Emily the Magician (Fm/f) part 2 (f/m, mf+/f)
Posted: Mon Oct 20, 2025 1:19 pm
The summer air hung heavy and sweet, thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and the promise of a long, lazy afternoon. For Emily, however, lazy was a word reserved for people who hadn't yet discovered the thrill of defying gravity, logic, and a perfectly good set of ropes. Fourteen years old, with a wild cascade of black hair that often escaped its clips and bright, intelligent green eyes that sparkled with ambition, Emily was not one for idleness. Today, like many days before, was dedicated to the most thrilling of her budding talents: escape artistry.
She stood barefoot in the sprawling backyard, the cool, damp blades of grass tickling her soles. Her outfit – a simple black tank top and well-worn denim shorts – was chosen for maximum flexibility, a crucial element in her daring acts. Above her, the thick, gnarled branch of an ancient maple tree stretched out like a welcoming arm, its leaves shimmering in the dappled sunlight. This was her stage, her training ground, her personal fortress of challenges.
“Are you ready, Mom?” Emily called out, her voice buzzing with an almost professional enthusiasm.
Jenna, Emily’s mother, emerged from the back door, a patient smile gracing her lips. Her own brown hair, a shade lighter than Emily’s, caught the light, and her green eyes, identical to her daughter’s, held a blend of amusement and unwavering support. She wore a comfortable white t-shirt and jeans, practical attire for a mom whose life often involved facilitating her children’s various, sometimes chaotic, passions.
“Ready when you are, Houdini,” Jenna replied, carrying a coil of sturdy, but not too thick, nylon rope. She'd learned early on that using anything less durable would result in Emily escaping before the challenge even truly began.
Emily grinned, positioning herself beneath the chosen branch. “Remember, good and tight, but not so tight I can’t breathe, please.”
Jenna nodded, looping one end of the rope over the branch. Emily extended her arms above her head, clasping her hands together. With practiced ease, Jenna began to secure Emily’s wrists, wrapping the rope around them several times before pulling it taut and tying it off to the branch, hoisting Emily’s arms slightly higher than comfortable. Emily’s feet remained firmly on the ground, but the upward tug on her shoulders was enough to create a formidable challenge.
“Alright,” Jenna said, taking a step back to admire her handiwork. “Time starts… now.”
Emily took a deep breath, her green eyes narrowing in focus. This was it. The mental game began first. She visualized the knots, the weave of the rope, picturing herself slipping free. Her muscles tensed, responding to her mental commands. She twisted her wrists, testing the give of the rope, wiggling her fingers, trying to pry open any tiny gap. She stretched, strained, pulled, her bare feet occasionally lifting from the ground as she threw her weight against the bindings. The black fabric of her shirt stretched across her back with each powerful movement, and wisps of black hair clung to her forehead, damp with effort.
A few minutes melted into the humid afternoon, marked only by the rustle of leaves and Emily’s grunts of exertion. She was making progress, she could feel it. The rope was starting to chafe, a familiar sensation that meant she was getting close. Just a little more…
“Well, well, well,” a singsong voice declared, breaking Emily’s concentration. “Looks like someone’s in a bit of a pickle.”
Emily’s eyes flickered open, annoyance momentarily overshadowing her focus. Standing a few feet away, hands shoved into the pockets of his camouflage cargo pants, was her younger brother, Noah. Eleven years old, with shaggy blonde hair that forever seemed to defy a comb, and mischievous blue eyes that twinkled with nascent trouble, Noah was perpetually barefoot, just like Emily, his white t-shirt bright against the summer green.
“Noah, not now!” Emily snapped, trying to regain her rhythm. “I’m almost there!”
Noah, however, thrived on disruption. He ambled closer, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Aw, little sis stuck again? Need a hand?” He paused, pretending to consider. “Nah, this is way funnier.”
Before Emily could protest further, Noah’s fingers, surprisingly agile, darted out. He aimed for her sides, just beneath her armpits, a well-known vulnerability.
“Hey! No!” Emily yelped, a burst of uncontrollable laughter erupting from her. Her body instinctively convulsed, jerking against the ropes. It was impossible to maintain her focused struggle when her diaphragm was spasming with mirth.
