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The Magic Show by Jordan Holder The conference I'd been attending at the convention center was over, giving me a free evening in Vegas before my plane left the next morning. I'd already decided when planning the trip that there was no point in flying back on the red-eye, which would ruin the day anyway. So I was looking for something to do. Losing money at the casino tables or in the slot machines held no particular attraction for me, but there were plenty of shows at the hotels on the Strip or downtown. Since I was already at the former, I wandered up and down the boulevard looking at the playbills. Wayne Newton was performing, of course, and there were the usual complement of Elvis impersonators, lounge singers, and bands no one had ever heard of. Knights at Excalibur and acrobats at Circus Circus. Pretty much plastic and cardboard. Just off the main drag, I saw a group of more old-fashioned, somewhat garish-looking posters. "Zendo the Magnificent!" read one. "Illusions, Prestidigitation, and Wonders to Confound All!" I'd seen Siegfried and Roy's white tigers on an earlier trip, but I'd never heard of Zendo. I'd always had an interest in magic, and I liked trying to figure out how the tricks were done, so this looked like an opportunity to see something new. Dinner and the show was $43, a bit more than my company's per diem allowed, but various hospitality suites had allowed me to be frugal earlier in the week, as had the buffets at the casinos, which were always a good deal. As it was a Thursday night, tickets were available. I handed over my credit card, signed the slip, and went in. It was the usual Vegas small showroom, bigger than a cocktail lounge, but not so vast as the auditorium-style main stages for the headliner shows. Gaudily -- almost garishly -- decorated, with tables on the floor in front of a stage raised a few inches, and tables farther back on a series of higher decks. As a single, I'd gotten a small table on the main floor, relatively near the stage, off to the left. I figured I'd have a good view of the show from there, and might be able to see a few things that the main audience area would miss. Dinner wasn't too bad. A decent steak and baked potato, preceded by a salad. Even a small glass of red wine. Mediocre rolls. Dessert at an extra charge. Service was perfunctory, but really nothing to complain about. A three-man combo of sax, clarinet, and keyboard had been playing typical Vegas lounge music during the food service; they cleared off just as the glass of sherbet I'd ordered for dessert appeared. A canned trumpet fanfare heralded the appearance of Zendo "and his beautiful assistants," according to the (also canned) announcement. It was pretty clearly pre-recorded, because Zendo had only one assistant that I could see. Maybe another one would appear later. Zendo was dressed in a tuxedo, which had once been the standard for magicians, but which many had discarded in the informality of the late 20th and early 21st centuries. He was fairly tall, and made taller by the magician's top hat from which so many rabbits had come in the past. I hoped he wouldn't do so hackneyed a trick as that. His assistant was wearing just about as little as she could get away with in a show before midnight; Vegas was bringing back nudity in the past couple of years in a "golden era" nostalgia kick. But in Peoria, she'd have been performing for the deputy sheriffs before long. She was blonde, very busty, rather short (instead of being tall as most Vegas showgirls were -- magicians' assistants were from a different group), and had a permanent smile. The act was standard lounge magic, which meant a certain amount of comedy mixed in with the tricks. Not quite as much as Carl Ballantine had done in his act in the 1960s -- one trick and twenty minutes of jokes -- but a lot more than Houdini ever did. Penn and Teller were clearly the standard today. Most of the tricks were pretty much like ones I'd seen before. Now and then, though, one would really baffle me. The bit where Zendo's hat kept blowing off while trying to do a card trick, until his assistant pounded a railroad spike through it -- going in one side of his head and out the other, just the way you could see a nail going through a board -- seemed utterly impossible. Especially when he pulled out the spike at the end and showed his totally undamaged hat. A few conventional silk tricks followed, which were easy to understand. Then a levitation gimmick with his assistant in a box floating out over the audience! I was really close to it as it went by overhead at one point and couldn't see any strings, wires, supports, or anything. Amazing! Even more so, when the coffin-like box stood up vertically, so we couldn't see the assistant's head peeking out -- and then crashed to the middle of the floor, empty. Whereupon the assistant (more canned trumpet fanfares along with drum riffs) stepped out from behind a curtain on stage. I was really fascinated by that and was racking my brain to think how it could be done, so I missed a bit of the next razzle-dazzle on stage. I came back to focus just as Zendo was saying, "And now for my final illusion! As you heard from the introduction, I normally have two assistants. But one has abruptly left the show. Since two are needed, I will ask for a volunteer from the audience." Well! I certainly wanted a closer look at some of that apparatus which must have been incredibly ingenious to pull off the illusions we'd already seen. So I immediately stood up. "Yes, sir?" Zendo said. "Do you agree to volunteer to replace my assistant?" I thought I saw his assistant shaking her head at me, but I couldn't imagine why; anyway, she was still smiling, so maybe she was just trying to adjust her hair. "I do indeed," I said. Apparently I was the only volunteer in the audience; maybe the others had been to hypnotist shows and didn't want to spend the plane flight home talking like Daffy Duck. "Very well. Just step over here, onto this platform." It was about a foot off the ground and supported by three very slender legs. I stepped up onto it. It wasn't very large, but there was room to stand. "Keep your hands at your sides, sir," Zendo said, as he lowered an opaque cylinder down around me. The top was open, so I could breathe easily and still hear what was being said. "Now, I'll ask my lovely assistant to stand on this other platform," I heard Zendo go on. "I'm sure you notice that she is _not_ wearing tennis shoes, chinos, and a sport shirt," he said, describing my outfit. Of course not; like the typical "lovely assistant," she was, as mentioned, wearing as little as possible, and most of that covered by sequins in bright colors. "Just keep that in mind," he said, "as I hide her from view -- sorry to disappoint so many gentlemen in the audience ?