In a Bottle... Ch. 05byZeban©
One of the things that Alan hadn't anticipated with having four women living with him -- magical or not -- was the laundry. Normally, he had to wash clothes once every week or two. With this many people to do chores for, he found he had to wash clothes every other day and dishes twice as often. For some reason, he had assumed that their clothes would be magically clean all the time.
Over the past two days, he had thought about making the genies rotate with him taking turns washing and folding clothes, but he quickly found himself enjoying washing their clothes. Such sexy little silks and undergarments. Even without them in the room he found himself envisioning them wearing them. Their panties clinging snuggly to their bodies, revealing plenty of skin to stir his arousal, yet covering just enough to tease the imagination. They did, after all, know exactly what he liked.
Alan had also had to deal with his mixed feelings about leaving four mischievous genies to their own devices while he went to work, but he'd found that while they were enthralled with the new experiences he provided for them, they rarely got bored. When he came home he had found them acting like normal women, conversing with each other, the TV on in the background.
Alan was preparing spaghetti for dinner that night when, with a sudden bout of unoriginated guilt, he felt undeserved of the women in his life. They had assumed the form of exactly what he wanted in a woman. Even knowing that, he still found it difficult to justify them being with him. He felt as though he was inadequate compared to their physique, and their outgoing and loving personalities. He tried to think of an equivocal response to his feelings, but none seemed to measure up.
He had always been a little on the thick side and he hadn't really ever been the type to have enough motivation to go hit the gym and work on toning his muscles, but it had never bothered him as much as it did in that moment. In the new light of his recently revamped life, staying under 200 pounds didn't seem like such a great goal any longer. He wanted to reflect the perfection of his genies in his own frame.
Perhaps his magic would help him with this surge of embarrassment, he thought. Alan dug into the recesses of his mind for an answer only to come up with a blank. He knew practically everything there was to know about illusionary magic, but nothing about the permanency of enchantments.
He went in search of his harem and found them relaxing in the living room. The four of them were seated like so many languid house-cats draped across the furniture, relaxing in their colored silks until dinner was ready.
"Magik," he began, getting their attention. "I can't seem to figure out how to create a permanent illusion around myself to change my appearance. Is there something specific that needs to be done?"
They all looked up at him inquisitively as Magik answered.
"There is no permanence when dealing with magic. Only the effects that magic leaves on the world are permanent. Any sustained magic requires a steady stream of mental effort that would weaken any other enchantments rendered while the existing one remained. After a long enough duration, sustained magic would cause loss of consciousness even without further magic use."
"Master, why would you care to change your appearance to begin with?" Misty asked curiously.
Alan shuffled his feet and glanced to the side. They were so innocent and naive; they obviously didn't share society's view of him as being less attractive for his extra weight. Why say anything and change how they felt about him?
He owed them an explanation, that's why. They had the respect to continue to teach him about the intricacies of magic and desires, he needed to do the same and teach them about the world as it had evolved.
"Well..." he sighed, "To be entirely honest with all of you, I feel undeserving of you. You are all so perfect and I'm... not. According to modern society this-" he grabbed his belly and jiggled it, "-is not acceptable. I should have a six pack, not a spare tire. Maybe if I weighed closer to 170 or at least had some muscle definition..."
"You are too hard on yourself, master. I think the society we have created here in your apartment overrules the one outside." Misty quipped with her usual warm, understanding smile adorned upon her face. She got up and came over to press herself up against Alan, giving him a kiss on the cheek.
"Master," Carmella was the next to voice her opinion. "You only think of us as perfect because we molded ourselves to your vision of perfection. You have never asked us what we thought of you. Through my eyes, you are exactly as I wish you to be and equally as perfect to me as I am to you."
She also rose from the furniture to show her affection for him, prompting Lucky and Magik to do the same. They all crowded around him and either stroked his skin gently, ran fingers through his hair, or kissed him tenderly.
