The Trick: Lisa, Sawn

'What a fucking prick, what a pompous arrogant pig!' Lisa thought as she strode through the last set of automatic doors, her little suitcase-on-wheels struggling to keep up.

Captain Parry had done a fine job of distorting Lisa's usually agreeable features. His comments about her and her colleagues only being on board to give the male passengers something to look at had forced her carefully-plucked eyebrows into a scowl above her eyes – green eyes that normally sparkled and smiled, but now simmered with cold anger. He had also straightened Lisa's cute, easy smile into a thin, hard line.

"'Only there to look good"? "Nobody cares what you think"? Fucking idiot...'

To look into Lisa's face at this point would definitely have hinted at the fury running through her mind, in the same way that looking at her uniform would hint at what you could normally expect from her.

Lisa was a stewardess on internal European flights, and in the air anywhere between London and Athens, Helsinki and Lisbon, you could expect her to serve you, and service your every need, with a twinkle in her eye and a sincere (and usually genuine) smile. Her sky blue uniform let her passengers know that she was there for them and would be only too happy to help.

She looked good in her fitted skirt and jacket that hugged her curving figure from just below the knee to her porcelain neck and slender wrists. The four-inch heels at one extreme and the little hat at the other matched the colour of the suit, while her stockings, gloves and the silk scarf around her neck and tucked into her jacket were white. Sky blue had been chosen to convey an image of calm, serenity and openness – even the suitcase was sky blue. Lisa's face conveyed a different message altogether tonight.

She marched toward the Arrivals taxi rank, the material at the lower hem of her skirt pulling taut with every stride, hailed a cab, got in and sat stiffly on the rear seat with her arms folded firmly across her chest. The driver did a double-take in his mirror: trying to flirt with the trolley-dollies was usually the highlight of these late shifts, but looking at Lisa's face, he succeeded in not making the same mistake Parry had.

"Where to?" he asked as he pulled away.

"Hanna's Bar," she replied, briefly considering the here-and-now. 'Where I will have a few drinks, watch the house band, and hopefully be relaxed enough to sleep at some point...'

When she arrived at the bar, Lisa ordered a rum and coke from the barman without even looking at him and pulled herself up onto one of the high stools – no easy task in her tight skirt and heels. She then had to manoeuvre carefully to get her right leg up and crossed over her left. To her right, the singer thanked the bar's clientele for the smattering of applause that greeted the previous song. He caught Lisa's eye and waved, but she turned away – men weren't her favourite sex right now. Her drink arrived, and she took a long pull at it through the straw.

The band started up again, and the aggressive bassline caught something in Lisa's subconscious. She turned back to face the stage, the heel on her right foot moving through the air in front of her in time to the groove. Distracted from Parry for a few minutes, Lisa had finished her drink by the time the song had finished.

'Shit! That scumbag is pilot on my next flight!' Lisa remembered, banging her empty glass on the bar. 'Fucking cocksucker!'

Lisa enjoyed her work, liked meeting new people and loved making people happy – she always got a little kick out of seeing someone smile as a result of her efforts. She was proud of her role, and proud of the image her coutured uniform portrayed. She also loved the way it hugged her figure tightly, accentuating the narrowness of her waist in contrast to the fullness of her hips and bosom. She also loved the pointless, and optional, white scarf.

The first time she had dressed in the jacket (and white blouse that went beneath it), she had been pleasantly surprised by the deep cleavage created by the slight squeezing effect of the fitted garments on her 36Cs – a cleavage she wouldn't have thought possible before. This new cleavage, along with the effect the heels had on her posture, made her feel positively busty. Nevertheless, she had no desire for every male passenger to admire this pleasing feature every time she bent down to offer them a drink and the scarf effectively hid this secret aspect from view.

'Men are loathsome pricks,' she generalised, absently checking that the scarf was still in place before ordering another drink. Looking at the barman this time, he suddenly smirked at her. "What are you looking at?" Lisa snarled. 'What's his fucking problem? Proving my point, right on cue...'

The band was bidding the audience goodnight, and Lisa checked her watch: it was only midnight, a good hour earlier than they normally finished. 'Not like a bunch of men to finish prematurely,' she thought bitterly before climbing down from her stool for a visit to the nose-powdering room.

