Maybe you will after this story! A bored boy doesn't know how to keep his mouth shut during a Las Vegas magic show.

By Zephyrus

---

!!! DISCLAIMER !!!

This is NOT a PG story. This story is just a brief, erotic bimboization fantasy. Nothing more, nothing less. It contains mildly explicit language, both vulgar and sexual, and a harsh antagonist who severely punishes a teenage boy for a very simplistic, if not contrived reason. If you are not into this kind of story or writing, please do not read it or comment on it.

If you are into this kind of story, then welcome to the magic show, and I hope you enjoy.

---

"This shit *sucks!*"

The audience--especially the men and women sitting right by the boy--groaned and spat disapproving comments at the haughty heckler's umpteenth interruption.

And, with his whole audience in disarray, the magician on stage stopped twirling his wand around his top hat, which rested on a wooden stool in front of him, and gave a lighthearted, amused look directly at the impudent blonde boy. His body--arms crossed, face tight with a fierce scowl--slumped in his seat with the brazen boorishness of a boy sitting in his most hated class. Or detention.

"Well," the magician said with a smile, "it seems someone doesn't like my show."

"'Cause it *sucks!* How many times are you gonna do the same old trick?!"

"I've been doing different tricks, haven't I?"

"*No*, you *haven't.* You're doing the same, old, *stupid trick* every single time but these people are too *dumb* to realize it and see through it."

The audience roared in another wave of disgruntlement at the boy, booing and hissing and shouting nasty comments. A woman sitting next to the boy glared at him from the corner of her eyes but bit her tongue and shifted in her seat.

"Now, now, now!" the magician said, waving his wand like a night stick. He still smiled. "It's all right, ladies and gentlemen." He looked back at the boy. Still smiling. "We should thank the little boy for his honesty, shouldn't we? Such honesty and criticism is rare nowadays."

The audience hushed somewhat but still glared and hissed at the boy.

"Why don't you come up here for a moment?"

For a moment, he just sat there, glaring up at the stupid old man in his magician's outfit, his big black top hat now back on his balding head, his skinny, frail body in his black magician's jacket, droopy sleeves hanging ominously from his thin arms as he beckoned the boy up.

Like a bitter boy called to the front of class by a teacher, he suddenly stood up from his seat and shuffled out of his row through people unwilling to move their legs for him, but more than willing to send him off with a nasty glare and maybe a mutter.

A deafening silence filled the auditorium as he walked down the aisle and up to the stage, beside the magician. The boy had his hands buried in his pockets, shoulders stiff as he sweat, his skin burning under the glare of the stage lights and his own presence on stage.

"So, what," the boy said, "am I gonna be one of those dumb people you experiment on?"

He laughed. “Who said anything about experiments? I just want to get to know you better.”

The boy just stared at him. Him and his stupid, warm smile.

“What’s your name?”

“Chris.”

“Aaah. Nice name.” He nodded. “So, Chris, what brings you to the Entertainment Capital of the World, Las Vegas?”

Chris kept his eyes down at the ebony wood of the stage, the floor beneath his feet creaking as he shyly shifted. “My family are on this stupid vacation here and they all went off to do something else while they left me here.”

“I see. Why didn’t you go with them?”

“They’re all gambling and playing games and whatever.”

“Hmmm.” Pause. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

His smile widened. “Such independent thoughts and brutal honesty at such a young age.” He nodded. “Impressive.”

Someone in the audience coughed.

“Do you believe in magic, Chris?”

“No. It’s stupid. Like all your dumb *tricks.*”

Groans came from the audience again.

The magician’s lips tilted dismally. “I see.” But, then he laughed a bit. “Perhaps I can convince you.”

“How?”

“Just stand center stage and face the audience.”

After a moment of shyly standing there and giving glaring glances at the audience, Chris decided he was bored. So, he took his place center stage and faced the audience, eyes locked ahead to the distant doors in the back so he could keep the bitter scowls from biting into his skin.

“Well,” the magician said, tapping his wand on the stool like a teacher about to give a lesson, as he looked out to his audience, “ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, I, the Great Zanto, will proceed to turn this magic heathen into a believer.” He laughed. “I’ll even turn him into my magic assistant by the end.” Looking at the skinny, blonde, bashful, yet bold boy, he rubbed his chin with his thumb and index. “You know, I’ve never had an assistant before.”

“Better be ready to look a bit more,” the boy said, eyes still locked to the back.