- with this second cylinder like that which already holds my volunteer from the audience." I heard a few vague sounds from across the stage. Usually, I thought, some part of the trick would already be underway. While the audience was watching the "lovely assistant," some mechanism would be moving me...somewhere. But nothing happened. "Drum roll, please!" Zendo declaimed. The man in the sound booth obliged with the necessary tape. Then there was a cymbal crash -- and I felt myself sliding down a tunnel in the dark. There'd been plenty of light from the stage illumination even inside the top-open cylinder, and the transition was instantaneous -- no feeling of a trap door opening under my feet. I couldn't figure out how that was done either, and I'd been right there. It was a short slide, and I popped out of an opening into what appeared to be a combination living room and workroom, landing gently on a pile of rags. The first thing I noticed was that I was wearing only my shorts. Nobody was around, so I didn't feel too embarrassed, but I was mystified, as I had no idea how my clothes had been removed so abruptly. I'd heard of magicians with skills as pickpockets being able to remove everything a man had in his pockets without him noticing, but a pullover undershirt seemed again, impossible. One magician I'd heard of supposedly could remove a woman's bra without her being aware of it, but I just plain didn't believe that. And Zendo hadn't even been near me between the time I went into the cylinder fully dressed and when I emerged from the chute nearly naked. "Hello?" I called out. There was no answer. I walked over to the door and tried it, but it wouldn't open. I didn't see a lock on that side, which was strange, but I assumed that a magician -- it had to be his room -- would have his own subtle ways of keeping things secure that he didn't want opened. There were a couple of chairs, a desk, a lamp or two, and a lot of trunks. Also a couple of worktables with various pieces of equipment spread on them. One other door, also locked, and no windows, telling me the room must be in the basement. I just stood around for a couple of minutes, since there was nothing else to do. Then the door flew open, and Zendo strode in, flushed and sweaty from his forty-five minutes under the hot lights on stage. "Ah, there you are! I hope you didn't mind waiting." "Well, not too much. But where are my clothes?" "My assistant has them on -- that's the trick. Your cylinder falls over, showing it's empty, and then I lift hers up... and she is wearing your clothes." "That's pretty remarkable. I didn't even feel you getting them off... nor the trap door opening. How'd you do that?" "Tut tut tut, my boy. Magician's code, y'know." "Well, OK. But can I have my clothes back? I have to catch an early plane tomorrow." "Oh, don't worry about that. Nothing to concern you. My assistant has a few clean-up chores upstairs first." While he was speaking, he had begun rummaging in a huge trunk across the room. Then he turned around suddenly, saying "Here -- catch!" as he threw two large pinkish balloons or beach balls at me. "Whoops!" I said, and nearly stumbled over backward. But I managed to catch them both, one in each arm. "What am I supposed to do with these?" "Just hold them for a minute." He began wheeling some kind of large wooden frame with a drape or dropcloth over it across the room, stopping when it was across from me. "Look, I was serious about that plane tomorrow. And I can't leave here in just my shorts. Can't you do this with your assistant when she gets down here with my clothes?" I was beginning to feel silly holding the balls or balloons or whatever they were and had no idea of what the point of that was. "Just a couple of minutes and we'll be all set." He was searching through some drawers in a dresser as he said that. "Couldn't do this on a Friday or Saturday," he mumbled, "the second show would be on too soon." "Do what?" I asked. "What are you talking about?" "Oh, you'll see." I was still holding the balloons in front of me, but they didn't appear so balloon-like any more. When I'd caught them, they certainly had seemed to be filled with air, as balloons usually are (if not helium), but now they seemed to be getting heavy. And strangely warm. "Hey, can I put these down, now?" Zendo looked at his watch. "No." Now I was getting angry. "What do you mean, 'no?!'" I said sharply, my voice rising a couple of octaves. "What's to stop me from letting go of them?" "Oh, nothing. I didn't say you couldn't let go. I said that you couldn't put them down." "Don't be preposterous," I said. What on earth was wrong with my voice? It was still stuck at that same high pitch. I tried clearing my throat. "Hmm-hmmm. How can I let go but not put them down?" No change in my voice, which was still way above my usual baritone. "Go ahead and find out," he said. So I let go, which I was glad to do; they seemed really heavy now. I felt a huge yank on my chest after I dropped my hands, after which the balloons or balls ended up just about where they had been, gently bobbing up and down for a few moments. "How'd you glue these things to my chest?" I demanded, as I tried to pry them loose. It didn't take long to discover that that HURT. Stranger still, I could feel my hands groping over them, as I tried to remove them... as if they were part of my body. "Those 'things' aren't glued to your chest, they _are_ your chest," he said. "What have you done to me?" I shrilled, still unable to get my voice back down from soprano. "How am I going to get on a plane tomorrow morning with these things attached? There isn't enough room in a coach row for them!" They were so heavy now that my back was beginning to feel the strain, so I crossed my arms underneath to support them. There probably wouldn't have been room for them in first class, either; they stuck out well over a foot in front of me. "I don't think you'll be catching that plane after all," Zendo said. "Why not?" Besides not fitting into airplane seating, that is. "What name are you going to give them for your reservation?" This time he gave a sinister little smile with the question. "Well, my own name, of course. What a stupid question!" For some reason, I felt like sticking my tongue out at him, something I hadn't done since I was a child. "And that name would be?" He smiled again. "Why...it's...it's..." I stopped. What _was_ my name?!? How could I forget something like that? "Well?" "I can't seem to remember my name. What have you done to me?" I asked for the second time. "Oh, I think you already know _that_. You just haven't come to grips with it yet. But we'll have to give you a new name, if you can't remember yours. How does 'Bubbles' sound?" "It sounds like a good name for a bimbo," I snapped. "Absolutely! I'm glad you agree!" He snapped his fingers, and I felt a moment of disorientation or vertigo. "So what's your name?" I heard my (soprano) voice respond immediately, "Bubbles," before I could stop myself. "What do you mean about my agreeing? And coming to grips with _what_?" "Just look over here, Bubbles." I couldn't help responding to the name, stupid as it seemed, and turned to see him whip the drape or dropcloth off the wooden frame. It was a life-size picture of a nude woman, blonde, blue-eyed, with a pretty but vacant face, holding up two of the most enormous breasts I could have imagined. A bimbo, as he (or I) had said. No, not quite nude; around her ankles were bunched... were those a pair of men's shorts? I started to say something, and her lips moved. It was, of course, a mirror. "How... what..." I started to have trouble catching my breath, and the room began to spin and tilt. At that moment, his assistant came through the door, still wearing the clothes I'd had on when I went to the show. She saw my knees beginning to wobble, and quickly slid a chair behind me. I sat down heavily, feeling those enormous breasts bounce several times before coming to rest on my thighs. I breathed deeply several times, although there was no way possible I could have put my head between my knees to overcome the feeling I was about to faint. "Andie, this is Bubbles." Zendo made the introduction. Numbly, I stuck out my hand. She finished wiping cold cream and makeup off her face. "Must be kind of a shock," she said, returning the handshake. I nodded my head. "Glad I don't have those," she continued, gesturing with her chin at my enormous chest, which I could no longer think of as beach balls or balloons, knowing what they really were. During the show, it had been hard to keep my eyes off her nearly naked breasts at times, as she bounced around the stage. Now, they didn't hold my attention at all; not a trace of my male libido remained -- or maybe I was in too much shock to think about sex. And next to me, her 44s looked puny. "Those have gotta be heavy," she went