Bimbo Genie

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Author's Note: All Characters Depicted Herein Are 18 Years Of Age Or Older.

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My latest Master is such a strong, masculine specimen. He's pounding his new mindfucked girlfriend into the corner of his bedroom, driving her head between two pillows while she writhes in ecstasy. Even as he does this--her long legs wrapped around his waist so she can use all available leverage to pump back into him, her young fresh hot pussy deliciously wet and needy--he's finger-fucking her blindingly hot step-sister into oblivion. The two step-sisters kiss madly, passionately, loving each other almost as much as they love him, though of course he comes first.

He's the Master. He always comes first.

But he certainly doesn't cum first. He's been making them cum from the second they saw his Cock, when he disrobed and let them suckle and moan and kiss and adore him for an hour of hot, long foreplay.

Now, though, he's ready to finish. Ready to erupt. Ready to claim ownership of their pussies once and for all. He's got everything he could ever want--massive power, incredible wealth, an amazing body, and gorgeous women dripping wet at the sound of his voice.

And it's all thanks to me! I'm his own personal genie...and all I want in the world is to make him Hard and Happy forever.

He makes the wishes, but I made this happen.

* * * * *

"You, then. I want to fuck you."

After centuries of practice, it's no struggle to keep my eyes un-rolled. Instead, I smile brightly. I've just showed up in his living room, carefully avoiding the bong and the beer cans as I supplicate myself before him as is required. There's no sense in making him feel bad about how basic this wish is.

"Sorry, sweetie. That's not the rules."

How disappointed he is actually makes me like him more.

"But...fuck, though. You're so hot."

"I know."

I really fucking am. I'm the hottest girl I've ever seen, and I've been around for a long, long time. People try to tell you that aesthetics have changed, that what men want or what turns people on is a cultural thing. But I've got huge tits, great hair, perfect skin, long legs, and an angelic face, and I always seem to give men the biggest hard-ons--and I've been alive for thousands of years. Who are you gonna believe?

"Your tits are like...wow."

He could be a poet.

My name is Zanthia. A very, very long time ago--so long ago even I don't remember it, and I remember most things--I was a mortal girl who angered the wrong demon spirit and was turned into a genie to amuse him. As far as I know, that demon spirit is still out there somewhere, laughing away at me.

I can't remember if I was beautiful then or not, but I definitely am now as I said. If women could summon me--and they can't--they'd all wish for my face. Even models would kill for it. I can already see this newest Master--his name is Xavier--falling deeply in love with me. I'm used to it. Every Master I have does.

All for nothing, really. I can't be fucked. Can't even touch cock. It's one of the rules.

It makes me sad, sometimes, but at least I can still cum to my heart's content whenever I want.

If this new Master and I were in a cafe or a restaurant, with the way I look, any passers-by would think this guy had hired himself the top prostitute in the city. But we're in his apartment. His dingy, sub-expectations, frankly insulting kind of apartment. It's one of I think twelve in the same building, vertically built in the middle of the city.

Outside, I can tell there are other similar apartment buildings nearby. There's a pool and an overworked laundry center that they all share. Parking is usually terrible, even with assigned spots, and his car is going to break down in about five hundred miles.

I can tell these things from a gentle, quick, low-level scan of the area. The longer I'm in a place, the more I know about it. The more I know about it, the more I can change.

And, ho boy, there's a lot to change about this place and this Master.

I'm a good genie. I would dare to say I'm one of the best. Sure, I've been imprisoned for millenia to do this job, but, dammit, I do my job how it's supposed to be done!

Genies like me belong in the palms of kings taking over countries, establishing empires. People with plans.

Instead I'm stuck with--and no offense, because he seems like a genuine sweetie--some slob whose diet consist mostly (judging from the bbq-stained boxes stacked in the corner) of sauce-sprayed pizza enhanced with a healthy amount of marijuana and beer. His gut is only just developing--he's young--but it's definitely there.

At this point, we've already been through the whole rigmarole: Holy crap, is this real? You're a for real genie? Where did you come from? This crazy lamp my uncle got me? But why now? Oh, because I rubbed it?

I don't know why so many people have eclectic uncles who never wind up using the lamp itself, but it sure is a theme with me.

"So these rules," says my new Master. "How fixed are they?"

"Think rules like gravity," I say. "Or, I don't know, drug laws. Extremely."