He laughed. Even though Chris couldn’t see, a bit of mischievous malice crept into the magician’s smile. “Well, first, if you’re going to be my assistant, you should be properly dressed, shouldn’t you?”

Zanto raised his wand like a rifle and pointed it sharply at the boy’s body, as if shooting an invisible bullet of bullshit. At least that’s what Chris felt it was.

Because nothing happened.

He could almost hear the comical crick of a cricket as he just stood there, hands in his pockets, eyes locked on the doors in the back, and as the audience just sat there, scrutinizing his person for even the most imperceptible changes.

Nothing.

Looking at Zanto, Chris shook his head with a smug smile. “Where’s this *magic* of yours, old man?”

He just kept smiling. “It’s coming.”

Then, suddenly, Chris’ socks felt--funny. He didn’t know how to describe it. They just somehow felt softer and silkier inside his sneakers. With his eyes popping wide, he nearly gasped as he even felt them--this softer, silkier material--slowly but surely climb up his hairy legs like a soft, silky snake, these illogical movements only concealed by his blue denim jeans. Curiosity and panic tempted him to raise his pant legs to see what the heck his socks were doing under there but he tried to keep his composure. Maybe his legs were just going numb. Socks just don’t become soft and silky and climb up your legs.

“Something the matter, Chris?” Zanto said.

With the material at his knees, Chris lost it and smacked his thighs as if he could impede its slow, steady climb. Yet, with the untouchable slyness of water, it simply passed beneath his palms to rise to his hips, underneath his briefs, only stopping slightly above their waistline.

“What the--” Chris said but the beginning of a slow increase in height cut him off. Which he didn’t mind. He couldn’t believe he was growing but he also couldn’t complain, since he’d wanted to grow a few inches, anyway. His feet were feeling increasingly funny, though: as if his sneakers were--

“Look!” a woman in the audience shouted. “His shoes!”

Chris’ head snapped down to his feet and saw what were a pair of black Nikes shrink into the delicate, shiny, thin material of black pumps, their roofs opening to betray him by revealing the tops of a pair of petite, fishnetted feet, the pumps’ spiky heels slowly rising more and more, inching higher and higher into the sky until he thought they’d never stop!

Like a newly lit spark igniting a small fire, laughter slowly grew from the audience. Chris’s mouth just dropped as he gazed in wide-eyed disbelief at the pair of petite, fishnetted feet now prettily perched upon black, five-inch spike-heeled pumps. The kind of whorishly high heels he saw on these Las Vegas showgirls!

“Oh my--” Chris began but, with a sudden intense tightness in his already tight briefs, he was cut of once again as the tightness suddenly suffocated his manhood. He could feel the tight material of his briefs soften, too, and the wife beater beneath his T-shirt followed suit, softening as it inexplicably fused with his briefs, with two hollow, yet prominent protrusions conspicuously denting his white T-shirt.

His shaky, clammy hand yanked up his T-shirt to reveal to himself and everyone else a black, soft, sexy, satin, high-hipped leotard, its soft, luscious satin shining sexily in the light. The high hip cut suggested that the leotard intended to emphasize a fabulous, full, beautiful butt.

The audience now roared with laughter.

Chris couldn’t speak. His shaky, clammy hands roamed around his soft, satin-covered upper body, squeezing the humongous cups as the stage lights glared down on him harder and hotter than ever before.

“Pretty sexy leotard you got there, Chris,” the magician said, smirking. “Perhaps you can tell the women in the audience where you bought it?” The audience exploded with laughter again.

Chris looked at Zanto, his mouth wide open but void of words. Suddenly, the short sleeves of his white T-shirt lengthened down his arms in the same slow fashion his socks had, until they stopped at his wrists with big, bulky cuffs, fastened with feminine-looking golden cufflinks. White, cotton, collared gloves appeared on his hands. His shirt’s center split from its neckline to the bottom, sealed again only by buttons that magically appeared as the collar of a woman’s white satin blouse blossomed like a flower from his neckline.

A black bowtie topped it off.

A black, buttoned vest materialized on his torso, slightly loose just like the white, satin blouse beneath it, and the sexy, satin leotard beneath that, waiting to be filled with the incredible curves of a voluptuous woman, while a long, black, magician’s jacket suddenly draped itself around his arms and shoulders, its two coattails hanging down to the middle of his thighs.