on. "Andie, you don't know," I said. With them resting on my legs, the stress was off my back, but I was beginning to feel my legs falling asleep from the pressure. "But they're just perfect," Zendo interjected. "I wasn't sure these would come out as nicely as this." He bent down and reached over, and then I felt him grab my right nipple. I'd never felt a sensation like that before. I couldn't see directly, over the mass of the huge breast, but in the mirror, the nipple was roughly the size of his thumb, and so was the other one. He twisted it, and a shock wave ran from it through my body, ending at my crotch. "Hey!" I said. "Don't do that!" Zendo's eyes narrowed. "Are you telling _me_ what to do, Bubbles?" he said in a low, tense voice, straightening up. Andie quickly spoke up. "I'm sure she didn't mean to. Bubbles," she said to me, "it's not really a good idea to talk back to Zendo." She seemed genuinely anxious. But what more could happen to me after this? "Good advice, Bubbles," he said. "Remember it." He turned away. A sudden feeling of nakedness and vulnerability came over me, and I tried to cover myself. My nipples were just barely within reach around the huge breasts. I felt them, firm but flexible against my palms. It was very strange. Even more the feelings that came from my palms rubbing against them. I tried to hold things steady. I took a couple more deep breaths. "How did you do this to me? And why?" Zendo said, simply, "Magic. All of the top rank performing magicians have to do real magic to keep our audiences. We mix in mechanical tricks and sleight-of-hand illusions so that no one realizes what we're doing is real magic. But we've made the... necessary accommodations, shall I say, to obtain our powers. "As for why -- well, I told you that my other assistant had left the act rather abruptly. You volunteered to replace her. That gave me complete power over you." "I volunteered for _one trick_," I said. "Oh, really?" He gave another one of those half-smiles. "Is that what I asked for? Is that what you said? Didn't I ask you 'Do you agree to volunteer to replace my assistant?' And you agreed. So that's that. You are now my second assistant." He went back to looking for something in one of the trunks. "But I don't know anything about being a magician's assistant. I'm an... a..." I stopped. I not only couldn't remember my real name, but I couldn't remember what I had done for a living. I tried to remember where I lived, but that was gone, too. I could remember all kinds of general facts, and certainly that I had been male until just a few minutes ago, but anything else personal was missing. I felt somehow empty. "There's nothing to the job. All you have to do is follow instructions. The primary purpose of a magician's assistant is to distract the audience. I think you'll do very nicely. With your hooters on stage with me, I think I could stuff an entire roast turkey up my sleeve, piece by piece over ten minutes, and no one would notice. Andie will show you the basics." He turned around from the trunk with something in his hands and tossed them to me. Having already caught something he threw at me with disastrous consequences, I let them fall to the carpet in front of me. Anyway, I wasn't sure I could catch anything reliably with my new body. "It's just your costume," he said, condescendingly. I leaned forward to pick up the small heap of things -- and nearly fell over on my face. I staggered forward and grabbed at a coffee table. "Let me help you," Andie offered. She helped me to my feet, while Zendo watched with an air of amusement. Then she picked up the 'costume', which pile consisted mostly of a pair of red stiletto- heeled shoes and some scraps of fabric. "Let's put on the shoes last," she said; "I'm not sure how you'll manage in them yet." Then she held out one of the pieces of fabric. It seemed to be mostly elastic and sequins, with some fake jewels. I couldn't quite see how it was worn. "What do I do with this?" "It's a g-string, silly," Andie said. "Here, hold on to the back of the chair so you don't fall over forward again," she said, turning it around. "Put your leg through here... that's right. Now the other one." I felt the elastic around my waist. "Gee," she said, "that's almost slack. That tiny waist makes your boobies look even bigger." "Thanks a lot," I said. I was still in front of the mirror although facing the other way. I looked over my shoulder and saw that the g- string covered absolutely nothing in back. I'd sort of known that, but it was still a shock to see it. "You mean I have to go around with my butt naked?" "'Fraid so," Andie said. "Me too. Vegas is going back to nudity. You'll get used to it. Or at least learn to live with it." "I don't think so." Andie made little shushing motions. "Well," Zendo said, "it doesn't matter, because you're going to have to do it anyway." "What if I refuse?" Andie gave a little shudder as Zendo walked over and said, "How would you like to find out _right now_?" and raised his wand, his eyes burning into me. "Uh... maybe not," I said, and swallowed. He looked very dangerous at that moment. "I think you should know why you are my new assistant. Your predecessor liked to talk back to me. Now I don't think she talks back to anyone." He paused. I knew I was supposed to ask. "Why's that?" "She now works for one of those legal brothels just outside the Vegas city limits. She's very popular, but no one knows whether she likes it or not -- not only she doesn't talk back, she doesn't talk at all. Because she can't talk with a guy's dick in her mouth, and I made sure that's how she spends every waking minute of every day. Does that make the situation absolutely clear to you?" I swallowed convulsively. "Yeah, yeah." How much power did this guy have? I looked down at my mammoth breasts and decided that he had more than enough, all right. "All right then. Andie, finish showing her what's what. Be sure she won't screw up too badly at tomorrow's shows. I'm tired." He walked straight toward a blank wall. As he reached out toward it, a door appeared. He twisted the knob, walked through into what looked to be a bedroom and office, from what I could see, and then the door closed behind him. And disappeared, leaving again a blank wall. "Come on," she said, "let's get this on." She had me let go of my breasts, which I'd been holding up again with my arms, and slipped me into the tiny halter top. I couldn't believe he'd had one that would fit my massive size, but that was probably managed by magic, too. With it on, my giant nipples were covered, but by no means concealed, especially in profile, as I could see in the mirror. The cords holding those bits of fabric in place provided no support and little control, and I could feel the huge weight straining my back again. I crossed my arms beneath my chest for support once more. "Bubbles, you're going to have to let go of your boobies during the act. You'd better start practicing to walk without holding them. And while wearing these." She'd picked up the high-heeled shoes as she spoke. "Come on, put them on." She set them down somewhere in front of me. Although I had no hopes of seeing them directly, of course, I realized I could see them in the mirror and gingerly stepped into them. Standing nearly on tiptoe, I felt strange muscle sensations up and down my legs. "Wow! Those do great things for your butt," she said. "I bet he could stuff _two_ turkeys up his sleeves -- whole! -- if you were walking across the stage at the time." "You're not making me feel any better," I said. "Two hours ago, I was a guy on a business trip. I don't want to be an animated sex fantasy, however good at it." "You heard what happened to Bambi, your predecessor." She shuddered. "He can do really terrible things to you if he wants to. Believe me, I know. And you know he won't have much trouble