He stands in front of his bong, moving it to one side, like he should hide it. That kind of stoner. You know they type. He's cute, in a sort of young mannish way. He's got more hair than he knows what to do with and an overactive libido that isn't helped by being around an absolute epitome of feminine perfection like me.

"God. You're so hot, though. And you said you belong to me. You called me 'Master.' That's like, a big fantasy of mine. Can I just..."

He reaches out to touch me, probably stroke my hair. I don't blame him. In fact, after millennia of no contact, I would welcome the touch. But inches before he can get there, the barrier activates and pushes him away.

"Oh," he says, disappointed. "I was hoping to touch you."

"Also against the rules. Nothing I can do about it, Master. I'm so sorry."

I really am. I see his bulge straining against his pants. It looks so fucking yummy. Lots of guys spend their first wish on a bigger Cock.

I'll try to talk him out of it if he does. First, it's so rare that a guy actually needs a bigger Cock. Like, if a girl has already agreed to go to bed with you, what you're packing between your legs isn't going to change her mind.

Especially if you go down on her first! You could practically have a string of lima beans going on there if you really know how to lick a clit proper.

Trust me; I've watched thousands of years of sex from all over the world. All you need to win a lady's heart is a willing tongue.

But I'd dissuade him too because, gosh. It looks huge already. My mouth is watering, tits heaving as I look him over. I bit one lip, feeling a bit guilty. I know how sexy it makes me look when I'm kneeling like this. It's only going to make him want to fuck me more.

One of the demon's curses on me was to make me want sex as much as possible; and I do. I so fucking do. I get excited when I look at Cock. In fact, all I want to do is make Master's Cock happy, no matter who that Master is.

My Master's Cock becomes the only one in the world to me, and I want to go above and beyond to make it thrilled, excited, delighted beyond measure.

It doesn't help that I'm a fan of "little extras" in my wishes. Giving them more than what they bargained for. I can't help myself; I just want the best for my Masters, no matter who they are or where they come from. And what's best is so easy for me to give...a little extra money here, a little extra girth there, a little extra animal magnetism here, and so on.

So, looking at his bulge--his big bulge--I can't help but want to give him more than what he's thinking he can have.

"You can take it out," I say, licking my lips. "You can stroke it if you want."

"Stroke it?"

He asks this like he's never done such a thing before.

"You want to," I say. "I can tell. And I'm really hot. I want to help you cum. Please?"

"Shit," he says. "Are you serious?"

"I want to see it. It looks handsome. You're so handsome. Can I see it, Master? Please? I want to see the Cock of my Master. I want to help you cum."

"I thought we couldn't touch?"

I giggle just enough to let him know I'm amused but not making fun. "Come on, Master. Certainly you don't think I think you've never touched yourself before?"

He flushes a bit. Young enough to be embarrassed when a pretty girl is talking about him jerking off. Oh, he's so sweet. I want to suck his Cock so fucking bad. I'll have to settle for the next best thing.

He drops his pants to the ground and his Cock is out and I moan, and that makes him twitch and start stroking right away. Because he's never seen someone as pretty as me want his Cock as much as I do, he's already close to cumming.

Little extra incoming--with all the effort of a blink, I use a little of my magic and increase his stamina so that he can last longer. I don't want this to be over so quickly. I watch him grunt and shift, surprised at himself, the desire he feels, and how good it is to be able to sustain.

"That's it," I lick my lips. "Stroke it."

I'm touching myself too. My cunt is sopping wet just from serving, and especially from already using my magic to improve his life. My fingers slide up and down my clit, always so sensitive, and within seconds I'm already living right on the edge of a sweet, hard cum.

"Do you want to take this up a notch, Master?"

I'm way into escalation.

"What do you mean?"

He's looking right at my tits. That's good. I want him to. They're excellent tits. I sit up a little straighter so he can see the perfect semi-globes bounce as I finger my cunt.

"Imagine a girl you really want to fuck, sir. It can be a crush, a celebrity, a...sibling..."

Guys are all fucked up about their Cocks. They want them in anything hot enough. I've had so many lately who just want to fuck their stepsisters. I find it pretty hot to make it happen. Keep it all in the family, right?

