The Amazing Marvella

“I am the Amazing Marvella” I said with a flourish of my ruby-sequined cape.  “I am the Amazing Marvella and this is my lovely assistant Bridget.”

I was dazzled by the spotlights pointed at me with their multi-colored gels.  The stage was hot and bright.  The theatre was small, but the house was packed full.  Beyond the apron, I could just make out the audience: mostly middle-aged and older, with a sprinkling of younger faces: well-dressed, eager faces anticipating an evening of novel entertainment.  Wealthy old ladies and their tolerant aging husbands; aunts and uncles and grown-up nieces and nephews out for a night on the town.  College boyfriends and girlfriends dragged along for the ride.  A few hipsters, looking knowing and cynical.  How many of these people had any idea of what they were getting into?

Bridget curtseyed and we got a polite round of applause from the audience.  They hadn’t quite decided what to think of us yet, but they were willing to give us a chance.

“Tonight,” I said to the audience, “We will play with magic.  Together we will show you some things that you may never have seen before, that you may never have thought were possible… Observe!”

I waved my hand, and there was a blinding flash and a puff of smoke.  Then Bridget stepped forward out of the acrid cloud, wearing nothing but a smile, a pair of black garters, and her scarlet stilettos.

Shocked silence.  For just a second, the audience couldn’t believe its eyes, didn’t know quite how to react.  Then, a smattering of applause, slowly building into a low rumble.  I heard one old lady in the front row exclaim: “Well!  I never!”  Her companion, a fat lady in her mid-sixties wearing an antique-looking floral party dress responded loudly: “That’s not what I heard, Dear!” which earned her a burst of appreciative laughter.  Bridget grinned widely, displaying her perfect white teeth, and posed and vamped for the audience, showing off her large perky breasts, making them jiggle, while she kept one hand demurely in front of her neatly trimmed little red pubic triangle.  The applause got significantly louder, and I took a little bow.

“You may find,” I went on when the applause died down, “That the normal rules of the universe do not apply in here.”

I opened up the props chest and took out my wand.  The wand was ten inches long, made of shiny black rosewood, richly carved and polished.  Its features were that of a stylized, fantastical phallus, with a bulbous glans at one end, and a rounded grip that suggested testicles at the other.  It was a thing of beauty, an artifact handed down through the centuries.

I shrugged my cape off and hung it on the stainless steel rack that stood next to the props trunk.  Then, with a sorcerer-like flourish and a show of extreme concentration on my face, I waved my wand.

Bridget floated slowly up off the stage floor, and with a mock-surprised look on her face, she pivoted around on her long axis until she hovered parallel to the ground, as if lying on her back on an invisible bed about two feet above the stage.  There was a smattering of applause from the audience, but mostly hushed, expectant silence.

I unbuttoned my frilly white dress shirt and stepped out of my black dress pants, hanging them carefully on the rack.  I was now wearing only a skimpy black push-up bra, a matching pair of lacy bikini panties, and my comfortable black Mary Janes (more practical for making magic in than sassy heels).  Though the air in the theatre was warm, I felt a pleasant nervous chill run through my body.  I’m not really any sort of an exhibitionist; that’s much more Bridget’s department.

I waved my wand again, and Bridget’s legs spread open, up and out, ending up sticking straight up in the air, a big capital V.

There was a little commotion in the front row.  The disapproving old lady stood up with a ‘Harumph!”.  She was wearing a powder-blue pantsuit and a blue pillbox hat.  “Obscene… disgusting… unheard of…” she could be heard muttering as she made her way to the aisle.  Her rotund friend could be heard chuckling.  The back door of the theatre creaked open and slammed shut with a –clank-.  Nobody else got up from their seat.

“Watch closely” I said.  I began waving my wand rhythmically, like a maestro conducting the overture of a symphony orchestra.  Up and down, left and right, back and forth.

As my wand moved through the air, Bridget’s body reacted.  Her large nipples hardened and grew, until they looked like a pair of pink gumdrops protruding from her big round pancaked breasts.  Slowly, like a flower unfolding on a spring morning, the plump pouting crease of her vulva parted, revealing the hidden wonders within.

Bridget let out a low, throaty moan that was audible all the way to the back row.  As my wand traced its invisible pattern in the air, Bridget’s inner labia started to swell and turn purple; the lips parted open, revealing her entire vulva like a flower in bloom.  Her clit was clearly visible, straining out from underneath its little hood.  The wetness could be seen coating her pussy, drooling out.  Bridget sighed and moaned, writhing and twisting, struggling softly against invisible bonds as my wand worked it’s magic.  Her pussy gaped hungrily open.  Her clit was swollen and pink.  The audience was completely enthralled.  I loved this part of our show.

I set the wand aside for a moment, leaving Bridget helplessly gasping.  Out of the prop chest, I retrieved our little purple bag of tricks.