tricking someone into being a volunteer to take on the job if he decides to replace you. Come on, you need to practice walking without falling off your heels, or out of your top. At least for the early shows; that may be the exact idea after midnight." Walking was something I'd taken for granted since before I could remember, and now I almost had to learn to do it all over again from scratch. At first, I had to hold onto her arm constantly, and my ankles were turning out almost every other step. And I couldn't just concentrate on walking either; having the g-string up my butt would have been distraction enough, but that was nothing compared to the bouncing and swaying coming from in front of me. We walked back and forth for at least half an hour, until I could first walk alone, and then manage to do so without holding my arms way out for balance. I found I had to keep my back arched to put the center of gravity of my huge chest over where my feet were going, and that stuck my chest out even more. But I still kept stumbling every couple of minutes, and I needed help getting to my feet each time. "You're going to have to get less clumsy by tomorrow night," she said after my latest fall, "or he's going to be merciless. There's nothing he likes better than humiliating one of us -- and you'll keep smiling when he does, kid. If you don't want to be billed as 'Bubbles the Klutz,' you'd better be 100% steady on your feet in no time. Or do you enjoy being made fun of?" "Look, my back is killing me, and my legs aren't much better. How long have we been doing this? What time is it anyway?" "Two fifteen AM," she said. "Good grief! I was planning to turn in by 11, so I could catch an 8:00 plane back. No wonder I'm tired. I never stay up this late." "You'd better get used to that, too. Las Vegas shows go on as late as 4 AM. Zendo was talking about a topless after-midnight show at one time, and I'm sure that's what he had in mind when he gave you those great big boobies. Even if it's a 1 AM show and not later, you can expect to still be on stage at this hour if he does." "I'll never manage that," I said. "Sure you will. For one thing, you don't have to get up until late morning -- almost noon. That's plenty of sleep. These rooms have no windows, just like the casinos, so what the sun's doing doesn't matter." "Well, I can adjust later. Right now, all I want to do is sleep." "OK, our bedroom is over here." She walked toward the other locked door, the one that she and Zendo had not come through from the corridor. It wasn't locked for her, though. I looked at it quizzically, and she said, "Oh, I'm sure it will open for you now that you are one of the cast." I followed her through the door. It was a small standard hotel bedroom, equipped with a bathroom, a closet (empty), and a bureau littered with stage makeup items. A desk with a chair -- but no phone. And one easy chair. I noticed that there was only one queen-sized bed. She followed my glance. "Yeah, he expects us to share. Anyway, I'm going to take a shower. The usual deal is whoever goes first in the bath takes a shower; the second one gets to take a nice long bath. Although if you are that tired, I suggest you clean up fast. We alternate who goes first each day. Oh, yeah: It's best to be here when the maid comes by, since she can't open the door; if we miss her, we have to clean the room." She disappeared into the bath. I checked out the bureau drawers. One side held a number of blue g- string and halter pairs; Andie had been wearing blue, I'd noticed. The other side was a similar assemblage in red, which matched what I was wearing. The red halters were also considerably larger, making the point clear. I supposed they'd been supplied by magical means. The bottom drawers of the bureau held shoes -- red on my side, blue on hers. All with five- or six-inch heels. I walked over to the desk and sat down heavily in the chair, resting my breasts on the small desk. They reached all the way across it to the wall and nearly covered it side to side. It was a tremendous relief to have that weight supported by something other than me. The water was still running in the bathroom, so I had a few moments to think. What was I going to do? There were just too many problems. Sure, when I didn't come back from... from... from my meeting, whatever it was, there would be a missing-persons inquiry in... in... in some city or other, but I hadn't the slightest idea of where that was. How could I respond to a search if I didn't know whom they were looking for or who was doing the looking. "Hey, officer. If someone is looking for a guy who's missing -- no, I don't know what his name is, where he's from, what he looks like, or what he was doing here -- actually, that guy is me, the nearly naked showgirl with the huge breasts you keep drooling on." Right this way, miss, the truck to the loony bin is over here... No, that probably wouldn't work, not unless the X Files were real and they were investigating me in particular. Getting transformed back to a man and having my memories returned didn't seem like a good prospect. Zendo hadn't gone to this trouble to have everything go back to the way it was before. If I had to rely on him to set things right, I was going to be wearing six-inch spike heels forever. What about some other magician? That didn't sound promising. Zendo had not come right out and said so, but his phrase about 'necessary accommodations' to obtain his powers, as for other top-level magicians, implied nothing so much as a deal with the Devil. If the only magicians who could reverse the spell were likewise in league with evil, the likelihood was that asking one of them for help would be out of the frying pan -- and right into the skillet. What did that leave? Trying to find a way to undo the spell myself? How could I do that? Did Zendo have any books on magic around that might give a hint? Or if that wasn't possible, was there a way to get away from Zendo and what promised to be virtual slavery, without him being able to wreak some magical revenge? I was so tired, I couldn't think any further. I hadn't noticed that the water had stopped. "Well? I thought you were beat," Andie said. I stood up from the chair and then heaved my breasts off the desk. Andie just watched the spectacle. I started to take off the g-string and halter and then stopped. Undressing in front of a girl I'd just met? I was still thinking like a man some of the time, no matter how much the huge globes in front of me kept reminding me I wasn't. I considered that we'd be sharing a bed in another few minutes and ditched the costume in a corner, once I'd gotten it off; my boobs weren't the only thing big and curved -- so were my new fingernails, and I found it hard to get hold of the strings of the outfit. "We can do the wash tomorrow," Andie said. "Takes about one minute. The only good thing about having such a limited wardrobe. Damn! I sure miss shopping. I remember when I could spend all afternoon in a shoe store..." I left her to reminisce -- buying shoes meant nothing to me, although I suddenly had a stray thought about how it would be nice to have more of a sandal with a nice strap instead of the plain red pumps -- and stepped into the tub for my shower. It was a different experience. Just about every square inch of my body between my neck and my knees proved to be exquisitely sensitive, not just my nipples, which I'd learned about earlier. By the time I was finished scrubbing myself, which again required care to avoid scratching myself with my long nails, I felt almost uncontrollably aroused. I reached down to my crotch to do something about it and grasped -- nothing. I hadn't until that minute really confronted what had happened to me. Too much confusion, too many people telling me things, and not even the huge weight of my chest bobbing in front of me constantly had had