Lastly, he felt a sudden weight on his head--the weight of what could be none other than a top hat: big, black, and bulky like that stupid old man’s.

Zanto laughed--his only slightly audible above the audience’s. “There’s no need to hide underneath those jeans, Chris. If you got it, flaunt it!” he said, raising his wand and stabbing it at his jeans.

Chris’ hands apprehensively clung onto his blue, denim jeans--the one article of clothing saving him from the bottomless quicksand pit of utter humiliation he now found himself rapidly sinking in--however, in an attempt to back away, he tripped in his 5” spike pumps, causing the audience’s laughter to pick up as he fell back on his (for now) skinny, bony butt.

But their laughter didn’t pick up as much from his trip as it did when the disappearance of his jeans revealed to himself and everyone else a pair of hairy, unshapely male legs stretched out before himself, encased in black fishnet pantyhose, which disappeared beneath the pantied-crotch of his tight satin leotard, against which a small penis struggled for room and air.

The audience, although shocked and incredulous, nonetheless guffawed at the sixteen year-old pretty boy completely dressed in a typical, yet sexy female illusionist costume, reminiscent of the superheroine Zatanna. Chris could swear he heard people screaming “Fag!” and “Sissy!”, heckling him with malicious comments, hurling them at him like feces, saying “Look at how *small* it is!” and “Needle dick!” and “Look how pretty he looks!” while others whistled and hollered.

Zanto stood center stage and faced the audience with a wide grin as he brought his hands and lowered them, motioning for silence.

Slowly, they calmed down.

Chris could only sit there, his soul shrinking underneath the sizzling glare of the stage lights which shined on him like a specimen in a glass case, his face burning with embarrassment, his skin sweating as his heart beat hard beneath the chest of his leotard.

“Well,” Zanto said to the audience, “it seems my assistant is now properly dressed. However, it looks like she woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, eh?”

Laughter. Chris didn’t notice Zanto now referred to him as a “she.”

“Should we give her a makeover?”

Uproarious applause.

“Very well!” Zanto span around on his feet to the poor boy sitting on the stage in drag, gloved hands gripping his clothes, face wide-eyed and terrified as he stared at the old man like a murderer. He brought one of his fishnetted legs up and tried to push himself backwards with his 5” spike heeled pump.

“Don’t worry,” Zanto said, waving his wand like a gun, “this will be quick. Let’s go from the bottom to the top, shall we?” He aimed the wand at his legs.

And, suddenly, his legs tingled.

With gloves hands and spiked high heels, Chris struggled onto his feet again, but the tingle remained. And, this time, it wasn’t from being faint with fright, or the stage lights! He could tell because, as he watched his fishnetted legs, their hair (as well as the hair all over his body) suddenly shrank into nothingness, leaving the soft, smooth, silky skin of a beautiful woman who just came from the spa, and his legs lengthened while some invisible force started carving his calves into a slim, curvy shapeliness only further emphasized by his sky-high heels and inflating his thighs to a thick, mouthwatering juiciness, growing taut against the fishnets.

Applause.

“Give her some real long ones!”

“From here to New York!”

“Nice thighs!”

And they went on and on and on until he couldn’t take it anymore. On his increasingly sexy legs, he tried breaking for a run once more, but ended up tripping toward the stool. His gloved hands reached out and gripped its seat, leaving him bent over with his back facing the audience, giving everyone a view of his evermore voluptuous legs, with their thickening thighs and incredible calves, only partially obstructed by his twin coattails.

“Interesting position, my dear assistant!” Zanto said and tapped his butt. “Keep it.”

And Chris was paralyzed. All the fiber of his being couldn’t even make him twitch.

“*LET ME GOOO!*” he shouted, his first words in quite awhile.

"Ah ah *ahhh!*" Zanto tipped his head with the wand. "The magician's assistant is not allowed to talk during a big performance. Her only job is to stand there and look pretty."

And Chris was silenced. He couldn’t even open his mouth, much less make even the tiniest squeak.

His eyes began to water as Zanto raised his coattails like a curtain, revealing his skinny, pantied, bony butt to the audience. “Let’s give her a little *padding*, shall we? Cushion for the pushin‘?”

The men roared.

"J Lo boooty!"

"Give her a big, fat ass!"

"White girl wit' aaaass!"

"Courtney Black!”

