Three More Wishes: Be Kind To Your Genie

by Doctor MC

  I yawned, then replied, “Hm, sleep for an hour, or make love to a genie? Easy choice.”

  Then I said, “Kneel on the bed. Let me see you.”

  What I saw was, Fatima was wearing lingerie for a sultan.

  On her head she wore a brimless green cap that was decorated with much gold embroidery. I’ve already referred to her semitransparent green veil, which covered her lower face and throat.

  A green bra-like garment had been tied behind her back and also behind her neck. Below the bra-thing were gold coins, connected up and down by gold chain-links. When Fatima moved, those coins clinked, and their motion drew the eye to Fatima’s tits. Covering the bra-thing was a tiny garment, of dark green cloth and gold embroidery, that extended only slightly forward from the armholes, and only with generosity could be called a jacket; its sole purpose was to cover up Fatima’s breasts a little more.

  On her arms were green semitransparent baggy half-sleeves; the half-sleeves went from just above her elbows to her wrists, and were cinched tight at each end by green ribbons.

  Below Fatima’s waist, she wore green harem pants with bell-shaped legs. Again, green ribbons that were used as drawstrings tightened the waistband and the ankle cuffs.

  The baggy pants were transparent enough that Fatima’s pussy would have been visible, except that around Fatima’s hips hung a gold belt, down from which hung gold coin-chains that made a triangular veil that covered up the good stuff.

  As I was getting up on my knees myself, I said to her, “You are so beautiful and so desirable, Fatima. You are a wish granted.”

  She smiled at that.

  I reached around her head and untied the strings that were keeping the green veil on her face. I laid the green veil aside, then I kissed her. The kiss was long and slow.

  As I was pulling that embroidered cap off her head, I asked, “How long has it been since you’ve had sex?”

  “It’s been 812 solar years, five months, and thirteen days, Master.”

  “Then I need to put a dent in that backlog,” I said.

  It took me ten minutes to get her undressed. Mainly because I had no clue where the fasteners were for Middle Eastern clothing.

  Fatima’s nipples were chocolate brown, and they were jutting out. Her tits were perfectly shaped, with no sag at all—and were they bigger than when I’d met her a week ago?

  I got a happy surprise when I removed the gold-coin belt around Fatima’s hips. Through the semitransparent green cloth of her harem pants, I could see—

  “Your pussy’s trimmed!”

  Fatima smiled. “Yes, Master. From memory-reading you, I know that you find trimmed pussy hair more attractive. I want to look good for you.”

  As soon as I got her harem pants off, I stroked the pubic hair under discussion, and the pink parts nearby. Fatima moaned.

  By now she was nude and laying on her back, and I was lying next to her. Her hands were moving over every part of me that she could reach; she even caressed my neck. She said in a husky voice, “Your body is magnificent. I am getting wet, just touching you.”

  I replied, “Then you’ll get even wetter when I touch you back.”

  Which I did. Remember, Reader, that I had been a virgin less than a week earlier; and all my previous fucks had been ruttings, basically. This was the first time I really tried to do foreplay, and I wanted to do it right.

  Soon I was at last understanding the term ‘erogenous zone.’ The breast skin around Fatima’s nipples was an erogenous zone. The skin on the side of her waist, another erogenous zone. The skin on the backs of her knees, still another. Her fingertips and palms were a huge erogenous zone.

  At one point, I was stroking a leg. I said, “Thank you for shaving your legs for me.”

  She giggled. “Armpits too. I didn’t shave them exactly, I made them be hairless. Not the same thing.”

  “Either way, you did it for me. Thank you.” We kissed.

  By the time I stopped caressing Fatima, she was squeezing a rocky bicep and muttering, “Oh Master, oh Master, oh yes...”

  That’s when I finally moved atop Fatima. Her look of lust changed to a look of confusion when I then moved down the bed—and down her body.

  Seconds later, she gasped. Then she said, “Master, you don’t need to—It is I who should—”

  I raised my head up from where it was (a tongue’s-length from Fatima’s clit) high enough that I could make eye contact with her. I said, “Hear me, O Fatima, bound djinni of the lamp: Your master commands you to lie back and enjoy this. And if you aren’t enjoying this, you are to inform me instantly, so that I fix my mistake. Obey me now.”