sufficient impact amid the chaos. Now, it hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks, and I started to cry. I must have stood there under the shower, sobbing like a child, for ten or fifteen minutes, until finally I was all cried out. I took a few deep breaths, tried to regain my composure, turned off the water, and reached for a towel. I thought I was OK by the time I'd dried off -- all that long hair took awhile, but my eyes must have still been very red. When I walked back into the bedroom, the first thing Andie said was, "You've been crying, haven't you?" "Uh-huh," I nodded. She put her arms around me. "That's OK. Us girls are allowed to cry." "Dammit," I said, "I'm not a girl." "Well, you could fool me. Or anyone. You're about as girly looking as anyone can get." I gave her an angry look. "OK, I'm sorry. It's got to be a shock. I can't imagine how I'd feel if I woke up with a twelve- inch dick and no boobies. But the fact is that it's done and there's nothing you can do to change it. Let's go to bed; maybe you'll feel better in the morning." Even bed was a challenge. Sleeping prone, as I usually had done, was obviously impossible. I tried lying on my back, but it was too hard to breathe with the huge weight of my breasts on my rib cage; I'd thought they'd slip to the sides, but they were just too big and firm. Finally, I got somewhat comfortable lying on my left side. Andie turned out the lights and slid in facing me. "Wow," she said. "It sure is crowded in here with the four of us." "Hey, knock off the crude remarks about my body, OK?" "Sorry. But you'd better get used to it. Every man you run into is going to babble stupid remarks about your boobies. You'll probably hear nasty remarks from women, too. My boobies aren't anything like yours, but they're big enough, and to most men, the rest of my body doesn't exist. Well, except for my pussy, of course, and maybe my ass. You can expect men to have most of their conversations with your boobies from now on." "What about Zendo? He didn't seem that interested after making sure that the spell had worked to his satisfaction. Does he ever... well, you know..." "No, he doesn't make us sleep with him. I think part of the deal for his powers is that he has to have sex only with some kind of demon. Succubus? Is that the word?" "I guess so." How could I remember obscure words like that and nothing about my actual life? Powerful magic, indeed. "What about other guys?" "Zendo keeps us on a pretty tight leash, to make sure we won't spill the beans about his act. Bambi once complained she couldn't get away for a quickie, even, in most of a year; I guess she doesn't have _that_ problem any more... Let's just say that it's one thing that doesn't bother me at the moment; I've seen the alternative." That sounded like an end to the topic. I didn't have anything else to say to her, so I tried to fall asleep. There was too much running through my mind to make it easy to drift off. Who was I? Or rather who had I been? Did I have a family somewhere? Was Andie right, and there was no chance of escape from Zendo? Or could I figure a way out of this? I tried to think of things I knew that might help me. Oddly, I could remember taking calculus in college, but I had no idea of what that college had been. I went over some of the basics for a minute -- at least _that_ was still in my memory, and I could remember the methods, too. I might look like a dim-witted blonde bimbo, but at least the dim-witted part was limited to the vapid expression I seemed to be stuck with. The thought occurred to me that I still had something to lose if Zendo became angry... My racing thoughts were interrupted as Andie snuggled closer and moved her head from her pillow to up against my breasts, which she also began caressing. "What do you think you're doing?" I said. "Mmmmm... they're so big and round," she murmured. "Hey!" I was going to say 'stop', but what she was doing actually felt good -- really good -- and I didn't want her to stop. Not at all. "I'm sorry, but... well... it's really strange. I never could understand why men were so fascinated by my 36 double-Fs. I mean, boobs were just boobs. All us girls had them. Mostly big ones, here in Vegas. But I've never seen any as huge as these. And they're so firm..." She stopped talking and began sucking on one while continuing to tweak the other. I'd been turned on in the shower, and it was mere moments before she had me heated up again. I reached down between my legs, no longer shocked by the configuration there, and in moments, thanks to Andie's continued attentions, had my first orgasm as a woman. And then a second and a third. It felt so good, I thought I should return the favor and reached over to Andie's legs. "Hey, wait a minute," she said. But I decided I was going to be in charge for once this evening. Before long, she had no more objections. Andie proved to be something of a screamer; I hoped that the room was soundproofed. When she finally caught her breath, she said, "Wow. You're good! Especially for someone who's been a woman for only about four hours. I don't usually do lezzie stuff, but I think the four of us are going to have lots of fun when we're not on stage." I wasn't sure what to reply, so I just said, "I'm beat. We can talk tomorrow." I tried to roll over and look away from her, but moving my chest around was just too hard. So I closed my eyes. Besides all the other stuff I'd been thinking about when we'd first turned off the light, now I was puzzling over whether having sex with her was normal because I was really a man, or lesbian because I was physically a woman. The late hour and the physical exertion didn't leave me much time to dither before sleep claimed me. * * * "Come on, wake up, Bubbles. It's almost noon." Andie was shaking me. And that meant a _lot_ of shaking on my part. Waking up in bed with a woman who looked like Andie would once have been a very pleasant dream, but the considerable undulations of my chest as she tried to get me up left me with no doubt that what had happened last night was not a dream. A metaphoric nightmare, perhaps. "We gotta get up if we don't wanna miss lunch." At the mention of the word, I realized that I was indeed hungry. It had been a long time since the dinner with the show last night. My original plans had included breakfast before the plane, but that would have been before 7 am. Now -- I looked at the clock -- it was more than four hours later. "When's lunch?" "11:15 to 1:15. Employee cafeteria doesn't keep the unlimited schedule of the restaurants for the guests, although it does serve around midnight for the later shifts. Get dressed, and I'll help you with your makeup." Before taking out my costume, I headed for the bathroom. I found myself standing in front of the toilet but caught myself before a disaster occurred, turned around and sat down. You'd have thought the gigantic titties sticking out in front of me would have reminded me, but old habits die hard. It would be a couple of weeks before I'd stop making that mistake (almost) or catching myself looking for the men's room. The halters and g-strings were all pretty much the same, but I tried to find two that fully matched. Getting into them was no easier than last night. I finally laid down on the bed to slip into the g-string without having to bend over and perhaps lose my balance. But I needed help from Andie with the halter. I needed some help with the shoes, too, since I couldn't see my feet at all from any useful angle, and the mirror in the room didn't go quite far enough down. Andie opened a box on the dresser that I had ignored earlier, one of two almost identical cases. It proved to contain all the usual cosmetics -- lipstick, eyeshadow, blusher, mascara, and the like. "Yours are different from mine," she observed, opening the other box -- hers, of course -- and