Celebrities, too. There's something I never would have thought about--girls that every Cock wanted all over the world! Wow! I've been called upon only twelve times in the last one hundred and twenty years, and nine out of those times, a guy has asked to either become or fuck a celebrity.

I do wish a couple of them would have been more specific. I keep trying to tell them--I have to follow my rules! Any wiggle room and it's going to go poorly!

Instead, they wish to fuck a celebrity instead of making her a fuckslave like they deserve. That's one night of fucking versus a whole lifetime of devoted service!

They get so wishy-washy when I purr nasty notions in their ear about slavery. Gosh! A girl can be perfectly happy and still be a slave. Just look at me! I've been a slave to this lamp for a thousand years and I love my life. Why not make her your fuckslave and still make her a silver screen star? She'll go out, make millions, and bring it all home to you and thank you for letting her be yours while millions of dudes around the globe jack it to a hot body only YOU get?

Sigh.

They never listen, though. I think because I'm so pretty. Men always think they know better than pretty girls.

I can see him thinking, wheels turning. He's clearly got someone on his mind. I could find out who it is without him telling me, but that's a little presumptuous to read his mind already without permission. Really post-second-wish stuff.

"I can name someone real?" he asks.

"Please do."

"You won't be freaked out?"

"I'll be turned on. I'll like it."

"Gwen," he says, almost automatically. "She lives...ungh, down the hall. Won't give me the time of day. I only know her name because of her mail slot."

"And I bet you'd rather be intimate with a different slot of hers."

It takes him a moment to get the joke. As he processes, I do a scan of the building, up and down, then a few apartments over. There she is--Gwen.

Tall. Lovely. Young. Has a boyfriend that probably I'm going to make her forget about. How fun! I'll get to make her beautiful body entirely about Master's Cock and fuck up her brain until all she understands is service. Oh, I hope he wants to enslave her instead of just fucking her. That would make me so happy.

Delaying my own pleasure for a moment, I pick up my nearby lamp and place it on the coffee table.

"Rub this lamp," I explain. "Think of it like an emitter for your subconscious. You'll see her. However you want her. Your most fantastic, delightful wishes. All the things you want her to say and feel. You'll see."

He follows instructions, already completely buying in to this fantasy. He sees her; I don't. He sees his most intimate fantasy in the wavering red haze that's opened up over the top of my lamp.

I didn't have to use my lamp. I could have used anything. The Maxim mags he's got laying around. The little robot collectibles that litter the shelves of his apartment. The lamp was just already centrally located. In fact, I didn't have to use anything as an "emitter" of any kind; I've just found that mortals are happier when they think they can turn objects on and off.

"Oh man." His voice is a low groan. "Hi, Gwen."

In front of him, he sees a perfect image of Gwen. She's wearing an outfit that turns him on completely; something that he's always fantasized about her being in. I imagine it involves a short skirt, a cleavage-baring top (and young Gwen certainly has the cleavage for such a top), and some daring heels with very tall heels.

I only hear one side of the conversation, but I can imagine the rest.

"To see me?" he asks. "But I thought...your boyfriend..."

She probably doesn't give a fuck about her boyfriend anymore. They probably broke up because of the way she saw Xavier looking at her.

"When did that happen? Oh. When you saw the way I looked at you...oh..."

And then she couldn't help herself, knowing the man of her dreams wanted her like that. And then she wanted to give him everything.

"Oh fuck," he groans. "Everything?"

He's really at his new limits; the image he sees is completely lifelike. The young beauty Gwen begging to be his girlfriend is something he just can't handle yet. I watch him cum with impressive volume all over my lamp and moan, cumming with him.

His pleasure is my pleasure now. Our lives are tied together like that.

Every time Master cums, I'll cum too. Every time he feels pleasure, feels intensity, feels the escalation of desires, so will I. And every time I do, I'll want him to feel more of it--because I only feel alive when he feels fucking good.

Xavier sits down after he cums, collapsing into his couch, stunned I think to see that I'm still there when he's done.

"Fuck," he shakes his head. "Intense."

I go ahead and make his refractory period shorter. But then I'm done with my extras.

Okay. I increase the capacity of his balls so his next cum will feel even better. But then I'm done.

Also I increase his mental capacity so that his imagination will be better the next time he thinks of Gwen. Done then.

Ugh. I'm doing it again.

I do this every time.

Something my new Master doesn't know--something I'm forbidden to tell him--is a very important bit of information.