And they went on and on and Zanto laughed as he pressed his wand against Chris’ anus--actually *entering* it a bit to his horror--wedging a bunch of soft satin in between his tight, tiny cheeks and, soon, with a warm tingle, Chris felt his butt cheeks seeming to swell inside his fishnet pantyhose and the pantied-bottom of his sexy leotard, and the further his wicked wand pushed in, the more it seemed to swell. He shut his eyes, gritted his teeth (which seemed to be all he could do with his mouth), and tightly and desperately clenched the muscles of his ballooning butt cheeks, as if that could stop its slow inflation. His desperate efforts were futile, however, and, when he relented and released his muscles, he merely felt the soft, inflating fleshiness of his ballooning booty jiggle juicily. And further the wand dived, and further his butt ballooned, the pantied bottom sinking further and further in the deepening valley between its inflating cheeks.

He whipped his head back to see over his small, soft shoulder and his eyes widened with horror as he witnessed his fishnetted butt cheeks slowly and sensuously swell behind him, high in the sky, fishnet pantyhose tightening more and more as they strained to contain its increasing corpulence (along with his thick, meaty thighs). Along with all of this, his hips widened, flaring forth from his small waist, which shrank,

From the audience--mostly the males--there came a steady, booming, bass chant of “*BOO-TY! BOO-TY! BOO-TY!*”

Zanto did not disappoint: they got booty.

A few more inches of wand later, Chris’s back suddenly cracked as his spine curved in, forcing him to thrust his beautiful butt high in the sky, giving an inviting view to everyone.

Zanto yanked his wand out. At the same time, his manhood seemed to be yanked back into his crotch, leaving a hole which thinned and lengthened into a sensitive slit which eliminated the ugly bulge that ruined his otherwise gorgeous lower-half.

Left behind was a remarkable bubble butt supported by wide, curvy hips--on which a sexy, high-hipped leotard straddled high on--and long, luscious legs with fabulous fishnetted thighs and curvy calves. The thin strip of a now thong-backed leotard sexily divided the big, bulbous bubble of a butt into two rotund hemispheres of soft, sumptuous, perfect, fishnetted fleshiness.

With Chris’s new, fantastic ass arched invitingly high in the sky, Zanto smacked Chris’s left buttocks, causing it to jiggle juicily as he then rubbed it, shamelessly flaunting his magic assistant‘s astonishing asset.

And then men roared.

Zanto smiled. "My assistant now has quite the remarkable butt! I must say, she sure puts the 'ass’ in ‘assistant’!"

Laughter.

Like lowering a curtain, Zanto lowered his coattails again and Chris found himself able to stand upright again, so he did. He felt the new, natural curvature of his spine as his new, fantastic ass jutted majestically behind him in all its gorgeous juiciness as he stood in his black 5” pumps. The twin tails of his magician jacket juicily jutted outwards at the conspicuous, bulbous abundance of his butt, the tips of the tails tickling the incredible, curvy, fishnetted calves of his long, luscious, pantyhosed legs, the sexy fishnets flashing sexily in the stage light.

And that terrifyingly flat satin crotch!

From the waist-down, he had the gorgeous, voluptuous body of one of those Las Vegas showgirls he occasionally caught his dad ogling! Wide hips, long legs, big, round ass, sky-high heels and all!

As Chris' gloved hands explored his newly voluptuous lower half--patting his wide hips, gloved hands incredulously squeezing his round, plump rump and feeling his crotch, Zanto smiled at the audience. "Hang on, ladies and gentlemen: she's not finished yet!"

Chris looked at Zanto and tried to scream "Stop this!" but no words left his mouth. His mouth did not even move. Yet, somehow, Zanto knew.

“Now, now, my dear assistant, I can't just stop in the middle of my biggest magical performance, can I? That's bad for business. So, for your safety, I’ll have to ask you not to move for the rest of the performance. Just stand and look pretty." He pointed his wand once more.

Chris's body, with a mind of its own, stood center stage again and faced forward, staring at the back wall once again. Like a mannequin on display.
He could not move.

"Titties!" one man yelled. And, laughter once again spread through the crowd like fire in a forest, and the men chanted "TI-TIES! TI-TIES! TI-TIES!"

"What an eager audience! You're all too kind."

Chris mentally gasped in horror.

"Well, you tell me, audience: how big?"

"Double D's!"

"Triple D's!"

"As big as you can!"

"Give her some tig ol' bitties!"

And they went on and on.

Zanto eventually hushed them. "I think I've decided!" he said and pointed his wand.