showing me the differences in colors. "Hmmm. A little of this blue eyeshadow... some lipstick to match your outfit... a bit of blush here and here... no -- not that lipstick. That's for shows only...." It took her about five minutes. "I'll show you what to do the first couple of times, then it'll be up to you. Don't worry, you'll catch on." I wasn't so sure. I looked in the mirror and thought my face looked kind of garish. Not just because I'd never worn makeup before, but even compared to women I could remember. "Isn't that maybe too much?" I said to her. "Sorry, honey, but the stage lights make it necessary. Everyone looks like a hooker -- well, us girls, anyway -- in regular light. You'll see. Anyway, I'm not sure anyone's going to notice your face." She reached down and gave my breasts a bounce. "Whoo. Those things are just about irresistible." She did it again. "Hey, knock it off. I'm hungry, and I thought we were going to lunch." Going out in public began to seem really worrisome; if a girl with her own double-Fs couldn't keep her hands off of my titties -- damn! where had that word come from? -- my _breasts_, what were men going to be doing to me? She was already at the door. "You coming?" I followed her into the corridor. What was called 'back of the house' in the hotel business was usually bustling from early morning to midnight; for a hotel-casino in Las Vegas, there was no slack time at all. There were plenty of people coming and going at noon, for sure. I didn't get ten feet from the door to our suite before disrupting the traffic. Two guys staring at my titties walked right into each other, tripping up someone else when they collided. "Ignore them," Andie said, and grabbed my arm to pull me from the scene. There were a couple more incidents before we got to the cafeteria. The place was crowded and noisy, but not so noisy that I couldn't hear a few comments from tables near the entrance, especially the guy who didn't even try to keep his voice down when he nudged his buddy and said, "Holy cow! And I do mean _cow_! Have you ever seen tits that big?" And this was Vegas, with more augmented titties per square foot than anywhere but maybe Hollywood. I was going to stop, but Andie pulled me along. "You think it's a good idea to get even _more_ attention? Don't even talk to them. You'd better get used to this. Although I gotta say it's different for me not to be the one getting the wise cracks." We'd reached the start of the line, and she handed me a cafeteria tray. I put the tray down on the rails in front of the food cases and realized I couldn't see it at all. This was going to be a challenge. When I stood back far enough to see the tray -- and also avoid knocking over whatever was on it, I couldn't reach the food in the cases. Andie was already well ahead of me, picking out her lunch, and hadn't noticed my dilemma. I finally figured out that if I turned sideways, I could manage to get at the various food items one-handed and put them onto my tray. I had to do it left-handed, though, which wasn't too easy. I selected a small salad and some fruit from the cold display and got a small bowl of soup from the steam table. I'd been feeling hungry, but I didn't seem to want much more than that. Hadn't I been a hearty eater as a man? It was something else I couldn't really remember anymore. Andie was waiting for me at the end of the line. There was no cashier. "They know who works here. Neither of us looks like a tourist, y'know." I had been wondering about that; there was no place in my costume for pockets, and there wasn't a sign of a purse or handbag in our room for either of us. No money, no identity cards, nothing. I followed her to a table she picked out at one side of the large room, behind a pillar where there wouldn't be quite so much ogling. I put down my tray, pulled out a chair, and sat down, finding myself too far from the table to make eating practical. "Geeze," I said, "my titties are really in the way." Why couldn't I stop saying and thinking that word? It sounded really vulgar, as well as juvenile. I mean, they were my... my... what? I knew it began with 'b'. Boobs? Boobies? Bazongas? No, those were just as bad. Zendo had really messed with my mind. Andie was saying something I'd missed. "...on top of the table. Maybe you could kind of lean over and put your boobies below the table." I decided to try that; the sideways trick I'd used in the cafeteria line wouldn't work for eating. It didn't work too well, though: It felt uncomfortable, I spilled on myself more than once, and I nearly overturned the table with my titties when I tried to sit up like a normal person after finishing the soup. And that was in addition to trying to handle silverware with my fingernails. Andie caught the table just in time. I felt as if every one of the scores of pairs of eyes in the cafeteria was looking right at me. "This must be really hard on you," Andie said, after I'd gingerly extracted myself from the table and sat back in my chair. "Zendo likes to humiliate his assistants, but I don't think he's ever turned a man into one of them before. And he didn't do anything to my body -- at least at first -- I was already like this, at least as far as I recall." "As far as you recall? You mean you don't remember things either? Is that why you haven't walked out on him?" "Yeah. 'Andie' isn't really my name. I have no idea what is. I can sort of recall being a show dancer here before answering an ad for a magician's assistant, but not much else, like my last name, or where I came here from. I think Zendo had just seen "Groundhog Day" or some other movie with that actress Andie MacDowell and picked the name out of it; my real name was probably something boring like 'Mary'. As for why I haven't walked out on Zendo -- well, you haven't been listening to me, have you? Since last night, I've been trying to tell you that he has ways of dealing with girls who cross him. You want to end up like Bambi?" I shuddered. "No. But there must be some way out of this, something you haven't thought of. Do you realize that we are basically being kept as slaves? No real names, no proof of identity, no freedom to quit. I bet he doesn't even pay us, does he?" "No. There's no way to use money for us anyway. The cafeteria is pre- paid, the room is paid for, and our clothes are provided for us. How would you spend money?" "Well, I'd like to find a way to buy some clothes that wouldn't mean I have to go around with my ass and most of my titties naked all the time." "Yeah," she sighed. "I can kind of remember spending whole days at the mall trying things on. I'm so bored wearing virtually the same thing every day. The only break is when he does that clothes-exchange trick, but I always end up in a man's clothes; he never picks a woman for that. "And I never thought I'd really miss wearing a bra this much. The straps and wires were kind of annoying sometimes, but bouncing constantly and worrying all the time about falling out of this tiny top is worse. I can't imagine what those monster boobies must be like. But I suppose you don't think about them the same way." She was right; I hadn't thought much about keeping my halter top in place or what would happen if I didn't. Yeah, the bouncing was distracting; I'd already learned to take smaller steps so as not to generate too much motion, but I didn't have years of conditioning against showing off my chest in my background. So far, I'd just been concerned about comfort, although I was certainly aware of being stared at constantly. The g-string bottom concerned me a lot more. Women might wear thong bikinis and jeans shorts cut off really high up, but men most certainly did not. And I was still thinking pretty much like a man, blonde hair cascading down my back, long polished and decorated nails, mammoth titties, and pussy between my legs notwithstanding. Andie