As soon as I opened the drawstring, sixteen shiny golden balls the size of large marbles, leapt out. With a rush, they swarmed up and floated above Bridget’s head like a halo, orbiting slowly and buzzing like a cloud of angry humming birds.

I got a little bottle of lube out of the prop chest and dabbed a generous amount onto Bridget’s crinkled little anus.  The audience was silent.  I could feel their anticipation.

The golden balls aren’t actually particularly magical, aside from the hovering and the vibrating.  We just like them.

I plucked one ball out of the orbiting cloud and deftly inserted it up Bridget’s ass.  The buzzing made the tips of my fingers tingle.  The little golden globe disappeared almost as if by magic into Bridget’s sexy little brown anus.  I was rewarded by an audible sigh from Bridget and with a smattering of applause from the audience.

One by one, I snatched up the humming golden balls and slipped them up Bridget’s increasingly crowded rear-end.  With each ball that I inserted into her winking anus, I got an even louder moan from Bridget, and even more applause from the audience.  The final three or four were tricky: it was getting harder and harder to get the buzzing balls up inside her without letting the humming swarm already up her butt escape.  The last one is always the hardest, and if I’m not very quick and careful, a hornet’s nest of fifteen vibrating balls can come flying out of Bridget’s ass while I’m trying to insert number sixteen.  Fortunately, this time I was dexterous enough, and the last golden ball disappeared neatly up inside Bridget’s beautiful, stuffed asshole.

For a little while, I went back to conducting my invisible orchestra on Bridget’s heaving, sweating body: drawing paths of sensation up and down her quim, stimulating her breasts and her ass and her clit, taking pleasure in her curvy, turned-on body; but no-one was going to last much longer like this: not Bridget, not the audience, not me.  We were all firmly in this together now, and the sexual tension in the theatre was thicker than thick, electric and crackling.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” I said, “You may wish now to remove any tight-fitting, constricting clothing, or any articles that you do not want to get stained.  We are now about to perform our final act of the evening!”

There was a rustling sound out in the house as the majority of the audience discreetly unzipped their pants, hiked up their skirts, removed underwear and pulled pantyhose out of the way.  Beyond the glare of the spotlights, I could see the fat lady in the front row, knees wide apart, floral-print skirt piled up in her lap, hands busy between her bulky thighs.  Anybody who didn’t take my advice, I reflected with a secret smile, was going to walk out of this theatre with a sticky, wet crotch.

I opened up the prop chest and fished out the harness.  I always feel awkward doing this on stage; putting the harness on with a hundred-odd pairs of eyes intently watching my every move.  There is simply no way to put that thing on gracefully.

I successfully donned the harness, without tripping over myself or getting the leg loops crossed up.  Carefully, I fitted my wand into the holder, snapping the retaining ring into position.  The polished black rosewood jutted out from my crotch just like an erect cock.

It bounced pleasingly as I moved.  I positioned myself directly in front of Bridget, holding onto her legs behind the knees, admiring her nude, curvy, sweaty, glowing body, gazing into her bright blue eyes.  The end of my wand bobbled less than an inch from the entrance to her soaking wet, wide-open, horny pussy.  Her clit seemed to twitch with anticipation.

She mouthed the magic words to me and to me alone: “I love you”, and I nudged forward, parting her slippery lips, sliding the length of my magic wand up and down her vulva.

I heard a collective gasp from the audience at the same time as Bridget sighed with pleasure.  I knew then, for a fact, that once again the magic had worked.  Every person in that audience; even those who’s pussies hadn’t been wet in years; even those who required double doses of Viagra to make their cocks hard; every woman was experiencing the exact same sensations that Bridget was experiencing, and every man was feeling what my magic wand was feeling.  I took aim, and with one confident thrust, I entered Bridget’s red-hot pussy, sinking my wooden cock in her all the way up to the hilts.

“Please, please, please…” Bridget begged.  Out in the house I could hear the collective moans and groans and sighs of the audience as they fucked and got fucked, as Bridget’s wet pussy grasped at my hard, thick wand, as the buzzing balls vibrated against my wood, as the roots of Bridget’s clit trembled with desire.

I started fucking her, as slowly as I could stand to, drawing all but the head of my wand out before plunging it deep back inside.  Her big tits shook, her pelvis bucked, her head lolled side to side.  The base of the wand rubbed pleasantly against my own clit, making me nice and moist inside my panties.  At that moment I knew I was the only person in that crowded theatre who wasn’t on the very edge of a massive orgasm.

“Faster, faster, please, please, please…” Bridget begged me almost silently, “please fuck my pussy, fuck me hard…” Out in the audience, the moans and sighs were turning into grunts and gasps and the occasional high-pitched wail.