As she approached the mirror to check on her dark pink lipstick, Lisa noticed why the barman had smirked at her: she still had her hat on. Annoyed with herself now, she wrenched it off the bun in her red hair, and stuffed it in a jacket pocket. It was her least-favourite part of the uniform, a little folded-up thing that looked more like a table setting than a hat. She unpinned her hair and it didn't quite fall to her shoulders, the way it parted as it did so obscuring the left side of her face, before she pulled it all back up away from the ivory skin of her neck and re-pinned it in a slightly looser bun.

She marched back to her stool (giving the barman a hard stare on the way), climbed back up, and turned back to see what was happening now that the band had finished an hour early. There appeared to be a street entertainer on the stage.

A dark-haired man in a cheap-looking black suit and white shirt was pulling flowers out of his shirt sleeves for the benefit of a lady in the audience. He looked astonishingly pleased with himself as he did so.

'Jesus; are they trying to get everyone to go home?' There were still about 20 people sat at the tables around the stage, but this was probably only half what there had been when the band had been playing. 'Oh well, this arrogant twit might provide some unintentional comedy,' Lisa thought forlornly.

For his next trick, the man turned someone's pint of beer into a glass of water (much to his friend's amusement), and following that he spent five minutes blindfolded before correctly predicting that the guy in the heavy metal t-shirt at the far table had selected the ace of spades from the deck of cards hidden under a sheet ('No shit,' thought Lisa). Again, the apparently self-styled 'Magician' appeared to think that what he had just done was nothing short of mind-blowing.

'Oh. My. God.' Lisa thought monosyllabically. 'Arrogant dickheads at work, delusional dickheads in here.' But she didn't want to go home, she still needed to unwind, and it was looking like the only way she could get there was via alcohol – and she had a long way to go yet, as the first two drinks had had little effect.

She turned and ordered a third drink – this time a double – from the barman, and readjusted her uniform again; much as she liked it, she couldn't wait to get out of it.

The Magician had taken a napkin from his little table, and was folding it into the shape of some animal or other, a swan or some such (Lisa couldn't see from where she was). After making some vaguely mystical hand gestures over it, there was a puff of smoke and the thing disappeared. This drew another ripple of applause from what was left of the audience and another smug grin from the Magician.

He said something about it not having actually disappeared, that it had merely flown away, when – suddenly – Lisa got the full beam of the spotlight in her face as it swung around onto her.

She froze. The centre of attention wasn't Lisa's favourite place. A little sideshow where she could impress people unnoticed was Lisa's place. She felt the audience (all twelve of them) all turn towards her as the Magician pointed at her, and she just sat there motionless with her drink in her hand, her pink lips still puckered round the straw.

She felt trapped as the Magician gestured from the stage and she got the impression that what everyone was looking at was her hair. Her own eyes looked up involuntarily to join in with everyone else, but she couldn't see. Slowly, she reached her hand up to feel the bun on her head, and started slightly when it encountered something other than her hair. She gingerly took the thing between thumb and forefinger, and slowly pulled it down to look at. Lisa still had the straw between her lips, and her eyes were wide as she looked at her hat.

The straw dropped from her mouth. "My hat..." she started. But that was in her pocket...

"That's not your hat, gorgeous," said the Magician loudly, grinning. "Do you want to come up here?"

Staring at the blue thing in her hand, Lisa put her drink down and, in a daze, uncrossed her legs.

"Come on, don't be shy – come up here and show us what you've got." The Magician turned back to the audience. "Give the lady a hand please, ladies and gentlemen."

Without really knowing why, Lisa did as she was asked, slowly setting her long heels down on the floor, as the sound of two dozen hands clapping echoed round the bar. She felt like she'd been hypnotised: she knew she hated being the focus of attention, she knew she didn't want to do anything to help this slick Magician get any more pleased with himself than he already was, and she knew the last thing she wanted was to get up on stage in front an audience. But she couldn't help herself. She glided smoothly across the floor to the stage as only an air stewardess can. As she concentrated on the little hat in her hand Lisa felt the eyes of the audience on her, and she started to blush. She took the proffered hand of the Magician, and took the stage.