looked like she was expecting me to say something. "Uh, yeah. I'm still getting used to things, I guess." "That's OK. It's been, like, only half a day. Things will get better." She didn't sound convincing. "I wonder if I could do anything about these nails. They're getting in the way all the time, too." "Don't bother. Zendo likes them like that; he likes making things difficult for us. I tried cutting and filing mine, and they grow right back overnight. I broke one once; it grew back the same way. "Anyway, we've got a rehearsal for the show at two. That's less than an hour from now. Maybe we should go up early, so I can show you around the stage before Zendo starts yelling at us for screwing up and threatening to turn us into toads." "Can he do that?" "I don't know. Probably. But he has more ingenious ideas. Like I keep saying, you don't want to find out." She stood up and began taking her tray to the disposal area. I got up, too, and picked up my tray, immediately knocking over my drink glass with my right titty. Fortunately it stayed on the tray, rather than shattering on the floor; I didn't need any more attention. I held the tray out away from my titties and followed Andie. The stage was reached by returning toward our suite and then past it, to an employees-only elevator, which went up four levels to the junior ballroom and lounge level, one floor above the main casino. We got off in a back-of-the-house area common to several of the entertainment rooms. I could hear rock music through the wall from one of the lounges; Vegas never stops. Andie opened a door marked 'Red Rock Room' and motioned me through; the other doors had had names of other local scenic attractions of the Vegas area. I made sure to note ours for future trips; I assumed it was going to be some time before I could get out of this situation. The stage and lounge looked very different with only work lights turned on. In the harsh incandescents, the customer seating area looked garish and almost shabby, rather than elegant. And the glamorous magician's equipment and props also appeared as tawdry paint and sequin jobs. I hadn't really realized before how much difference a few gelled spotlights could make. The work lights illuminated the wings of the stage, which had been near blacked out in the few moments I'd had last night to see them before I was inside the magic cylinder. The wings were crowded with pieces of equipment. Andie began showing me what each was and telling me what they were used for. "This is the box used for the nine swords trick." She showed me how it opened several ways and how to face it toward the audience so that the compartment for the magician, separate from the ones where the swords went in, wasn't apparent. That was followed by a number of other explanations. Some of them had special instructions for how to move them around; those were the ones done by conventional stage magic, and came with hidden steps, folding doors that concealed platforms, and so on. Others were just... boxes. Boxes with fancy paint. "This one you just get into. That's all. He does the rest of the trick with real magic." She finished with a couple of minutes to spare before Zendo burst through the main doors of the lounge. No backstage entries for him, I guess. "Good," he boomed. "I see you're training Bubbles not to be late." "No, sir," she said, and I was careful to echo it. "OK. Andie, you know how the show goes. We'll run it through, without patter, and you tell Bubbles what to do as number two. Then we'll run it again, and it better be perfect. After a few days, you and Bubbles will alternate as number one assistant in various parts of the show. Clear?" We nodded, and he began. It was harder work than I'd expected. Some of the equipment was pretty heavy, and the casters didn't work all that well. Secondly, I didn't have much in the way of muscles any more. And finally, my titties were constantly in the way. I nearly closed a pair of doors on them once, and I knocked things out of place several times, just moving around on stage. After the third time that happened, Zendo said, "You'd better work on getting less clumsy, or I'll find another job for you where big boobs are more of an asset." "Yes, sir," I said and tried to paid more attention to where my titties were going. I didn't want to end up as one of Bambi's colleagues, which is what I was sure he was implying. I had problems with my fingernails getting caught in things once or twice, but the effects weren't so noticeable. And my hips and ass were a lot bigger than I'd been used to, although I managed not to knock anything over, but I kept bumping into things I thought were farther behind me than they needed to be. We completed the second run-through about five o'clock. Zendo said, "Fine. Be sharp tonight," turned abruptly, and left the lounge. "Help me push these things back offstage," Andie said. That took about fifteen minutes. "OK. We're on our own until about seven, when we have to get made up for the show at 7:30." I suddenly realized how tired I was, especially my back muscles which were cramped from holding up my titties all afternoon, as well as the pain from wearing five-inch heels all day long. Andie's earlier comment about a bra made more sense, except that I couldn't imagine anyone being able to design a bra to hold up my monsters. How wide would the straps have to be? "My back is killing me," I said. "I don't doubt it. Go lie down. I'll make sure to wake you if you fall asleep." "Thanks." I found my way to the back door and into the area with the elevator. Rock music was still thumping away from the other lounge as I waited. Then downstairs, along the corridor, and to the door of the suite. It looked locked but sure enough opened for me. So did the inner door. I slipped off my pumps and lay down on the bed, again taking some time to find a comfortable position. Once I did, I was out like a light. * * * "Wake up, Bubbles, it's show time!" It was a few moments before I could think of who "Bubbles" was, or what show that was. "Huh? What time is it?" "6:45. We're on in 45. I've got most of my makeup on; I'll help you with yours again." I sat up, with difficulty, and she gave me a critical look. "Base is OK. A bit more mascara and fresh blusher. Redo the eyeshadow." She worked as she talked. "OK, now this lipstick," she said. I already had lipstick on, but this one seemed to be a transparent or neutral shade. I let her put it on and rubbed my lips together. Then I felt something happening to my mouth. "Zpn?" I managed through my suddenly immobile teeth. "Magic lipstick," Andie said. "Zendo makes us wear it during performances. It's pretty hard to keep smiling nonstop for an hour and a half without it." She pointed me towards the mirror, where a toothy if rather plastic smile appeared on my face. I tried to change my expression, but nothing happened. "He also doesn't like us talking during the show, and the lipstick takes care of that, too." "Lng?" I said. "Oh, the effects wear off as soon as you remove the lipstick, and it comes off with ordinary cold cream. _After_ the second show. But you'd better get used to this, just like everything else about the job. It's not optional. Remember I told you Zendo has ways of punishing us? Well, the first time I crossed him, he fixed it so the lipstick didn't wear off for two whole weeks. Two weeks of nothing to eat but soup, bouillon actually -- like having your jaw wired -- and even after it wore off, I couldn't get the stupid smile off my face for another month and half, the muscle cramps were so solid. An awful lot of guys thought I was coming on to them." "K" I said. "Enough conversation. You're done, and I gotta put my own lipstick on." She did, and developed the same immobile brainless grin I now had. "Cmn," she grunted, and started towards the door. I tagged along. We arrived