  Fatima’s head plopped back onto the pillow, and I went back to what I was doing. In the next five minutes, I learned two things—

  1) Aroused djinn women don’t smell quite like aroused human women. When I got Fatima writhing and moaning, mixed in with the familiar odor was the smell of sandalwood.

  2) Djinn clits, when properly stimulated, can make their owners scream and thrash just as hard as human clitorises can.

  I ate her pussy for ten minutes. After about five minutes of licking, she started moaning and writhing continuously. Reader, it’s a real problem how to score that—do I count it as one five-minute orgasm, or five one-minute orgasms, or thirty ten-second orgasms?

  But as I said, after ten minutes of eating her pussy, I stopped. I moved up the bed to where my face was next to hers, then I kissed her. “You may move now,” I said.

  FOOM—instantly Fatima was halfway down the bed, sucking me hard.

  When I was ready to party, I asked, “Do I need a condom?”

  “No, Master,” Fatima said. “Djinn women don’t get pregnant unless the chief of the tribe orders it.”

  I looked at the clock. It told me that I had thirty-six minutes before I had to jump in the shower.

  I made good use of that time. Discovering, in the process, why guys prefer not wearing a condom to fucking with a condom.

  What was especially nice was that Fatima put a green-smoke ring around the base of my cock. I stayed hard and excited, and didn’t shoot my cream till I was ready to. This was so generous of Fatima, don’t you think?

  And when my cock was sliding in and out of Fatima’s wet pussy? She seemed to enjoy it. Which wasn’t bad for a virgin-a-week-ago like me.

  ****

  Twenty minutes after Fatima and I had climbed out of bed, I was staring at my cock’s reflection in the bathroom mirror.

  Somehow I hadn’t noticed, in all the fucking that I’d done before Fatima and I had showered together, but my cock was over two inches longer than it was yesterday. My cock was also thicker.

  Fatima was stroking my cock, and smiling. Her reflection told me, “Your cock is now exactly the right length and thickness to best delight Anna Kay’s pussy.”

  Then Fatima’s reflection gave me a well-fucked smile. “Of course, since djinn are shapeshifters by nature, I’ve tweaked my pussy so that your cock is also the right length and thickness to give me the most pleasure. Anyway, I waited for the last day to hit you with this ‘little’ surprise, Master. Just like I waited till today for Harold’s surprises.”

  I snapped my fingers. “Harold! I need to call him.”

  Fatima frowned. “Why?”

  “He doesn’t know that it’s all over now. By now he probably wakes up every morning with a sense of dread.”

  Fatima let go of my cock, and said in a neutral voice, “You’re the master.”

  I took one last glance at the bathroom mirror, before going to hunt up my cel. What the mirror was showing me was amazing.

  I was 6′8″ now. When I’d walked into the bathroom in flip-flops, the top of the doorjamb had mussed my hair. I had to bend my knees now, in order to comb my hair; if I didn’t bend my knees, I couldn’t see the top of my head in the mirror.

  I was also muscular. Jeez, I was barely this side of inhuman. When I’d walked into the bathroom, my cantaloupe-sized triceps had barely
missed the side doorjambs.

  After I walked out of the bathroom (my hair brushed up against the top doorjamb again), I was singing, “Oom-chukka, oom-chukka, oom-chukka mao-mao...” Another of Fatima’s last-day surprises was that I now had a bass voice.

  ****

  I didn’t like Harold one bit, and I would never do him any favors, but I thought that letting him worry needlessly was cruel.

  Fatima’s attitude was the exact opposite: that Harold/Hank was getting off easy. So no surprise, when I asked Fatima for Harold’s cel-phone number, she didn’t instantly summon her scrying ball. Instead, for thirty seconds she was frowning, and she glared at me. I was two seconds away from calling Natasha, in order to ask her for Harold’s number, when Fatima finally summoned her scrying ball.

  Seconds later, I punched-in Harold’s number. “Natasha?” a girl’s voice answered.

  For a second, I was too surprised to speak. Then I said, “Is this Harold? This is Marvin.”

  “Marvin? Your voice sounds different.” Then the girl-voice laughed bitterly. “But why should I be surprised, hm?”