And, Chris could feel it: he could feel his tiny nipples suddenly swell in a way no male nipple could have ever done, and he could feel its surrounding flesh rise like dough and it rose and rounded until his nipples grazed the lacy insides of the cups. And, as his shoulders thinned and softened, and as his arms lost what little muscle they had to give way to a soft, feminine flabbiness, and as his hands shrank to a dainty, graceful, feminine size in his white gloves, they grew. All the while, he struggled to keep his eyes from darting down and viewing the rapidly inflating protrusions. His kept his eyes locked on the back of the auditorium as hard as he'd ever kept his eyes locked on anything. When his eyes started to itch with dryness, he shut them tightly, biting his tongue, trying to shut out everything and tell himself that this was just a dream: he wasn't dressed up as a female illusionist and he wasn't growing tits before an entire auditorium of men and women. However, no matter how badly he tried to flee into the darkness behind his eyes, the torturous chant of "TI-TIES!" echoed hauntingly in his ears.

So his breasts kept ballooning, filling more and more of his satin leotard's big, bulky chest, gradually reducing both that and his blouse into an intense tightness, growing ever wider and tighter at his chest while still tightly tapering to his sexy, flat waist. Soon enough, his sizeable breasts had filled the leotard and still grew, his evermore tremendous bust thrusting out over the low lapels of his black vest and now severely straining the top button of his blouse as the growing melons pressed against each other and outwards, competing for space.

Chris could only take in quick, horrifying breaths as his ballooning breasts heaved heavily on his chest. He shut his eyes tighter.

When his two top buttons popped off, rousing even stronger laughter from the audience, he gasped and, finally being unable to help himself, he looked down.

The milky white tops of two brand new, tremendous breasts stared back up at him, heaving heavily and voluptuously with every panicky breath, straining inside a skin-tight, white satin blouse, unbelievable cleavage beautifully framed with frilly-laced lapels and topped with an adorable black bow tie. The big, bouncy, titanic tits of a Las Vegas showgirl, topped with an adorable black bow tie. Out of all the suggestions enthusiatically hollered, he didn't know what size these were: all he knew is that they were fucking huge!

Even though he couldn't see it, below his majestic chest the tight, white, satin blouse tightly tapered to his sexy, flat waist, from which a plump pair of wide, fishnetted hips flared fabulously outward from the high-hipped, thong-backed bottom of a black, lustrous leotard, completing his new, incredible hourglass shape.

"Oops!" Zanto said as the audience hollered over the button popping. "Seems I overdid it a bit. I guess that's enough."

And, with a point of his wand, they stopped. But, the damage was done.

Chris’s eyes watered even more.

"Now, for the face!" Zanto said.

"Give her some DSLs!"

"Some big, cocksuckin' lips!"

"Red lipstick, too!"

"Big, baby blue eyes!"

"Blonde hair!"

He laughed as his pointed his wand one last time.

Chris felt his face spasm and twist. His chin narrowed and rounded as the magic inflated his lips, pouting more and more until he wondered if they were puckering. That, combined with their new red, glossy lipstick made them protrude with a fabulous fullness and shine with an erotic luster perfect for that one random man's perverse comment! His big, wide nose shrank into a tiny, adorable button size as a ravishing rash of rouge ravaged his rising, plumping cheeks. An unbearable burning sensation in his eyed forced him to shut them as his eyelashes lengthened and curled outwards with the lush luxuriance of a movie star's. Blue eye shadow appeared on his eyelids, fading softly into a rich purple before it ended below his newly thin, highly-arched eyebrows in a pretty pink. He felt his hair grow, filling his top hat more and more and more until an explosion of long, beautiful blonde locks burst forth from his scalp as the top hat fell off, the luxurious, silky locks cascading down the sides of his face, full fair hair unfurling luxuriously like a golden cape, brushing his plump, rouged cheeks, covering his ears (which now had big, gaudy, golden star-shaped earrings), tickling his jacketed back, bangs brushing his small forehead, until it all stopped at the middle of his back.

His eyes opened anew with a beautiful baby blue. An ostensible, bimboish vacancy belied all the horrified thoughts running inside his head.

The audience gawked with gaping mouths and wide eyes as Chris had disappeared, replaced with this buxom, busty, blonde-haired beauty on the stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen: I present to you, my new magic assistant, Chrissie!”