"Wow!" the Magician looked Lisa and her uniform up and down appreciatively. "Give us a twirl, and then tell us your name."

It took a second for Lisa to process these instructions, but she executed a passable twirl on the ball of her right foot. The Magician caught her hand again as she came to a stop.

"L..." Her mouth was completely dry. She swallowed, licked her lips. "Lisa."

"Very pleased to meet you, Lisa," the Magician said, shaking her hand, "and what is that you have in your hand?"

She looked quickly down at it. "My hat, but tha..."

"Look closely, Lisa."

She did, finally, look more closely at the folded-up blue thing in her hand. It wasn't her hat: it was the swan the Magician had folded prior to the puff of smoke. She looked the Magician full in the face for the first time, failing to take in any of his features. "It's your... napkin."

"That's right," he grinned again, "and it couldn't be your hat because your hat is..."

"My hat is in my pocket," Lisa confirmed, putting her right hand into her jacket pocket, but it was empty. Confused, she looked down as her fingers sought out every corner of the pocket, knowing it must be there somewhere.

"Looking for this?" the Magician said, and, as the audience laughed, Lisa looked up to see him whisk her hat from the inside pocket of his jacket.

"How..." she started, but was cut off by the smirking Magician.

"Magic, Lisa," he said with a theatrical wink as he handed it back to her. "Thank you for your help with that little illusion, Lisa," he narrowed his eyes slightly, "but I'm guessing you'd like to get off stage pretty quickly?"

Relieved, she managed a shy smile. "Yes, please."

The Magician took her left hand and looked out at the audience "Do you really want to escape, Lisa?"

She smiled again – anything to get off the stage. "Yes, please."

The Magician's face took on a sincere and more friendly look as he took Lisa's other hand and spoke to her less showily. "Would you do me the honour then of granting one more favour please, Lisa? One that will help me finish my act in the style these good people deserve, and one that will enable you to escape?"

"Well..."

"Please, Lisa, it would mean a lot to me."

"I..."

"Did you see the rest of my act?"

"Yeah, most of it."

"Rubbish, wasn't it?"

This raised a laugh from the audience and a smile from Lisa.

"Well," she started with a nod "it..."

"...needs a show-stopping finale – but I can't do it without you, Lisa; I need your help."

His face was an inch from hers, and his smooth, persistent words flowed like honey into her head.

"OK," Lisa said.

"Fantastic," the Magician smiled broadly at her, reassuringly, before releasing her right hand and addressing the audience loudly.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please give another big round of applause to our delightful volunteer, for her assistance with my final illusion tonight: Lisa's Escape!"

Before Lisa could react, the Magician turned and took a step towards the rear of the stage, making Lisa stumble after him. He grabbed the edge of a curtain mounted on a circular rail, pulled it into the centre of the stage, and whisked the curtain back to reveal a metal frame with a large card across it that read 'Lisa's Escape'.

"What? Wait – " Lisa tried to pull her hand free, but the Magician tightened his grip round her wrist and pulled her over to the frame.

"Lisa, you wanted to escape." he turned his head dramatically to look at her. "Do you think you can escape from this?"

Lisa stopped. She didn't know what to think. She felt shocked, confused, put upon; how on earth had her name got on the card? What was going to happen now? How was she going to escape, and what was she going to escape from? Was the Magician going to tell her how to do it? All this raced through her mind as she tried to take in the apparatus in front of her.

It was a vaguely X-shaped frame that clearly followed the sinuous lines of a curvy female body. It was constructed from contoured steel bars an inch wide: two ran up the outside of each spread-eagled leg, came in to a narrow waist, then widened gently as it ran up to the base of outstretched arms before splaying out horizontally to where Lisa assumed the wrists must go. Similar bars traced the top edge of each arm – running along to the shoulders and terminating at a collar – and up the inside of the legs; these ones didn't join at the groin though, stopping a few inches short. Joining all these bars were semi-circular metal bands that would support the rear of whoever was backed in to the frame.

Lisa's brain took all this in subconsciously; consciously she was trying to deal with the fact that the Magician had manoeuvred her over to the frame and was hoisting her left hand up in the air to gauge her size against it. He made a show of looking her up and down again.

"Nice heels, Lisa; how tall are you?"