  “The reason I called, Harold: There are no more changes for you and me. Everything is done.”

  The girl-voice sighed. “So I’m stuck like this. At least I’m still male—technically. I was scared shitless I’d lose that too.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. So I said, “Well, I’ll see you and Natasha at the party tonight.”

  “Yeah, Natasha is picking me up in a few minutes. She’s got my whole day planned.”

  “Okay, Harold. See you tonight.”

  I was just about to hit the “OFF” button when I heard the girl-voice say, “Marvin, will you tell me why this stuff has happened to us? Since you seem to know?”

  I went silent for a long time, while I thought of what to say. Harold waited quietly, not pushing me. At last, I said—

  “Harold, sometimes what goes around, does in fact come around.”

  “This isn’t fair. Now everyone at school ‘remembers’ me taking tranny pills since sixth grade, telling kids in seventh grade, ‘I want to be a sissy when I grow up.’ I’m at the bottom of the social ladder now, even dating Natasha. Do I deserve that?”

  “Yes, Hank. Because last week you were at the top of the social ladder, and you were a Grade-A asshole to me.”

  ****

  I was buttoning my shirt when I said to Fatima, “If you haven’t already dried your hair, please do that. Then dress in something casual. I want you looking both stylish and sexy, but not too sexy.”

  “I’m going somewhere with you, Master?”

  “Yeah, breakfast with my parents. I’ve decided not to lie to them anymore.”

  Fatima’s eyes went wide.

  Chapter 23

  Fatima Meets The Folks

  Before I started up the clunker, I called Sherry and Virgilia on my cel. I told each of them about my housewarming party, tomorrow at an hour past noon. I told each stripper that I ordered her to come, and I expected her to stay at least till four. It turned out that both Sherry and Virgilia were scheduled to start work at four.

  Recall, Reader, that both Sherry and Virgilia worked at the same place: the Nimfo Club. So I came up with a simple solution to my strippers’ problem—

  “Tonight, early in your shift, both of you together go find your boss. Together you tell him that something’s come up, and you both are coming in late tomorrow, sometime between four and five. If the boss asks what’s so important, say, ‘It’s personal’ and tell him nothing more.”

  Reader, you haven’t seen Sherry and Virgilia with very little clothing on. Whereas I have. When I told those two, “Go talk to your boss together,” I had a pretty good idea that however much the boss might bluster and complain, he’d never dare punish two such hot-looking, big-breasted blondes.

  And to think, Sherry and Virgilia were just two of my women. Reader, life is good sometimes.

  ****

  During the early-morning drive from the mansion to my former home, I noticed that Fatima was wearing a self-satisfied smile.

  “Why are you smiling?” I asked.

  “I’m thinking about what I did to Harold, and how everything turned out,” she said.

  Oh Reader, you should have heard how gleeful she sounded, saying those words. I wouldn’t have been a bit surprised to discover Fatima rubbing her hands together while cackling Myuhaha!

  I said, “I’ve wondered what you did. Last week, Hank and Natasha were enemies. Now they’re a couple, and he’s her boy toy.”

  “Except he doesn’t look like a boy now, that’s for sure!”

  I decided to let that slide. Instead I asked, “So how did you do it?”

  “Magic pheromones. For two days, I gave Harold mild pheromones that affected only Natasha, and that were only strong enough to overcome the disgust and loathing that any woman feels toward Harold Miller. After that, he didn’t need pheromones to attract her, because now he looked enough like her ‘heart’s desire.’ Meanwhile, I gave magic pheromones to Natasha from Day One, and her pheromones got stronger each day, like yours did.”

  “So why isn’t every guy in the school throwing himself at her?”

  “Because hers only affect Harold and his parents.”

  “Whoa, hold on! Natasha is having sex with Harold’s parents?”

  Fatima laughed. “No, and Natasha is barely having sex with Harold! Since Monday morning, all he’s gotten out of the deal was a handjob yesterday afternoon, and that was to reward him for—”

  “—coming to school dressed like the main character in I Was A Teenage Drag Queen?”