Alan found it quite difficult to resist the flattery of the women he loved while they embraced him and touched him, all of them truly concerned for his self-esteem. He had overreacted to his realization and now felt very stupid. He was a nice, intelligent man whose good fortune had allowed these women into his life. Guilt was not one of the normal things for someone to feel in situations such as these.
Alan decided that it would be a selfish and unwarranted waste of power and effort to make himself constantly appear to have chiseled abs instead of love handles. Though it wouldn't hurt to exercise a little more, he decided.
"Let me show you how attractive we find you to be and forget about the rest of the world," Misty remarked as she produced a red silk from somewhere on her body and wrapped it around one of Alan's arms, entangling him loosely. She turned, coaxing him to follow her by sashaying her ass back and forth and tugging on the other end of the silk.
As he followed her down the hall, once again mesmerized by her shapely body, she began to remove her silks, letting them caress her skin as they slid off. They were just getting to the end of the hallway -- and Misty was just removing the silk covering up her pert rear end -- when Alan remembered that he was cooking dinner.
"Misty!" he admonished her as he forced himself to head back into the kitchen. "You made me completely forget that I was cooking! I hope my sauce isn't burning to the pan."
"Oh no, do not assume you are getting away that easily," she shouted, chasing him down the hall.
Alan's spaghetti sauce was boiling, but wasn't ruined. He hurried over and began to briskly stir the contents of his pan.
Misty, not one to be ignored when the mood struck her, sauntered over next to him hopped up on the countertop, placed her hand between her legs, and arched her back like a cat in heat. The effect was not lost on Alan and he found it very difficult to focus on why he cared a thing about dinner at this particular moment.
"Master, as I recall, you still owe me an invisible blowjob," she mused, her hand subtly rubbing in the tiniest of circles.
"Indeed I do," Alan agreed, remembering to swallow. "I wasn't a big fan of how we left things, but it wasn't as fun for me when you guys knew who I was. Still, if you enjoyed it, I wouldn't mind trying it again."
Alan slid his spaghetti sauce off the hot burner and onto the cold stove, where it was soon forgotten.
He had the insight this time to craft an illusion to nullify any sounds that he would make, also. That had been what had given him away the previous time. He tested it out, shouting and stomping in place, surprising Misty with his sudden outburst of silence. She jumped, and then suddenly started laughing at him, realizing what he had done. She looked even sexier when she laughed, he thought, fading away from visual existence. He did so quicker this time, but still chose to fade rather than vanish instantly, this also allowed for artistic interpretation. Alan waved goodbye to her, and vanished from his feet up, leaving his face and waving hand until the very end, floating in midair.
She got a spry and mischievous burst of energy from somewhere, and in one quick motion pulled all of the remaining red silks off of her body at once and flung them into the air. Her sudden animalistic nudity surprised and aroused him, and also distracted him enough to allow himself to be draped in the nimble scarves, revealing him. He spent a moment admiring her breathtaking beauty before it occurred to him that being draped like this was advertising his location. Misty hopped off the counter and grabbed for his crotch, unzipping and removing his pants before he could react. The first thing he did was to extend his illusions to include the silks in his invisibility enchantment, visibly melting them into nothingness.
He experimented with another new aspect as a thought entered his mind. He formed an illusion -- the best way he knew how that is -- to make his body ethereal. With Misty's hands busily removing his pants, he knew that he wouldn't be able to surprise her. In the midst of pulling one pant leg off, her hands seemed to push into him, bending and bouncing like he was made of rubber. It seemed the effect wasn't strong enough, that he had merely seemed to turn into a jello-y sort of ooze. Her hands had never actually left his leg, but illusions were all about perception and reaction. He released the illusion and tried again.
His focus renewed and his intent more clear, Alan cast a stronger illusion about himself. This time when Misty groped for his legs, she passed directly through him as though he were nothing but a gaseous memory. She gracefully wandered about on her hands and knees, batting at the air curiously like the house-cat from before.