Noah, emboldened by her reaction, switched tactics. His quick fingers moved to her armpits, delivering a merciless assault. Emily shrieked with laughter, her head thrown back, black hair flying. “Noah! Stop! I swear, I’ll get you back for this! Mom!”
Jenna, watching from a safe distance near the patio, merely chuckled. She knew this dance well.
Emily thrashed with renewed vigor, but not to escape the ropes; she was thrashing to escape Noah’s relentless tickle attack. Her legs kicked out, her torso twisted, her arms strained not against the bindings directly, but against the pure, physical inability to control her own body under the onslaught of tickles. She was a puppet on strings, her laughter echoing through the backyard.
“Ple-ease!” she gasped, tears of laughter welling in her green eyes. “Make him stop! I can’t… I can’t…!”
Suddenly, with another desperate, convulsive heave, something gave. Maybe it was the sheer force of her thrashing, or maybe the constant, subtle movements had finally loosened the knot just enough. One hand popped free, then the other, the rope falling loosely around her wrists.
Emily didn’t even pause to register her escape. Fueled by a potent mix of relief and tickle-induced fury, she launched herself off the ground, tackling Noah mid-chuckle. They tumbled onto the soft grass in a tangle of limbs and laughter.
“You little menace!” Emily squealed, pinning him down.
Noah, still giggling, bucked beneath her. “Gotcha! You cheated! That wasn’t a real escape!”
“It counts if I’m free, doesn’t it?” Emily retorted, tickling his sides in retaliation.
Their playful wrestling match continued for several minutes, a whirlwind of shouts, giggles, and rolling bodies. Jenna, watching the scene unfold, smiled warmly. Her children, for all their squabbles and teasing, shared an unbreakable bond, a lively energy that filled their home with constant motion and noise. Emily’s magic wasn't just about the tricks; it was about the joy, the challenge, and the unspoken connection it forged with her family.
****************
A few days later, the backyard escapades felt like a lifetime ago. Emily had upgraded her stage, moving from the sun-drenched lawn to the slightly more theatrical setting of their living room. A ring light cast a flattering glow on her face, and her phone, propped up strategically, was broadcasting live to the world – or at least, to her growing TikTok audience.
“Hey everyone, and welcome back to Emily’s Amazing Magic Show!” Emily chirped into the camera, her green eyes sparkling with an added layer of performative charm. She was still barefoot, still in her black top and denim shorts, but today she had added a sequined headband for extra razzle-dazzle. “Tonight, we’re going to push the boundaries, defy expectations, and quite possibly, defy a few knots!”
Comments were already scrolling up the screen: Go Emily!, Love your shows!, What’s the trick tonight?
Emily beamed. “Tonight, we’re going to attempt a classic escape act. But not just any escape act! This is the ‘Hogtie Hustle’! My escape from a full hogtie!” She paused for dramatic effect. “And for this, I’m going to need my glamorous assistant.”
Jenna, looking equally ready for her supporting role in a white t-shirt and jeans, walked into the frame, carrying a longer length of rope. “Ready when you are, magician,” she said with an amused wink.
“Alright, folks, as you can see, this is a real, bona fide rope,” Emily explained, holding up a section for the camera. “No trick knots, no pre-cut sections. My mom is going to tie me up tight, and then… the magic begins!”
Emily lay face down on the colorful rug, her hands brought back to meet her feet. Jenna, following Emily’s instructions, began to expertly bind her. First, she secured Emily’s wrists together, making sure they were snug. Then, she tied Emily’s ankles together. Finally, and most crucially for a hogtie, she connected the bound wrists to the bound ankles, pulling them tightly behind Emily’s back, creating a compact, almost spherical shape. Emily was effectively folded in half backward, her mobility severely restricted.
“And… done!” Jenna announced, patting Emily’s back.
Emily grunted, testing the ropes. “Wow, Mom, you really outdid yourself this time,” she said, her voice slightly muffled by her position. She twisted her head to face the camera. “Alright, everyone, as you can see, I am completely secure. No way out… unless you’re Emily! Now, the key to this is a combination of flexibility, mental focus, and understanding the give of the rope.”