I obliged, thrusting my hips with all I had, fucking her pussy as hard and as fast as I could, making my own tits shake, until my brow was sweaty with the effort and my ass threatened to cramp up.  Her pussy devoured my wand, slurping happily.  I placed my hand on her neatly trimmed mons and caressed her clit with my thumb.  The vibrations from the golden balls were travelling down the wooden shaft of my wand and were tantalizingly stimulating my own clit and pussy.

“I’M CO-O-OMING!” Bridget announced in a choking, gasping scream, “OH FUCK, I’M COMING!”  A cascade of flying, humming golden balls spilled violently out of her asshole as her pussy spasmed and grasped at my plunging wand.

At that exact moment, the auditorium was filled with groans, moans, gasps, growls and screams as every member of the audience was shaken by their own individual orgasm.  For many of them it was the first orgasm they’d had in decades; for many (so a lot of them would tell me after the show) it was one of the strongest and most intense of their entire lives.

I fucked her all the way through her orgasm.  When her body stopped shaking and her breathing no longer came in gasps, I carefully withdrew my wand, sticky and slick with her juices. She lowered her legs, and I helped her to her feet.   Sixteen humming golden balls were orbiting slowly above our heads.  The atmosphere in the theatre was hot and thick, saturated with the aroma of sex.

Arm in arm, we rode a wave of thunderous applause.  Together, we bowed, bowed again, bowed a third time.

“Thank you ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much!  You’ve been an amazing audience.  Please come back again, and bring your friends.  Thank you again!  You’ll find handy-wipes underneath your seats…”

The house lights came up and the stage lights dimmed.  The people in the audience stood up, toweled off their sticky parts, buttoned their pants, filed out toward the exit.  Bridget and I collected our costumes, reset the props trunks, cleaned up the stage, getting everything ready for tomorrow nights’ show.  Then we headed home together, where Bridget would show me some magic tricks of her own.

END

(previously published at Clean Sheets)

7 Comments »

  1. You, and this story, are just absolutely fucking brilliant. I can’t say enough about it. Why haven’t you joined e[lust]? 😉
    More people need to read this.

    • elsiewrites said

      Well thank you!!… Compliments will get you everywhere! Seriously though, it is great to get positive feedback from the people who read my stuff. I agree with you, I’d love to have more people reading my work; but I’m not sure I’m a good match for e(lust). First of all, my stuff tends toward the offensive (and EVERYBODY gets offended by some aspect of my writing!) I’m interested in writing about fucked-up, contradictory relationships, and the sex that results; I’m interested in pushing through boundaries and exploring deeply twisted situations, writing high-quality perverted stroke stories, while at the same time treating my characters with respect. I’m actually surprised I don’t get more nasty, negative commentary here. Also, I don’t think e(lust) format works with my blog: I want this place to be pretty strictly a library of my work: now and then I’ll post something extraneous, but I take these down after a while– I really want this place to be just the stories. So read more, comment a lot (feedback is good, and one of the great things about running my own place is that I can always take down and rewrite a piece if I later feel it needs it); recommend me to your friends who read filthy porn, and link to my blog!

      Thanks again!
      Me

  2. K said

    Certainly beats that time I saw Penn & Teller…

  3. ElsieFanny said

    Thanks Sweetie,
    Nobody else does very slutty (bordering on depraved) and sweet at the same time as well as you do.

    • elsiewrites said

      Thank you! I think that compliment nicely sums up what I am trying to do. (though I confess I have issues with the ‘slutty’ label; I’d rather be on the depraved side of the spectrum)

  4. John Cowan said

    I’ve always liked the idea of an orgasm so powerful that it transforms everyone around it too, opening the doors of perception. The vignette “Circus of Jade” in the story “A Carcass of Dreams” by Marco Vassi (printed in The Mammoth Book of Erotica, ed. Maxim Jakubowski, pp. 211-216, visible on Google Books) uses this motif to the hilt:

    Orgasm approached, a single orgasm which included the bodies of everyone in the circle. The men joined through their arms, the women joined through cock and cunt, all eyes on the body in the center, all minds empty of thoughts, and Butch gathering all the energy in a single sustained awareness, they came together. And at that instant, Butch was buoyed by a sheet of blue light and lifted six feet off the floor. She hovered for eight minutes and then drifted slowly back down to the rug.

    For that period of time, through the city, all hostility in every human being was allayed. Policemen stopped with their fingers on the trigger, husbands and wives stopped mid-argument, taxi drivers stopped with curses on their lips. Not one violent act was committed. Everyone was enveloped in a euphoric cloud, and for weeks afterward scientists speculated as to whether some electronic mass hysteria was the cause. Many found grounds to reaffirm their belief in God. Some claimed that extraterrestrial beings were influencing the earth.

    Unfortunately, things go back to normal with a thump: the ending is not romantic but ironic. I like your ending better, and enjoy thinking about what Bridget’s magic tricks might be. Something humorous, but lingering — preferably avoiding the boiling oil, though.

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