While she searched for him, Alan became aware of the main problem with illusory magic. She could neither feel, nor see, nor hear him, but his existence hadn't ceased. So while she moved to occupy the same space as him, he was forced to move, or be bowled over by her advances. He was acutely aware of a familiar dizziness warning him that he was using too much magic too quickly. When she touched him, he had hold onto his illusion lest it come unraveled, and when she ran into him, he had to work harder still -- the feeling of light-headedness intensifying.
Alan moved behind her, simultaneously putting himself out of her path and giving him a fetching view of her rear. Safe from her explorative hands, he released his enchantment of etherealness and got a handle on his balance. This wouldn't be any fun for her if he botched the whole thing by passing out again.
Alan silently finished removing his pants and discarded them to the side along with her red mesh scarves. As she made another round, he stealthily grazed his hand along Misty's inner thigh when she passed him. She trembled slightly at his touch and turned towards the contact, getting up onto her knees. Alan backed away out of her reach as she extended her arms, searching for him.
He went around behind her again and lightly tickled the undersides of her bare breasts causing her nipples to stiffen. Reflexively, she pulled her arms back to cover them with her hands.
Alan continued to tease her like this for a minute before standing in front of her and allowing her to bump into his stiffened cock with her face. She pulled back at the sudden contact before smiling and obligingly opening her mouth to waggle her tongue at him -- or where she assumed he was as she was now thoroughly confused by his invisible molestation.
Alan, unable to resist, placed his hand gently at the back of her head to guide her open mouth to his member.
She let him slide along the entire length of her tongue before wrapping her lips around him and sucking him in the rest of the way.
Alan sighed in silent ecstasy as she began to bob her head up and down, squeezing his head expertly with the back of her throat as only she knew how while twirling her tongue and alternating sucking and blowing.
He closed his eyes and suddenly his senses seemed to both intensify and melt away simultaneously. He became light-headed and colors danced behind his eyelids like stars spinning around the earth, reduced to streaks of light.
It could have been five seconds or five minutes, but sooner than he would have liked, Alan was on the cusp of orgasm.
Still invisible and silent, Alan had to urgently tap Misty's shoulder to let her know that he was about to cum. She gave him one last deep suck from his pubic hair to his tip, oscillating her tongue the while, and released him from her suction with a satisfying pop. Alan let out a long voiceless groan and let his climax overtake him.
It was a very odd, yet strangely erotic, sight watching as semen appeared from some unseen origin in midair and seemingly flung itself first into Misty's open mouth and then all over her cheeks and down her chin.
"Oh, master. I never tire of pleasuring you," Misty cooed.
Alan released his dual illusion, reappearing half-clothed in front of her. Misty immediately reached out and grasped his cock in her hand.
"Let me take care of that for you," she said, looking at the drip of remaining jizm clinging to his penis. She enveloped him in her warm bliss once more, cleaning him more thoroughly than was necessary, bobbing her head happily on his shaft.
After reclothing, Alan dished up -- and reheated -- a plate of spaghetti for everyone and they talked over dinner about cultural differences and the perceived social rules of society versus the ones that provided functionality to a community. After they were done, Alan felt much better about his relationship with his harem. They had all experienced masters in the past who were tolerant, but never ones who had been nice. They enjoyed his company because he took their feelings into consideration, and because he chose to talk to them about the world and educate them.
After dinner Magik volunteered to do the dishes so Alan could go relax with Misty. They snuggled on his couch together and watched an old sitcom until she was done, and then they all retired to the second bedroom for the night so Alan could return the favor Misty had given him -- with the help of his harem.
- - - - - -
Bróktic Salauntia slowly twirled the hundred dollar bill back and forth between his fingers, watching it burn. With wealth came strange habits and tastes, and Bróktic found that burning currency calmed him, helped him think. He needed to relax and think things through at this particular moment. The flames crept ever closer to his fingertips until he finally released the smoldering scrap, letting it fall into his half-drunk glass of chardonnay with the others.
A man like Bróktic wasn't used to being told no. He found that money, indeed, could not buy happiness. On the other hand, it could buy pretty much everything else, and that included people. Bribery was a part of his life as much as eating and sleeping were. The only question was how much?