backstage about twenty minutes before the show was to start. From the other side of the curtain came the sounds of a good- sized crowd, which the small combo was unable to completely drown out. Using mostly sign language and an occasional muttered monosyllable, Andie reminded me of what part of the performance to set up first. Zendo arrived at 7:25 and, after checking that we'd set things up properly, paced back and forth until the taped announcement of 'Zendo and his beautiful assistants', accompanied by the tinny taped fanfare, started the show. The curtains parted, and as soon as my titties were clearly visible, the cat calls and whistles started, along with a few crude remarks; one guy at a front table with a lot of empty glasses shouted, "Hey, baby! Want to see _my_ magic wand?" I didn't hear the others clearly. It was probably a good thing that I was wearing the magic lipstick. "I'm glad my new assistant has met with your approval," Zendo said. "Take a bow, Bubbles." I felt myself compelled to bend over almost completely at the waist, which gave the yahoos at the good tables a view of nearly everything, bringing on more whistling. "That's enough, Bubbles. They came to see a magic show. So... on with the performance!" I straightened up, but I had to use my hands to lift my titties in order to do it, and the yahoos liked that too. (Had I ever behaved like that? I didn't think so, but there was a lot I couldn't remember.) Immediately, though, the lights went down, except for a spotlight on Zendo and the apparatus for the first trick, so I was back to the sidelines. The show went much as it had the previous night, when I'd only been a spectator. We stuck swords into the box, had silks pulled out of our cleavage, and so on. I turned on the fan for the spike-through-the- head trick (one of the ones done with real magic, which is why it had baffled me so much the previous evening) while Andie nailed in the spike. Then she got into the box for the levitation over the audience (another real magic trick); I was never going to be the one to do that, because my titties were too big to fit into the box. The curtains closed at 9 and we had a ninety-minute break before the second show. There were refreshments backstage, provided by the hotel/casino, but with our lipstick on, we were restricted to liquids only. I sure needed something cold to drink; it had been hard enough work this afternoon, but the brilliant stage lights made it hot as well, even though I was wearing next to nothing. I figured Zendo had some magic to keep him cool in his tuxedo. After a couple of glasses of diet soda (was I watching my figure already?), I found a bench to lie down on and take the weight of my titties off my back. With nothing to do but wait for the next show, and no way to carry on a conversation, I found myself bored. Eventually, 10:30 came around, and we repeated the performance. It was virtually identical, including the whistles and catcalls, except for the crude remarks, which were less imaginative than they'd been earlier in the evening, when less drinking had been accomplished. Zendo even had me take the same show-it-all-off bow before the show. Also unlike the first show, this one ended with the finale with the clothes change -- except that Zendo didn't ask the volunteer from the audience to _replace_ his assistant, as had happened to me. I guess there was no good way to get Andie downstairs to give a volunteer his clothes back between shows. The second show was over somewhat after midnight -- Zendo added some risque patter for the later show, which made it run slightly longer. He was out the door seconds after the curtain closed, leaving Andie and me to clear the stage of his equipment. She was still wearing the volunteer's clothes from the finale, although she'd loosed a couple of buttons where the shirt was really stretched in front, and the pants weren't really designed to fit over her butt, either. By 12:30 we were out the door of the stage; she paused to turn off the work lights as we left, and then punched the down button. I hadn't noticed before, but Andie had brought up a jar of cold cream and some tissues. She handed it to me after taking some herself and began removing her makeup. I wiped some across my mouth and immediately felt my teeth unclench, although I realized I was still smiling like a fool. I understood why she might have been stuck for a month and a half after having the lipstick on for a fortnight. "Well," she said, "I guess that was OK. You don't look too much like a toad so far." Her attempt at humor didn't reach me. I was dog tired, my back was killing me, and I hadn't had any dinner, I suddenly realized. The elevator arrived. As we got in, I said, "You said that the cafeteria was open at midnight. Can we get something to eat?" "Sure. I gotta give these clothes back to the guy from the audience, though. If he's still a guy, that is." More feeble humor. She took off the pants without ripping the seams as we rode down but kept the shirt on until we got to the suite. "It's the only time I don't have to have my boobies on display," she explained when I looked at her. The two buttons she'd had to loose earlier still left a lot to be seen, actually. The volunteer was waiting in the suite, dressed only in a pair of briefs. I noticed a prominent bulge appear in an instant after I walked in. I had some difficulty looking away, despite feeling disgusted with myself for staring at another guy's dick. No, not 'another' guy. Just 'a' guy. Unless I could get this magic undone, somehow. At least I didn't feel horny, as I had when Andie started playing with my titties last night. Maybe just looking didn't work for women? Anyway, having sex with a man still felt more like homosexuality than playing with Andie had. It was so confusing! But I guess it wasn't realistic to work things out in one day, not after so drastic a change in my life. "Hey! I thought you wanted to get dinner. Cafeteria's only open another half hour or so." While I was thinking, the guy had gotten dressed and left, not without a last long ogle of my titties, though. "OK, let's go." This time, I didn't need to follow her. There weren't so many people in the cafeteria as had been at lunchtime, but I was still the object of a lot of staring. I managed my tray better than at lunch and had no accidents with my titties. Other than being served cafeteria style, the food was very good, probably on a par with the buffets I'd enjoyed earlier in the week. (Why could I remember trivia like that and not important things like my _name_?) I took more than I could finish, which got me a couple of comments from Andie about watching my figure before she saw that I had a built-in appetite limitation. We were both tired and didn't talk too much over dinner. She did promise to spend some time tomorrow giving me lessons on doing my own makeup. After bussing our trays we went back to the suite. I showered first and got into bed. I was drifting off when Andie joined me, having finished her much longer bath. Although I'd chosen a position facing away from her, she snuggled up against me anyway and threw an arm over me to put her left hand on my titties. I felt her own nipples harden up against my back as she played with mine. "A million guys want you, and I've got you all to myself," she murmured, as she brought me to a titty orgasm. "Ooh, it's really nice when you shiver like that. I'm so tired, though..." She kissed me on the neck -- I was still facing away from her -- and dropped her hand to around my waist. Her breathing became regular, and I joined her in sleep moments later. * * * Saturday wasn't a whole lot different from Friday had been, except that Andie woke me by shaking my titties directly, rather than my shoulder like yesterday. "Hey! Take it easy with those. That's starting to hurt." I hadn't expected to become her