This happens with all my Masters, actually.

You see, the more I'm turned on by Xavier, the more I want to do for him. And the more I want to do for him, the more I fall in love with him.

So the longer he keeps me around and doesn't use up all his wishes, the more I'll make his life everything he wants just by virtue of being present. If he didn't wish for anything ever, he'd probably be God by the end of the week.

* * * * *

"So," he says. "About these wishes..."

I'm making him supper with the sparse few ingredients he has on hand and little help from me. Just a simple beef roast with some Yukon gold potatoes and a hearty gravy sauce on the side. And a bottle of 1959 Dom Perignon. And an upgraded kitchen so that I can make it all to perfection.

And not the whole kitchen.

Just the fridge. And the oven. And the microwave. And the floors and cabinet. But I left the blender alone!

Don't look at me like that. I can feel you doing it, that shaking of your head and your eyeroll, judging away.

Look, I can't just give him the scraps and condiments he's got laying around, now can I? What kind of genie would I be if I did that? I'm supposed to serve him re-heated breadsticks from the cesspool pizza place down the street with a side of "fuck you, I guess I won't be a good genie to keep around after all"?

No. I'm supposed to make him Happy and Hard.

Which, judging from the way he's stroking as he watches me cook, is very much both indeed. It might have something to do with my outfit--or lack thereof. I've ditched my sheer stuff for a look straight out of the Victoria's Secret catalog he's been stroking to lately. Dark lace teddy with lots of hot strippy-straps; very tall heels.

"Yes, Master?"

"What are the rules?"

He's smarter than perhaps he looks to ask that.

"Well. I can't really tell you all of them. I can only verify if something is or isn't a rule."

He's still stroking himself. It's distracting. I stand at his new basin sink, drooling slightly at the sight of him and his Big Cock. Ungh. I love him so much already, it's so unfair.

"Okay. Do I get three?"

"Yes."

He stopped. Thinking.

"Do I get more than three?"

I smile, biting my lip and flashing my eyes at him. God, he's smart. I want to suck his Cock so bad.

"No," I say. "But that's the kind of thinking you should be doing, Master."

"I don't get it. Why are you trying to help me? This is almost like...torment. To give me this but also to tell me that you're going to fuck me over somehow."

"I'm not going to try to fuck you over," I say. "It's just...there are rules." The timer goes off for the oven and I'm a flurry of activity. "Here, dinner's ready. Think with a full belly."

He sits down and begins to eat. I get wetter, closer to cumming with every bite he takes. Something I'm directly doing to him making him Happy? Oh, fuck. It makes me so wet and turned on. I kneel before him, prostrated, nodding encouragingly as he eats and whimpering.

It's obvious I'm staring at both him and his massively hard Cock. My mouth is watering, drooling. I don't care. He seems to like it. All that drool lands in my tits, even bigger now than they were before. He must love big tits; that's why mine are growing.

I make his Cock slightly larger; longer and harder and his orgasms more under his control. He's already in the top 75^th percentile of men when it comes to orgasmic stamina and repetitional ability; now he's at the 80^th.

Okay. 83^Rd, but I'm stopping there.

You see, what happens is that Cock really, really turns me on. And when Cock really turns me on, I get even hotter. My body gets tighter, my tits larger, my hair longer and softer, flowing until it's like a blanket of fiery red gorgeous silk. And that means my Master, or Master(s) I suppose, get even more turned on by me. Then their Cocks get harder, and I get more turned on...

So why bring this up? Well. When I'm turned on, my understanding of the rules gets a little loosey-goosey. I give out my Little Extras. A Cock that's just a few centimeters thick or longer. A refractory period divided in half. A body that more rapidly metabolizes fat so that it starts to melt off the bones of whoever owns me, improving their whole life. Things like that.

I think it's all a massive trick from the Demon that took me in. You see, when a man is turned on, he's liable to make less shrewd choices. And when I'm turned on, I'm less likely to resist and guide him. So together, we're locked in this spiral of making instant-hot wishes just because we can. I think men get the idea that I'll be theirs forever--which I would be happy to do! Gosh. I'd probably keep giving them Little Extras for as long as I could. An extra few percentages in the compound interest rates of their investment accounts. A few extra hundred in their savings. Elimination of some of those pesky debts that keep piling up.