Yet he had been balked by a pudgy little 20-something who had said that he was friends with his slaves. He scoffed at such medieval ideals. There was no sense in having gratitude towards an ATM machine that dispensed money. That was its purpose. Just like the genies of the world had a purpose. They weren't created to become friends. Their humanistic form was simply a means of communication. They preferred to be slaves. It was their mantra.
It should be easy to use them, like it was easy to use that little tart, Heather. He had seen a vision of her being rescued by him and sought her out before the incident. She could be bought, just like the rest of the world. Now he knew-
Unexpectedly, his eyes snapped closed in the middle of his private thoughts. The image of the black circle appeared in his mind and he did what he always did when this happened, he walked into it. The darkness surrounded him as he felt his physical body dissipate as it was left behind. He floated in space and knew he was being moved. Somewhere far away this time, maybe another continent. The blackness gave way to a blur of color as the clarity of the vision enhanced.
He was definitely someplace far away, Europe perhaps. He looked around quickly, knowing that he had limited time to grasp the intent of his vision before it faded. He was closing in on a field, more specifically, a farm. Bróktic had little use for farms. He sighed, wishing these premonitions were easier to categorize. He didn't want to waste his time on something that might only net him a few thousand dollars. There certainly were more people than a farm normally required, though.
Construction? Maybe this particular farm was expanding. A truck with the company name on the side: Çalık Enerji. Energy. No, this was no longer a farm. There were the beginnings of a drilling operation here. He understood. Oil. The blackness returned in a moment and he opened his eyes.
That acrid smell of burning. The wine glass sitting on his table. He was back in his own body. He had to reallocate some funds quickly before the end of the day. An oil discovery always made him feel better. They were quite lucrative, although they were no djinn.
He sighed and stood up from his high-backed dining room chair as thoughts of the failed acquisition forcefully permeated their way into his conscious mind. He would have to give what information he did have about the genies over to the Magi and hope it was enough to sate their deal. His place of residence, the number of genies he had, what car he drove, where he worked... all valuable information that he could hopefully flip a price on. He bought Heather's trust for two grand. The expected return had to be somewhere above twenty, even without a genie to give them. Besides, he didn't have time to be chasing around such dangerous prospects as a mentally delusional man infatuated with being chivalrous with slaves, bent on protecting their "freedom" or such nonsense.
- - - - - -
When Alan got off work, he felt an urge to go hunting for puzzle-art again. He realized that he hadn't been much of anywhere since he released Misty from her containment chamber. He missed browsing for little treasures. He drove around aimlessly at first, just stopping at some of his random hang-outs. He ended up at the antique shop where he found the totem pole and got out to see what their stock looked like.
He went inside and immediately felt the desire to be back at his apartment with her. He looked around briefly, enjoying the nostalgia before the feelings of sentimentality overwhelmed him. He paused at an old abacus that caught his eye and picked it up for a closer look. It had very intricate carvings in the base, depicting the most common elements found on earth: Metals, gases, and the like. He traced the fine markings with a finger as he inspected it more closely -- perhaps it was an ancient attempt at a periodic table. He set it back down and turned to head out the door when an idea came to him. He glanced back at the abacus and inspected it again from a distance as his thoughts coalesced.
Perhaps he had been thinking too extensively on the problem of how to help Max catch up on his work. He knew he wouldn't be able to hold an illusion for an extensive period of time, and Magik had told him that magic had no permanency so forging documentation was out of the question. It wouldn't be good to have numbers disappearing from loan approvals when the escrow and banks went back to access the information.
Alan was inspired by the simplicity of the abacus. Here was this little wooden calculator capable of adding no higher than 100. Why would anyone bother with such a simplistic device? It would certainly not be able to solve problems of real-world difficulty. Therein lay Alan's idea: He could alter all of Max's loan proposals to simplify the data to remedial mathematics capable of being solved even by a man with nothing more than an abacus. That would surely quadruple his production, and when the illusion was released, his data would still be correct. Sometimes complex wasn't the most effective solution.