And, they applauded. Everyone last one of them stood. Men whistled and catcalled. The woman that had been sitting next to Chris laughed.

And Chris could only stand there and stare at them, with his new blue eyes. Watering.

Zanto soon hushed the audience again, even though a few men here and there still whistled and hollered.

“You may speak now, Chrissie.”

Chris decided to ignore the new name and take this one chance to speak, so, in his 5” pumps, he turned to Zanto. "What have you--"

He immediately stopped, his dainty, tiny, graceful gloved hand grasping his throat, the other hovering horrifically over his luscious lips, gaped in an opulent O of awe and shock, as his big, blue eyes widened at the voice. He had just spoken with the sexily breathy, irresistibly sultry, soft soprano voice of a seductive game show hostess!

And it made everyone laugh.

“Lovely voice you got there, Chrissie! Reminds me of Marilyn Monroe. Why don’t you pick your hat up, along with your new wand, and say hi to the audience?” He pointed his wand.

Chrissie seductively whipped her full, fair hair behind her pretty little head and over her soft, satin-covered shoulders, golden locks gleaming gorgeously in the stage light as she faced her hat (in which was now a wand) and bent over to pick it up with her gloved hands, offering the audience a spellbinding view of her incredible cleavage (and Zanto a tantalizing view of her amazing ass!). Then, she snapped her head upwards, whipping her beautiful blonde hair up behind her erotically arched back with the sinuousness of an experienced stripper, and stood upright, facing the audience with a bright smile. Her thick, fishnetted thighs brushing each other as she cocked her hips and daintily placed the top hat on her pretty lil’ head, her shoulders thrown back to thrust her abundant bust out. “Hello, boys and girls. I’m Chrissie,” she softly, coquettishly cooed.

Then, with her thumb, index, and middle fingers, her dainty, white gloved hands prettily held her magic wand at her thick, juicy, fantastic fishnetted thighs, her long-nailed pinkies prettily extending outward in a garishly girlish fashion, the sides of her thin, slender arms slightly squishing together the breathtaking breadth of her tremendous breasts, bulging their abundance outward for further emphasis.

Chris then gasped. Everyone laughed yet again.

And they kept laughing. Guffawing. On the floor, in the aisles, pointing, crying, dying. Whistling, catcalling. He heard “Bimbo!” and “Dumb blonde!” and “Sissy Chrissie!” Even Zanto, right beside him, chuckled with his mischievous smile--the smile of a villain who looked upon his prized work.

Chris's new, baby blue eyes started to water. These monsters weren't even acknowledging him as a boy anymore! Or even a human! He was just a doll for all of them to mold and dress up!

He could only pray Zanto would have mercy on him for having learned his lesson and change him back afterwards.

Zanto shook his head at the tears welling up in his big blue eyes. "Now, now, we can't have the beautiful face of our lovely magic assistant frowning and scrunched up so sadly, now. Smile!" He aimed.

Chris could feel the full, soft, rouged cheeks of his beautiful face uncontrollably pull his newly luscious, soft, glossy red, succulent cocksucking lips up into the wide, beautiful, beaming, cheesy, yet sexy grin of an airheaded hostess! And he couldn't stop smiling! He couldn't even get his face to twitch!

His face was frozen!

Like a Barbie doll! With the flashy, sexy smile of a Barbie doll, too (as well as the face)! He felt like Vanna White from Wheel of Fortune! And he* felt* dumber just by smiling this way!

But he could only stand there, holding his wand in front of her fantastic, fishnetted thighs, his big, black, bulky, embarrassing top hat sitting upon the beautiful fair hair of his pretty lil' head, his heavily-made up, beautiful face beaming unabashedly toward the abominable audience, forever flashing his ditzy, vacuous, Vanna White smile!

Zanto stepped toward the audience, arms outstretched with a gracious smile on his face. “Well, I’m afraid that’s all we have for today, folks!” They booed and hissed and chanted for an encore. “I appreciate it! But, I’m afraid our time has run out. Our next show will be tomorrow night, though. Same time, same place!”

“*Our?*” Chris thought horrifically.

He looked at Chris and twirled his wand in a small circle. “Give the audience a lil’ twirl, Chrissie, to show them everything.”