She began to struggle, a concentrated effort that made the muscles in her back and legs tense. She shifted her weight, trying to create slack, to find a purchase. The rope dug into her skin, a constant reminder of her confinement. She talked to the camera as she worked, explaining her process, her breathing techniques, trying to distract herself from the discomfort and the difficulty.
You got this, Emily! Looks tough! Don’t give up!
Emily strained, her black hair falling into her green eyes. She wiggled her fingers, tried to contort her body, to twist her wrists against the bindings. This was harder than the tree branch escape. Much harder.
Just as she was beginning to feel a bead of sweat trickle down her temple, a familiar shadow fell over her.
“Psst. Emily.”
Emily’s eyes widened in alarm. She knew that voice. She knew that mischievous tone. “Noah! What are you doing? I’m live!” she hissed, trying to keep her professional facade.
Noah, barefoot and clad in his usual white t-shirt and camo pants, materialized beside her. His shaggy blonde hair framed a grin that promised pure, unadulterated chaos. “Just admiring your… predicament, sis.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Emily warned, trying to shift away, but the hogtie held her fast. She was utterly helpless, her feet drawn up close to her hands.
But Noah was already thinking about it. He knelt down, his blue eyes glinting. Before Emily could utter another coherent protest, his fingers darted out, quick as a hummingbird’s wings. He aimed for the most vulnerable, most ticklish spot imaginable: her exposed soles.
“NOOOO!” Emily shrieked, but it was swallowed by an immediate, involuntary burst of pure, unadulterated laughter.
Her body convulsed. Her eyes squeezed shut, tears of mirth instantly springing forth. She thrashed, not against the ropes to escape them, but against the unbearable sensation of Noah’s merciless fingers dancing across the arch of her foot, then her toes, then her heel. The hogtie, which had been her challenge, now became her ultimate tormentor, holding her perfectly still for the attack.
“Stop it! STOP IT, NOAH!” she gasped between peals of laughter, her voice barely audible. “I’m gonna!… I can’t!… AAAHHAAHAAHAAA!”
The camera captured it all: Emily, a professional escape artist, reduced to a helpless, giggling mess by her younger brother. Jenna, standing just out of frame, muffled a laugh with her hand, her shoulders shaking.
On the screen, the comments exploded:
LOL! Poor Emily! Tie up Noah next! This is cute! Best livestream ever! Hahaha, she’s so ticklish! Noah for the win!
Emily continued to thrash, a black-haired, green-eyed, laughing bundle of rope and pure vulnerability. Her denim shorts hiked up slightly with her movements, her black top stretched taut. She begged, she pleaded, she threatened, but Noah was relentless, his own giggles mingling with hers. He only stopped when his own hand started to ache from the effort.
Finally, pulling his fingers away, Noah leaned into the camera with a triumphant, cheeky grin. “That’s all folks!” he declared, echoing a famous cartoon character, before the screen flickered and the livestream abruptly ended.
The instant the camera was off, Emily gasped for breath, still giggling weakly. “You… you absolute terror!” she wheezed, trying to glare at Noah, but her eyes were still crinkled with belated mirth. “I was doing an escape act! A professional one!”
Noah just shrugged, his shaggy blonde hair shaking. “You escaped… through laughter. That counts, right?” He offered to untie her, and as Jenna knelt to help, Emily kicked out playfully at his retreating figure.
Jenna smiled, shaking her head as she worked on the knots. “Well, you certainly got a reaction. The comments section was going wild.”
Emily finally sat up, rubbing her still-tingling feet. “I can’t believe you did that!” she exclaimed, then paused, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. “You know,” she mused, a mischievous glint in her green eyes, “maybe an element of surprise… and uncontrollable laughter… could be a new part of the act. The ‘Ticklish Tangle Escape’!”
Noah, who had been about to make a hasty retreat, froze. “Wait, what? Are you serious?”
