The Djinni and the Lamps
Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Mult, Consensual, Romantic, Fiction, Genie, Harem, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Slow,
Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Herb is a burnt-out Silicon Valley engineer on a downward slope. He rubs a magic lamp, and a djinni appears. Herb's life improves. Sufficently improved magic cannot be distinguished from technology.
I had been browsing though an "antique" (i.e., a private second-hand store) store when I saw the box of old Aladdin lamps half-tucked under a table. I bent down, and saw that it was filled with a jumble of old, some broken lamps. Most seemed to be Model B's, but it looked like there might be a Model 11 or even a Model 6 at the bottom of the jumble. And my collection could use a spiffy Model 6, and, of course, a Model 3.
"If you want one, you gotta take 'em all" drifted over to me. "I don't mess around with kerosene and chemicals. You want one, it's a hundred bucks and you take the whole damn box. Sold?"
I reached into my pocket. If there was a decent Model 6 at the bottom of jumble, then the lot would be worth the hundred bucks. If I could clean up two Model B's out of the mess and pawn them off eBay, I'd be ahead of the game. But the hundred would eat up my toy budget for the month. No trip to Fry's until the lamps sold. I'd end up spending Sunday (and Monday night and Tuesday night, and probably Wednesday night and Thursday night) sitting at my kitchen table, piecing together lamps and polishing them up and taking pictures for eBay. I've done worse things than polish kerosene lamps.
A fifty, two twenties, a five and five ones later ("Take the lot, and I won't remember to charge you tax for cleaning hazardous chemicals out of my store.") I was loading the wooden carton into the back of the Porsche.
Yeah, it was a Porsche. 944. 420,000 miles, and still ticking. Paid cash back when the outfit that I worked for back them went public. Couldn't afford another one now. Hell, I couldn't afford a Toyota Solara like Ralph, our IT tech. Forty percent of everything went to Susan, "for the kids." In a pig's ear. Forty percent of my gross, plus what she made, and she was living the life of Riley. I was buying jeans for Sarah and Warren whenever they saw me for my visitation weekends. "Every other weekend" was maybe one out of six. Maybe one out of eight. After the dot-bomb, when the whole fricken' Valley collapsed and folks were packing the Honda and turning in the leased Explorer and driving back to Mommy and Daddy in Peoria and networking companies were cratering like a warez release, I had to find employment to stay out of "failure to make timely child support payments" jail. It didn't matter that I had no assets, that I had no income, I had to make that damn payment every month. When I finally landed something after five exhausting months that paid two thirds of my previous take, it took six months of expensive lawyering to get the payments dialed back to forty percent of my new gross. Of course, there was no refund of a year's worth of overpayments. I hated fucking peanut butter.
On my new budget, I shopped for housewares at the Salvation Army and at Goodwill and at every private second-hand shop I could find. In five years of "junking" I had acquired an eclectic collection of gourmet cookware, some decent Noritake dinnerware, and had started collecting Aladdin kerosene lamps.
The first was a lark, forty bucks for "old technology" to put next to the "new technology" iMac. Then I found another, and another, and I had started collecting.
It got me doing something, and I'd met a few people though the collecting thing. After the debacle with Susan, though, I swore off relationships. Collecting things, okay, that seemed to work.
So now I had a whole boxful to sort through. I headed back to the freeway and back to home. I hauled the box into the kitchen, spread out the Mercury News over the kitchen table, and started sifting through my finds. Four Model B's, all of different colors. And two brass lamps, a Model 8 and a Model 5. And a whole collection of Model 23's.
Looking at the lamps, I noticed that all of them had a pattern of scratches surrounding the filler. It looked like some sort of star had been scratched into the glass or into the brass with something sharp and solid that left firm, even lines. Oh well, even with "wear and tear," they would fetch maybe a hundred on eBay. I might make five hundred bucks off the box, all income that I wouldn't have to "share" with Susan. Sarah might get her iPod that I couldn't otherwise afford, out of the deal.
I took what seemed to be the best-looking of the Model B's and decided to see what it looked like, cleaned up. I took out the burner and eased off the filler cap. Empty, but a bit of a strange, musty smell, like a weird perfume of some kind. Perfumed kerosene? Maybe, back then. A third of a bottle of Orange Glo and most of a roll of paper towels later, I had a nice amber table lamp sitting in front of me. I still couldn't figure out the pattern of the scratches. I noticed that I'd missed a speck of dirt, and didn't feel like wasting another paper towel. Admire my handwork, haul it over to my desk for a picture, and put it up on eBay. I reached for the spot and rubbed at it with my fingertip.
Suddenly there was a breeze in the room, like the ventilation system had skipped a beat, and a swarthy, Arabic-looking fellow wearing a Google knit shirt was sitting across the table from me.
I didn't drop the lamp. He reached over and used my hand to move it to safety in the center of the table.
"I am the djinni of the lamp. I am yours to command. What is your desire, my Master?"
His tones were rounded and respectful.
