldn't, I mean. It was just the obvious move. What they all wanted. I didn't really think much at all?”

Marvin just smiled. “Well, lucky for us both, I suppose.” And his wide grin stayed in place all through the ordering and enjoying pre-dinner drinks.

“Why are you grinning?” I asked, finally.

“Because I'm the man who mined a lump of coal and discovered he'd found a diamond,” he replied without looking up.

I sat there, open-mouthed, finally lost for words.

I found them again as we relived the excitement and triumph in our night's texts, my fingers urgently toying with the damp softness normally covered by the briefs that tonight I had dispensed with. It was a good thing Marvin and I texted because if we'd phoned, my breathlessness would have given me away.

Chapter 9

We had one more weekend of performances booked before I was due to start Sixth Form College and my A-Levels, but Marvin was swamped with calls. Including one from an Agent and another from the owner of a real Club. Since Marvin was already getting enough requests he delayed meeting with the Theatrical Agent, but he did enter into serious discussions with the Club owner. We were committed to the two performances already agreed, but it was clear that Marvin was now getting the interest he'd really hoped for. Potentially bigger settings, bigger audiences, bigger pay-cheques.

The Friday night performance was near enough exactly like the previous Saturday, with a similarly enthusiastic reaction. As we left the stage after our encore, among the stagehands the Club owner was waiting in the wings and Marvin introduced me. It was a bit awkward given I was still topless in just g-string, stockings, and heels, right hand over my boobs, the other still held by Marvin. He didn't let go.

The club owner looked me in the eye and held out his hand. It felt like a test. Marvin was tense. The stagehands were watching intently. It would have been rude not to shake his hand. And Marvin clearly wanted us to make a good impression, had already invested time and phone calls. I shook the man's hand, acutely aware of the stagehands staring at my now-bared chest even if the club owner maintained eye contact. After a brief shake of my hand with a grip that was firm but not painful, I found first that neither of my hands was released from the grip in which they were held, and second that two extra pairs of eyes drifted to my boobs which all the available men seemed to be studying.

The club owner gave my captive hand another shake, quite vigorous, that sent a corresponding wobble through my unsupported breasts.

“Very nice, my dear; pert, supple, just the right amount of bounce, and nipples a lovely shade of pink and the right size.”

I blushed a deep shade of red. The stagehands had crept in even closer for an excellent view.

“How old are you, my dear?” the club owner asked, his eyes returning to mine.

“Sixteen.”

“Ah. For stage performances your age is a problem; for now.”

“What about, er, private shows?” asked Marvin, tentatively.

In that night's texts, Marvin alluded to the possibilities now before us, and as we messaged, my left hand frantically exercised between my legs, my panting and groaning hopefully contained within the confines of my bedroom. I was finding that I needed Marvin's virtual company to complete the enjoyment of my self-stimulation, and the more he hinted at my nakedness, at showing me off to the audience, at the approval of my tits from the club owner and stagehands, and indeed himself, the more intense my feelings became. Touching myself was tame and dull without him.

***

The last performance of the summer went very much like the previous one, except at the end. When we had our curtain call, and Marvin held my right hand high to give me credit, coat-less, topless, in g-string, stockings, and heels, the Stage Manager appeared to my left with a bouquet of flowers clearly meant for me. The only way I could reach for them was with my left hand that was currently covering my bare breasts. The Stage Manager took his time letting go of the flowers. Marvin held tight to my right hand. The audience was treated to a prolonged and uninterrupted view. I noticed the club owner watching us from among the first few rows, his nod and knowing smile telling me that he had arranged it all. I had a feeling that it might not have been the only thing he had arranged.

I had a feeling that this was only the beginning.

To be continued in Part 3 … If there is sufficient interest