Emily just grinned, a true magician’s smile. Her passion for magic wasn't just about flawless execution; it was about the unexpected, the joy, and the chaotic, wonderful energy of her family. And sometimes, the best escapes weren't from ropes at all, but from seriousness itself. She might be a magician, but she was also Emily, a fourteen-year-old girl with a mischievous younger brother, and that, she realized, was the greatest magic of all.
She stood barefoot in the sprawling backyard, the cool, damp blades of grass tickling her soles. Her outfit – a simple black tank top and well-worn denim shorts – was chosen for maximum flexibility, a crucial element in her daring acts. Above her, the thick, gnarled branch of an ancient maple tree stretched out like a welcoming arm, its leaves shimmering in the dappled sunlight. This was her stage, her training ground, her personal fortress of challenges.
“Are you ready, Mom?” Emily called out, her voice buzzing with an almost professional enthusiasm.
Jenna, Emily’s mother, emerged from the back door, a patient smile gracing her lips. Her own brown hair, a shade lighter than Emily’s, caught the light, and her green eyes, identical to her daughter’s, held a blend of amusement and unwavering support. She wore a comfortable white t-shirt and jeans, practical attire for a mom whose life often involved facilitating her children’s various, sometimes chaotic, passions.
“Ready when you are, Houdini,” Jenna replied, carrying a coil of sturdy, but not too thick, nylon rope. She'd learned early on that using anything less durable would result in Emily escaping before the challenge even truly began.
Emily grinned, positioning herself beneath the chosen branch. “Remember, good and tight, but not so tight I can’t breathe, please.”
Jenna nodded, looping one end of the rope over the branch. Emily extended her arms above her head, clasping her hands together. With practiced ease, Jenna began to secure Emily’s wrists, wrapping the rope around them several times before pulling it taut and tying it off to the branch, hoisting Emily’s arms slightly higher than comfortable. Emily’s feet remained firmly on the ground, but the upward tug on her shoulders was enough to create a formidable challenge.
“Alright,” Jenna said, taking a step back to admire her handiwork. “Time starts… now.”
Emily took a deep breath, her green eyes narrowing in focus. This was it. The mental game began first. She visualized the knots, the weave of the rope, picturing herself slipping free. Her muscles tensed, responding to her mental commands. She twisted her wrists, testing the give of the rope, wiggling her fingers, trying to pry open any tiny gap. She stretched, strained, pulled, her bare feet occasionally lifting from the ground as she threw her weight against the bindings. The black fabric of her shirt stretched across her back with each powerful movement, and wisps of black hair clung to her forehead, damp with effort.
A few minutes melted into the humid afternoon, marked only by the rustle of leaves and Emily’s grunts of exertion. She was making progress, she could feel it. The rope was starting to chafe, a familiar sensation that meant she was getting close. Just a little more…
“Well, well, well,” a singsong voice declared, breaking Emily’s concentration. “Looks like someone’s in a bit of a pickle.”
Emily’s eyes flickered open, annoyance momentarily overshadowing her focus. Standing a few feet away, hands shoved into the pockets of his camouflage cargo pants, was her younger brother, Noah. Eleven years old, with shaggy blonde hair that forever seemed to defy a comb, and mischievous blue eyes that twinkled with nascent trouble, Noah was perpetually barefoot, just like Emily, his white t-shirt bright against the summer green.
“Noah, not now!” Emily snapped, trying to regain her rhythm. “I’m almost there!”
Noah, however, thrived on disruption. He ambled closer, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Aw, little sis stuck again? Need a hand?” He paused, pretending to consider. “Nah, this is way funnier.”
Before Emily could protest further, Noah’s fingers, surprisingly agile, darted out. He aimed for her sides, just beneath her armpits, a well-known vulnerability.
“Hey! No!” Emily yelped, a burst of uncontrollable laughter erupting from her. Her body instinctively convulsed, jerking against the ropes. It was impossible to maintain her focused struggle when her diaphragm was spasming with mirth.
Noah, emboldened by her reaction, switched tactics. His quick fingers moved to her armpits, delivering a merciless assault. Emily shrieked with laughter, her head thrown back, black hair flying. “Noah! Stop! I swear, I’ll get you back for this! Mom!”