"Er, five-five – no, five-nine in these heels..."

"Good, you should be pretty close then," he said. "Stand here, please."

He lined Lisa up with the frame and indicated where she should place her right foot.

"Lean back," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder and gently pushing her backwards.

Lisa felt her calf, thigh and buttock come to rest against the bars making up the back of the frame and, while she was regaining her balance, she felt the Magician place her right arm in the frame, and pull a leather strap over her wrist.

"Hey!" Lisa said, but the Magician ignored her. He pulled Lisa's left arm up and fastened another strap over it. As he did so, he leant his face close into Lisa's and murmured "Don't worry – you'll be fine. When I pull the curtain round we'll have swapped places."

Turning back to the audience he gestured at his two pieces of equipment. "There we are: a perfect fit! Now we'll just make it a bit more interesting for you, Lisa."

He pulled two wider bands, each maybe three inches wide, around Lisa's waist, bolting it on her left side, then two-inch leather straps across her body under her breasts and above them, and Lisa felt how tight she was now held in the frame. The Magician fastened two more straps over each of Lisa's arms, one over the upper arm, the other over the lower arm, and finally fastened the last metal band around her neck.

All this happened in a whirl, and Lisa hadn't been able to focus on any particular aspect of what had just happened to her; she'd still been trying to comprehend that the Magician had restrained her wrist – and what he'd said to her – when she realised that everything from her waist up was now fastened tightly into the figure-hugging contraption.

"Comfy?" asked the Magician, with fake innocence.

Lisa's mouth was hanging open, and she stared at him, bewildered.

"What – what about..." She swallowed and licked her lips again – and then couldn't believe what came out of her mouth next. "What about my legs?"

The Magician beamed at her.

"Well, I was trying to make it relatively easy for you, Lisa, but if you want to have your legs bound as well," he winked at the audience, "it will certainly make your escape more spectacular."

Lisa closed her eyes and tried to get a grip on her mind before it had any more insane ideas. As she did so she was vaguely aware of straps being fastened over the lower and upper ends of both shins. Then she felt a firm hand on her right thigh.

"Lisa, we've got a problem here – can you help me out?"

Lisa opened her eyes and looked down at the Magician who was on one knee in front of her. He pointed at something between her legs.

"Hi, it's your skirt, Lisa. It's very nice, but it's, er – in the way."

Lisa had managed to compose herself while she'd had her eyes closed, and something like clarity – and normal breathing – had returned. 'What am I going to do?' she thought. 'Do I kick and scream and demand to be released, or do I go along with it and trust this smug twit?' She chose Plan B; people were reasonable, weren't they?

"What do you mean?"

"We can't strap your legs in," he said. With both Lisa's lower legs bound to the frame, her high heels were about a yard apart, and her sky blue skirt was stretched tight across the gap between her knees and thighs, accentuating the curves of the latter, but obscuring the parts of the frame that marked out the inside of her legs. "I can't fasten these last few straps over you because your skirt's in the way of the frame."

"I don't need those," Lisa said, trying to smile. "I think I've got enough straps for now."

This raised a giggle from the audience.

"But it'll work so much better if we do it properly, Lisa.Pleasecan I just fasten these last few straps around you; don't worry – I'll make sure you're safe," he smiled.

"How can you if you my skirt's in the way?"

"We'll just have to move your skirt very slightly, so it's out of the way." He looked up at her imploringly. "Please?"

'The quicker we get this started, the quicker it'll be over,' she thought.

"Well, if it's just a little bit..." she said.

"Thanks, Lisa!" the Magician interrupted, before getting hold of the hem of Lisa's skirt and carefully, but deliberately, lifting her skirt and ruching it all the way up to her waist.

"Hey!" Lisa shouted, and attempted to move herself away from the Magician and his hands. But she couldn't – she was almost completely restrained by the Magician's metal frame. She tried to wriggle her thighs as hard as she could, and she managed to bounce her butt backwards and forwards as it was still relatively free, but to no avail. Her fists opened and closed ineffectively, and she decided to resort to Plan A as she felt the first strap pulled tight just above her right knee.

"Hey! Let go of me! Get me out of here, you bastard! Help! What -? Get off me, you per-mmmmph! MMMPH!!"