The beautiful magic assistant Chrissie rose her forearms up, her dainty, white gloved hands limply hanging back, their soft, petite palms facing upwards with a girly, flashy flaccidity--the small, graceful fingers of her right hand daintily holding her magic wand upwards like an antenna--and, like a world-class model on a runway, with her girlishly, gleeful, brainless bimbo smile, she prettily pirouetted on the patent high heels of her black, strap-on pumps, her jacket's twin tails flailing teasingly about her remarkable bubble butt and her long, luxurious, beautiful blonde hair waving voluptuously. Nothing that even gave the tiniest, most miniscule *hint* of Chris remained in her movements or her body.

The audience applauded one last time. Especially the men.

Chris assumed what seemed to be his “default” position now--hands in front of thighs, holding wand.

Zanto bowed and rose again. Chris didn’t, though, so Zanto aimed his wand. "Don't be a rude assistant, Chrissie. Bow!"

As if a giant hand suddenly pushed her upper body forward, Chrissie bowed, both of her hands still at her thighs, holding her wand, as her tremendous breasts hung heavily from her chest, her beautiful blonde hair brushing the sides of her face as it hung inches from the floor.

She rose and the show came to its end.

It wasn’t until an eternity of applause later that people began to leave. The men took the longest to leave: “Hey, baby, do you give VIP passes?”, “Can I get a backstage pass?”, “He really turned that kid into this babe!” and they went on.

All the while, she just stood there, like a mannequin: smiling forever with her frozen, botoxed Barbie doll face, in her frozen, subservient position.

“Come with me,” Zanto said to her as he started to walk backstage.

Like a female dog on an invisible leash, she followed.

She sexily strutted behind her master, her huge, juicy booty wagging wantonly behind her--the thin strap of her sexy leotard’s thong back flossing her crack--its abundant bulk partially hidden teasingly underneath the twin tails of her magician jacket and her wide, rich hips waving ravishingly as her black, patent, 5" strap-on pumps swankily clacked along the hardwood floor. Her thick, juicy, fishnetted thighs incessantly swished as they audibly and naughtily gnashed with every sexy strut, her new bust bouncing buoyantly inside her skin-tight vest and blouse with every swanky clack along the way.

+ + +

Finding he could now speak and move freely, his elegant gloved hand angrily gripped his wand as her pencil thin, high-arched brows furrowed prettily in cute discontent at the stupid old man. "Okay, like--look here, you--you big wizard guy--"

Before Chris had a chance to stop in horror at the horribly bubbly, bimbo, Valley girl voice that came from his throat, Zanto raised his wand as he sat in his dresser chair, cutting her off. "I won't be spoken to by a bimbo such as yourself in such a haughty tone. From now on, you shall address me as Mr. Zanto."

Suddenly, his command eradicated the entire sentence he had in his head. He just couldn’t remember what he was about to say. He *did* know that he wanted to get the heck out of here, though! With his old body, that is.

So, Chrissie cutely squeezed her wand with her gloved hands while holding it vertically, causing her forearms to squeeze her humongous bust forward again as she brushed her thighs against each other. The fishnets hissed sweetly as her big, blue eyes went wide with innocence. “Please, Mr. Zanto!” she pleaded prettily in her new, soft, soprano voice, sounding like an overacting porn star who found herself unable to give the pizza guy any money. “I’ll do *any*thing. I’ve *sooo* learned my lesson now! Really! I *totally* believe! You've *so* made your point!"

“Somehow, I don’t think so.” He smiled. “That’s why I’m going to have you be my assistant, see: so you can not only *feel* it--as I’m sure you have today--but watch it. Even perform it.”

She scoffed with girlish disgust as she put her hands on her cocked hips, neck rolling. He couldn’t control any of his movements, now. “You like magic *that* much?”

He shrugged. “No. I just hate hecklers like yourself that much.”

Chris’ jaw dropped but glared again. “My mommy an’ *daddy’ll* come looking for me! They’ll *totally* know I’m gone! A whole, like, *crowd* of guys and girls saw what you did!” she said with the whiny, haughty girlishness of some high school bitch, pointing a long, graceful, gloved index finger at him.

He laughed and shook his head at the indignant dumb blonde before him. “Sorry, but I’m afraid your ‘mommy and daddy’ will never find out. I used magic so anybody that saw your transformation will remember but be unable to talk about it--verbally or otherwise.”

His lavish lips gaped with disbelief.

“If you don’t believe me, I’ve done the same thing with you. Allow me to test it.” Zanto leaned forward in his seat like an interrogator and looked at the blonde bimbo before him. “What’s your name?”