Jenna, watching from a safe distance near the patio, merely chuckled. She knew this dance well.
Emily thrashed with renewed vigor, but not to escape the ropes; she was thrashing to escape Noah’s relentless tickle attack. Her legs kicked out, her torso twisted, her arms strained not against the bindings directly, but against the pure, physical inability to control her own body under the onslaught of tickles. She was a puppet on strings, her laughter echoing through the backyard.
“Ple-ease!” she gasped, tears of laughter welling in her green eyes. “Make him stop! I can’t… I can’t…!”
Suddenly, with another desperate, convulsive heave, something gave. Maybe it was the sheer force of her thrashing, or maybe the constant, subtle movements had finally loosened the knot just enough. One hand popped free, then the other, the rope falling loosely around her wrists.
Emily didn’t even pause to register her escape. Fueled by a potent mix of relief and tickle-induced fury, she launched herself off the ground, tackling Noah mid-chuckle. They tumbled onto the soft grass in a tangle of limbs and laughter.
“You little menace!” Emily squealed, pinning him down.
Noah, still giggling, bucked beneath her. “Gotcha! You cheated! That wasn’t a real escape!”
“It counts if I’m free, doesn’t it?” Emily retorted, tickling his sides in retaliation.
Their playful wrestling match continued for several minutes, a whirlwind of shouts, giggles, and rolling bodies. Jenna, watching the scene unfold, smiled warmly. Her children, for all their squabbles and teasing, shared an unbreakable bond, a lively energy that filled their home with constant motion and noise. Emily’s magic wasn't just about the tricks; it was about the joy, the challenge, and the unspoken connection it forged with her family.
****************
A few days later, the backyard escapades felt like a lifetime ago. Emily had upgraded her stage, moving from the sun-drenched lawn to the slightly more theatrical setting of their living room. A ring light cast a flattering glow on her face, and her phone, propped up strategically, was broadcasting live to the world – or at least, to her growing TikTok audience.
“Hey everyone, and welcome back to Emily’s Amazing Magic Show!” Emily chirped into the camera, her green eyes sparkling with an added layer of performative charm. She was still barefoot, still in her black top and denim shorts, but today she had added a sequined headband for extra razzle-dazzle. “Tonight, we’re going to push the boundaries, defy expectations, and quite possibly, defy a few knots!”
Comments were already scrolling up the screen: Go Emily!, Love your shows!, What’s the trick tonight?
Emily beamed. “Tonight, we’re going to attempt a classic escape act. But not just any escape act! This is the ‘Hogtie Hustle’! My escape from a full hogtie!” She paused for dramatic effect. “And for this, I’m going to need my glamorous assistant.”
Jenna, looking equally ready for her supporting role in a white t-shirt and jeans, walked into the frame, carrying a longer length of rope. “Ready when you are, magician,” she said with an amused wink.
“Alright, folks, as you can see, this is a real, bona fide rope,” Emily explained, holding up a section for the camera. “No trick knots, no pre-cut sections. My mom is going to tie me up tight, and then… the magic begins!”
Emily lay face down on the colorful rug, her hands brought back to meet her feet. Jenna, following Emily’s instructions, began to expertly bind her. First, she secured Emily’s wrists together, making sure they were snug. Then, she tied Emily’s ankles together. Finally, and most crucially for a hogtie, she connected the bound wrists to the bound ankles, pulling them tightly behind Emily’s back, creating a compact, almost spherical shape. Emily was effectively folded in half backward, her mobility severely restricted.
“And… done!” Jenna announced, patting Emily’s back.
Emily grunted, testing the ropes. “Wow, Mom, you really outdid yourself this time,” she said, her voice slightly muffled by her position. She twisted her head to face the camera. “Alright, everyone, as you can see, I am completely secure. No way out… unless you’re Emily! Now, the key to this is a combination of flexibility, mental focus, and understanding the give of the rope.”
She began to struggle, a concentrated effort that made the muscles in her back and legs tense. She shifted her weight, trying to create slack, to find a purchase. The rope dug into her skin, a constant reminder of her confinement. She talked to the camera as she worked, explaining her process, her breathing techniques, trying to distract herself from the discomfort and the difficulty.