I wasn't sure what was happening. I did know that I wasn't high or hallucinating. Susan's concept of "justice" ensured that my preference to keep a little baggie around had gone the way of the big house and our future. And I couldn't afford to both drink and pay for Porsche repairs, so the Porsche had won that one.
"Uhhhh... can you tell me how you got here?"
"Certainly. I was constrained within the lamp. When you rubbed the lamp with your hand, that released me from my confinement to do your bidding. What is your desire, my Master?
"Solomon searched through all the deserts of Arabia, finding all of the wild djinni, and binding us to his seal. He did not bind us to himself, although he could have. Instead, he bound us to his seal, created in the name of the Lord. Then he bound his seal to a bottle or to a lamp, and the djinni that was bound to that seal, became the djinni of that lamp or that bottle.
"When we are in the bottle or in the lamp, we are constrained, and we gather power. When we are outside the bottle, we dissipate power. The more that we are asked to do outside the bottle, the more we dissipate. When the task that we have been assigned is complete, we return to the bottle to gather more power. If the bottle or lamp is broken, or the seal is unbound from the bottle, we cannot return, for we are bound to the seal. If we cannot return, we dissipate, but not completely. Were we to dissipate completely, we would become wild. But we can never be wild again, because Solomon bound us. And since Solomon bound us to his seal for all Time, if a bottle were to appear with his seal bound to it, then some djinni would become bound to that bottle, until all of the djinni were again bottled.
"Your predecessor as my Master was an explorer for 'mysteries' at the turn of the last century. He uncovered the hidden mysteries of Solomon's seal, and bound it to a series of Aladdin lamps. He was surprised as me when he rubbed one of the lamps, and I appeared."
"So I could ask you to build me a palace... ?"
"And I would build you a palace. Where? Here or in Las Vegas? Marble or granite? Limestone? How many rooms? Gardens? But you would have to deal with the consequences... and you have a government that taxes everything that it can see. I am bound to Solomon's seal, so I have no consequences whatsoever for my acts. And Solomon was a Pure Master, and he bound himself to the Lord, so that all of the consequences from his acts worked for the greater glory of the Lord."
"So maybe all I should ask for is twenty bucks and a Timex watch?"
He laughed, and a twenty and a plastic Timex appeared on the kitchen table. There was a faint breeze, like the ventilation system had skipped another beat, and the djinni vanished.
I looked at the clock. It was almost nine, and I'd spent most of the evening cleaning the lamp. Do you sell something like that on eBay? How do you sell something like that on eBay? The guy with the haunted Nintendo put it up under "video games." Do you put an Aladdin lamp with a genie in it up under collectibles? Or is there a better category? Or do you rub the lamp again and solve the problem that way? And how long does it take the djinni to recharge?
Dinner was probably in order, before I started hallucinating from hunger. I started some brown rice, poached a chicken breast in lemon juice with capers, and steamed some broccoli. I filled a glass with ice water to wash it down. My belly filled, I reexamined my treasure trove. Six lamps, all marked with the strange scratches.
I rubbed the Model 5.
Another faint breeze, and this time a raven-haired beauty wearing a Google knit shirt and tan slacks sat (or maybe hovered) in the chair across from me.
"I am the djinni of the lamp. I am yours to command. What is your desire, my Master?"
I hadn't seen anyone (or anything) that beautiful since... maybe ever. Prefect tits. Maybe a 36B. Jiggling nicely. And a youthful face, but with the glow of maturity. I couldn't see her ass, since she was seated.
"Your every wish is my command." And she stood up, and performed some maneuver on her way to my lap that left my gaze admiring a trim, but womanly set of hips. She toyed with the buttons on my shirt.
"Do you want to sit here, or would you like to get more comfortable?"
I started to stand, and she slipped to her feet, so lightly and so gracefully, it was as if a piece of silk had fallen off my lap. But in the moments that she had been in my lap, there had been a firm weight pressing down on my thigh. She reached for my hand, and we walked into my living room. I sat down at one end of the sofa, and she snuggled into my lap.
"Why the Google shirts?"
"Nice colors. And you can make one out of silk. All djinni only wear silk. Would you rather an Apple shirt?" And the shirt changed from muted heather with the Google logo into black with the Apple logo.
"Better?" She giggled. "Shirts? Shirts?" She emphasized the plural. "Did you meet my brother? My sister?"
"All djinni are my brothers and sisters. After Solomon bound us each to a separate seal, we do not meet, save very rarely." She paused. I could see a thought crossing her face, a desire that was three thousand years old. "Oh, please, please, please?" She squealed. She held my hand and led me back to the kitchen. Not really led, more like followed, but there was an erotic current so strong from her hand that a man would have to be a fool to ignore the promise of it.
I rubbed the Model 8.
And the ventilation skipped another beat. And another beauty appeared in the chair across the kitchen table, again wearing a Google shirt. But this one had curly hair, was maybe an inch shorter, and was a little fuller in the bosom and hips.
"We are the djinni of the lamp. We are yours to command. What is your desire, my Master?" They spoke in perfect unison, but both voices could be distinguished. Exactly together, yet each distinct.