“My name is Chrissie!” His face fell. “No! It’s not *Chris!* It’s *Chrissie* and I’m a girl--”

Zanto laughed, holding his hands up. “Okay, okay, I get it, Chrissie.”

“No! What did you do to--”

“Silence!!” he raised his wand.

He could not speak.

He smirked, laughing lightly. “So, Chrissie, what brings you to the Entertainment Capital of the World, Las Vegas?”

Twirling her wand with an idle girlishness, she started: “I thought that whole *school* thing was, like, *sooo* hard! And it was *totally* boring! And my bogus mommy and daddy didn’t like me dropping out, so they, like, kicked me *out!*” She cocked her hips and puts her hands on them like the indignantly haughty lil’ ditz she was. “Can you be*lieve* that?! They, like, kicked me *out!* So, I was like, ‘Whatever, I’m *so* outtie!’ an’ I left.” While bending her right leg forward at the knee, her wide, rich, fishnetted hips swaying sexily with it, she gracefully outstretched her coated arms, gesturing to the world around her with the giddy, girly grace of a true, airheaded hostess, like she was gesturing to a game set. “So, I came to Las Vegas ’cause I wanted to entertain!” she ended her bimboish, robotic, yet bubbly babble, slowly dropping her arms at her sides and giggling.

“I see. Interesting story. How old are you?”

“Nineteen!” she chanted like a cheerleader.

“Good,” he said and nodded, eyeing his work of art up and down. “This is who you are now--who you have always been and always will be.”

She could only giggle again.

“You’re gonna live with me in Las Vegas and every show--which is every day--you’ll assist me by strutting your stuff, being my experimentee, standing there and looking pretty. But, don’t forget to smile, okay?” He laughed and she could only stare at him with her permanent smile, betraying the pain that lied deep beneath. “Not like you have much of a choice, anyway. Unless you wanna become some dumb waitress. Or a stripper. Maybe a showgirl.” He shrugged. “The sky’s the limit in Las Vegas, right, Chrissie? There‘s plenty of ways you can--*entertain.*”

Chrissie just stared vacantly at Zanto. “Oh my *Gawd*: like, who *are* you?”

Zanto just smiled. A smile which was the lock to a whole other world of secrets. “I’m just a magician.”

Chrissie then realized something: she hadn’t looked at herself yet.

She suddenly minced up to the dresser in her black, patent pumps and placed her small, soft, daintily tiny, white gloved hands on both sides of the dresser as she gracefully bent over, her huge, bulbous, bubble butt jutting juicily behind her

Underneath pencil-thin, highly-arched eyebrows forever raised in wonder, he saw the big, baby blue eyes of a unbelievably beautiful blonde, Barbie-dollish bombshell gaze vacantly back at him, her heavily-made up face flashing him a vacuous, bubbly bimbo smile that, combined with her eyebrows, made her look like the highest career she could pursue is touching letters on a game show!

Her luscious, succulent red lips gaped with horror--however, due to her permanent smile, it looked like the blonde bimbo in the mirror simply parted her pouty lips as if pleasantly surprised, as if delighted (instead of horrified) at her appearance, or like she just saw a good sale at the mall or a totally hot guy!

Her melon-sized breasts were barely contained within a tight, white, satin blouse that tapered from her majestic chest down to her sexy, tiny, flat waist, which then flared fabulously into a sexy set of wide, rich hips, behind which a huge bubble butt bulged juicily out to the world in its thong-backed leotard--specifically her master, Mr. Zanto! And Zanto admired how the two tails of her magician jacket juicily jutted outwards at the soft, sweet swell of her sumptuous rump and how a just bit of the bottom of her beautiful butt could be seen between the tails. And those fishnets! Those magnificent legs!

She certainly *did* put the “ass” in “assistant”! She was certain many other people would assume that she “assists” him in a different way!’

Zanto smiled. “I must say, the audience had good taste.”

Chrissie turned around to Zanto. And, without being ordered to, she naturally assumed her default position. She could only stand there in her patent 5” strap-on pumps, her dainty, white gloved hands prettily holding her new magic wand in front of her fantastic, fishnetted thighs as she smiled like the loyal, incredibly sexy, airheaded assistant she now was, eager to please and ready to serve, with her big, bulky, embarrassing black top hat sitting upon her pretty little empty head like a bell jar, trapping her forever.

Zanto stood, looking at his new magic assistant. “Do you believe in magic *now*, Chrissie?”