You got this, Emily! Looks tough! Don’t give up!
Emily strained, her black hair falling into her green eyes. She wiggled her fingers, tried to contort her body, to twist her wrists against the bindings. This was harder than the tree branch escape. Much harder.
Just as she was beginning to feel a bead of sweat trickle down her temple, a familiar shadow fell over her.
“Psst. Emily.”
Emily’s eyes widened in alarm. She knew that voice. She knew that mischievous tone. “Noah! What are you doing? I’m live!” she hissed, trying to keep her professional facade.
Noah, barefoot and clad in his usual white t-shirt and camo pants, materialized beside her. His shaggy blonde hair framed a grin that promised pure, unadulterated chaos. “Just admiring your… predicament, sis.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Emily warned, trying to shift away, but the hogtie held her fast. She was utterly helpless, her feet drawn up close to her hands.
But Noah was already thinking about it. He knelt down, his blue eyes glinting. Before Emily could utter another coherent protest, his fingers darted out, quick as a hummingbird’s wings. He aimed for the most vulnerable, most ticklish spot imaginable: her exposed soles.
“NOOOO!” Emily shrieked, but it was swallowed by an immediate, involuntary burst of pure, unadulterated laughter.
Her body convulsed. Her eyes squeezed shut, tears of mirth instantly springing forth. She thrashed, not against the ropes to escape them, but against the unbearable sensation of Noah’s merciless fingers dancing across the arch of her foot, then her toes, then her heel. The hogtie, which had been her challenge, now became her ultimate tormentor, holding her perfectly still for the attack.
“Stop it! STOP IT, NOAH!” she gasped between peals of laughter, her voice barely audible. “I’m gonna!… I can’t!… AAAHHAAHAAHAAA!”
The camera captured it all: Emily, a professional escape artist, reduced to a helpless, giggling mess by her younger brother. Jenna, standing just out of frame, muffled a laugh with her hand, her shoulders shaking.
On the screen, the comments exploded:
LOL! Poor Emily! Tie up Noah next! This is cute! Best livestream ever! Hahaha, she’s so ticklish! Noah for the win!
Emily continued to thrash, a black-haired, green-eyed, laughing bundle of rope and pure vulnerability. Her denim shorts hiked up slightly with her movements, her black top stretched taut. She begged, she pleaded, she threatened, but Noah was relentless, his own giggles mingling with hers. He only stopped when his own hand started to ache from the effort.
Finally, pulling his fingers away, Noah leaned into the camera with a triumphant, cheeky grin. “That’s all folks!” he declared, echoing a famous cartoon character, before the screen flickered and the livestream abruptly ended.
The instant the camera was off, Emily gasped for breath, still giggling weakly. “You… you absolute terror!” she wheezed, trying to glare at Noah, but her eyes were still crinkled with belated mirth. “I was doing an escape act! A professional one!”
Noah just shrugged, his shaggy blonde hair shaking. “You escaped… through laughter. That counts, right?” He offered to untie her, and as Jenna knelt to help, Emily kicked out playfully at his retreating figure.
Jenna smiled, shaking her head as she worked on the knots. “Well, you certainly got a reaction. The comments section was going wild.”
Emily finally sat up, rubbing her still-tingling feet. “I can’t believe you did that!” she exclaimed, then paused, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. “You know,” she mused, a mischievous glint in her green eyes, “maybe an element of surprise… and uncontrollable laughter… could be a new part of the act. The ‘Ticklish Tangle Escape’!”
Noah, who had been about to make a hasty retreat, froze. “Wait, what? Are you serious?”
Emily just grinned, a true magician’s smile. Her passion for magic wasn't just about flawless execution; it was about the unexpected, the joy, and the chaotic, wonderful energy of her family. And sometimes, the best escapes weren't from ropes at all, but from seriousness itself. She might be a magician, but she was also Emily, a fourteen-year-old girl with a mischievous younger brother, and that, she realized, was the greatest magic of all.