  “Oh Master, you should have seen the comedy, Thursday morning before school. I watched the whole thing later in my scrying ball, and I laughed so hard! When Natasha came to Harold’s house and rang the doorbell, both of his parents were yelling, ‘No way are you leaving the house in a skirt!’ Then Natasha walked in—two minutes later, both his parents were apologizing to her. Then the parents not only let Natasha take Harold to school in that skirt, but do you remember the shoes that he wore to school yesterday?”

  “The ones bought at Porn-Actresses-Pay-Less Shoe Store?”

  “Oh, this is so nasty! Thursday afternoon, Natasha called Harold’s mom and said, ‘Tonight, me and you and Harold will is go shoppink.’ Natasha didn’t ask Kathy Miller to come with her and Harold on a shopping trip, Natasha told Kathy to come. But Kathy didn’t argue. And after dinner, sure enough, all three of them went shopping. And it was Kathy Miller, Harold’s mom, who picked out those shoes that he wore yesterday!”

  I said, “Wow, that’s, uh, quite a story.”

  Fatima grinned. “So now Harold is Natasha’s walking, talking dress-up doll and pussy-licking sex toy.”

  ****

  After I rang the doorbell by the familiar door, Fatima squeezed my hand. Fatima was dressed like a U. of Texas sorority girl—

  Her ass-length black hair was out of its ponytail, and was curled up all girly. Her green-polished fingernails were longer than usual. She was wearing a spaghetti-strap top, shorts, high-heeled sneakers, and eye shadow. Everything was green, of course, except for the lipstick. Fatima had explained to me that since my parents thought that she was a U.T. sorority girl, she should dress the part.

  Fatima must have looked good: A middle-aged man who was washing his car was definitely checking her out.

  It was my mother who opened the front door of my-home-till-yesterday. Mom took one look at Fatima, grinned, and yelled back, “TOLD YOU, STEVE! YOU OWE ME FIVE BUCKS!”

  I thought, So much for “They’ll never in a million years guess who I’m bringing”!

  Fatima and I walked into the living room/dining room. Interestingly, the dining-room table, which seldom gets used, was set for breakfast. Seconds later, Dad walked out of the kitchen carrying a big tray, on which sat three pitchers.

  “We got milk, O.J., and tomato juice,” Dad said. “Nobody’s going thirsty!”

 
; After I introduced Fatima to my folks (and vice versa), I leaned over to her and murmured, “Offer to help Mom in the kitchen.”

  “Yes, Master,” Fatima murmured back.

  Mom and Fatima fenced for a few seconds, then Mom decided to allow Fatima to carry the scrambled eggs from the kitchen.

  Meanwhile, my dad asked me, straight-faced, “Sleep well last night?”

  I replied with my own straight face, “I’m sure I slept about the same as you and Mom did.”

  Seconds later, Fatima walked out of the kitchen, carrying a big, shallow dish filled with scrambled eggs. Behind her, Mom walked out, carrying four blue-tinted glass tumblers. Fatima put the eggs on an open place on the table, while Mom put the glasses in front of everyone’s plate. Dad sat down at the head of the table, rubbed his hands, and said, “Let’s eat.”

  I was standing by the chair on the west side of the table, clearly about to sit down in it. My mother, flustered, gestured to the empty east-side chair and said to Fatima, “Then I guess you’re sitting here”—while shooting me a look that meant Why aren’t you holding Fatima’s chair for her?

  I decided, now was the time to clue my parents in. I held up my blue tumbler, and spoke a little louder than I needed to: “Fatima.”

  “Yes, Master?” Fatima said.

  My father coughed, hearing that. My mother gasped.

  I said, “I’d rather drink from my Ghostbusters glass. Walk into the kitchen, put this glass back on its shelf, grab my Ghostbusters glass, and walk in here with it.”

  “Yes, Master.” Fatima walked to my chair, took the glass from me (smiling at me as she did so), then strode into the kitchen.

  My mother shot me a dirty look, before dashing after Fatima. “Honey, let me show you where—”

  Dad, meanwhile, was giving me a disappointed look. “Marvin, this is not how to win friends and influence people.”

  Now I heard my mom’s voice in the kitchen: “How’d you know where—?”

  A second later, Fatima appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, holding the Ghostbusters glass. I raised my hand, both to silence my father and to stop Fatima where she was.