They both looked at me expectantly, and I said, "You can greet her."
The air was a tangle of arms and hair and bodies flying around for a moment. It might have been twenty seconds, or it might have been a half hour. There was no way to keep track of time.
"What are your names?"
"Whatever you like, my Master." The two voices blended as one.
"Fine, then you'll be Rachel." I pointed to my first djinni, "and you'll be Leah."
"Thank you, my Master."
"We are here to pleasure you, in whatever way that you would like."
Two sets of arm clasped around my neck. My face was covered with kisses. The kisses were interrupted by giggles. More kisses, and more giggles.
"What is your pleasure, my Master?" They were wonderful. Girlish, yet womanly, and I realized that I would always have to be the one to lead, have to be the one to instruct. After eight years of Susan, and five years of after Susan, I would decide what would happen. Or not happen. What a wild idea. That got me harder than the tits pressing into my sides and the kisses covering my face and the fingers twining in my hair.
"Uhhh, I need a display case for my lamp collection." And a six foot tall maple (I may live in California, but I despise honey oak) display case with glass shelves and a glass door appeared in the corner of the living room. Halogen display lights illuminated each compartment. I moved my new trophies in from the kitchen, and moved the lamps that comprised the previous extent of my collection into the remaining niches. Somehow Rachel and Leah accompanied me though all of this, kissing me and stroking me (front, back, butt and crotch), but somehow never touching a lamp or interfering with any of my carries. I couldn't figure out how. I put the two brass lamps in the bottom shelf.
"Does rubbing your lamp with a toe work?"
They both giggled and answered in unison. "Of course, you can rub our lamps with anything." They emphasized the "our."
"Does my cabinet lock?"
"If you want it to."
"And do I need a key?"
"No, you just say, 'Open, Sesame.'" They both broke up in hopeless giggles, falling off me to roll around on the floor.
"Open, Sesame." The doors swung open a fraction of an inch.
"Close, Sesame." The doors latched shut, with a mechanical click of some unseen mechanism.
Leah picked herself off the floor. "It only opens and closes for you. That is what you want, isn't it? And you will," she emphasized "will," "have to walk around the house barefoot." Rachel added, as she picked herself up, "So you can rub our lamps."
"Unless you want to keep us around all of the time" they chorused. "We would love that."
"And your powers? Do you have to go back into your lamps to recharge?"
More giggles. "If you provide love, then that recharges us. Do you love us?"
"I dunno," I scowled.
They flew back to me with soft kisses and caresses.
"Silly man. We can make you so happy. And we will find you a wife that is worthy of you. And if you love us, that would be more than we can ask."
I gathered them into my arms and kissed them both.
"At two this afternoon I spent a hundred bucks in the hope that I might make enough by selling my finds on eBay to buy my daughter an iPod. And now at midnight I have the two of you."
A short thump announced the arrival of a small white box with the Apple logo on my desk. "Or did you want it gift wrapped for her?"
"No, but I should give her a card with it."
A Gary Larson card that I'd never seen before appeared, tucked under the corner of the box. Weird cows.
Rachel giggled. "We're easier to shop than the Hallmark store. But you will have to go there for inspiration. We can create what you desire, but if you can't wish it, we can't deliver. So you're still going to have to browse the card racks."
Each of them grabbed me by a hand. "Bed, bed, bed. The lamps are safe. Now please to bed."
They dragged me to my bedroom. Four arms descended and my arms went up with my shirt and all three knit shirts landed in a heap at the same time. By the time that I had my hands down to hold warm naked flesh to mine, four hands were reaching for my belt. I found myself seated at the edge of the bed as my shoes and socks disappeared and landed somewhere in the room with random thumps. My two djinni were now naked. I hadn't noticed the slacks being taken off, but maybe they just disappeared. I toyed with a strawberry nipple or three.
"We are the djinni of the lamp. We are yours to command. What is your desire, my Master?"
They smiled tighter. "Yes, we can do that." I had imagined a tag-team blow job, and I guess, had wished for it. Poof!
"One moment." I went to the bathroom, recycled the evening's ice water and brushed my teeth. "Ahh, better."
I rejoined my two nymphs who were cavorting on the bed. As I sat down on the edge of the bed again, four hands again grabbed for my belt. They managed to make an immense production out of removing my slacks and boxers. My erection stood up, and they both petted it.
"If there's any corrections you want made, your wish is our command."
"I may just need more stamina."
"Done." I felt a slight tingling somewhere near the base of my cock.
Two hands slid up and down the length of my cock, as two more hands pushed me backwards onto the bed. I closed my eyes and drifted with the sensations. Tiny little butterfly kisses raced up and down the sides of my cock, along with strokes from what seemed like an infinite collection of loving hands. My cock started feeling slick, covered with their saliva. Lips covered the head and a soft tongue probed the opening, then a second of cool air as it was replaced by another mouth, both skillful and erotic and loving, both seeking sex with me as an expression of our relationship. The hands and kisses and stroking and the suction and the soft tongues working their way up and down the shaft had my balls firing, and I grabbed my two beauties to me and slept.