The Battered Lamp Ch. 01

Genie of Desire

South Hill, Washington -- Wednesday, January 15th, 2014

Kyle Unmei Jr. was hoping to get laid for his nineteenth birthday.

Losing his virginity before his first year of college was over was his number one goal, and he desperately hoped his girlfriend would finally put out tonight. It was his birthday, a point he kept subtly--or so he hoped--slipping in to their conversation as they ate dinner. During the movie--a romantic comedy which he had already forgotten the title--he had managed to get a few smooches from his girlfriend and a quick grope of her small breasts through her cute top, but he was looking for more.

Christy smiled shyly at him as he pulled his beat-up Ford Taurus a block from her sorority house in a dark alley. His balls ached as he stared at the profile of her face: dainty nose, pouty lips, thick lashes. She wore a cute, pink top underneath a black, leather jacket. Pink tights clung to her sleek thighs beneath a black skirt that hugged her shapely rear like a second skin. She didn't wear much jewelry, only a silver necklace that dangled a hunk of amber between her tits.

"This isn't the sorority, Kyle," she giggled. "This is a frat house."

"You're just so beautiful," he answered, stroking her face. "I love you so much."

Her smile broadened, an invitation, and he leaned over and captured her lips. He tasted her sweet, cherry lip gloss, as his tongue pushed into her mouth. She moaned slightly, her tongue fluttering against his lips. His hand reached out, brushing her brown curls from her shoulder, then cupped her pale cheek with his dark hand.

His cock ached so bad. Christy was so sexy, so beautiful. He had to touch her, burning to feel her flesh, to be inside her. He loved her so much his balls hurt. He leaned over the console, ignoring the steering wheel digging into his side, and let his left hand rest on her thigh covered in her warm tights. She mewled into his mouth, her hand reaching around his head, tightening in his dark-brown hair. She squirmed in her seat, her kiss becoming more passionate, her mouth nibbling on his lower lip.

His hand slipped down from her face to her breast, giving the firm, supple mound a squeeze through her top. Another sigh. She loves it! I bet I could get to third base! He moved lower, her stomach taught beneath her clothes. He found the hem. This is it! Her skin was warm, smooth as silk, and he moved up, ever so slow, to his goal. She kissed him harder

It was all the invitation he needed, and he found her budding mound.

She wore no bra. Her top had built in support. Her naked tit was warm and supple in his hand, her nipple hard against his palm. She sighed, a happy, almost cat-like noise. Her hand reached down, grabbed his hand on her leg, and moved it higher beneath the hem of her skirt. Warmth engulfed his hand as her thighs pressed against him. He reached that wonderful nexus where legs met groin, and pressed against her pussy through tights and panties, her heat almost burning his hand. She moaned and squirmed, becoming damp.

I'm finally getting laid tonight!

Her phone rang like wind chimes. She broke the kiss.

"Ignore it," Kyle panted, pinching her nipple.

"It's, um, my sorority house mother," Christy gasped, reaching for her purse.

Groaning, he leaned back, surreptitiously adjusting his cock in his jeans. His fingers were oily with her juices that had soaked through panties and tights, and he couldn't help sliding the slick fluid between two fingers.

Kyle groaned. So close.

"Shit!"

He blinked. Christy almost never cursed. "What?"

"I have to get back to the sorority," she sighed. Frustrated dejection painted her face. "There's a problem."

"I need some relief," he wheedled. "You're so sexy. And I love you so much."

"I'm sorry." She did sound sorry. Her nipple dimpled her top, her ivory cheeks flushed red, and her hazel eyes shone with desire.

Realization struck Kyle. She's as horny as I am. She's not trying to get out of it.

"It's my stupid sorority. I'll make it up to you next time."

"You're not a pledge anymore," he said. That was how they had met. She had been forced to invite a cute guy to her sorority's mixer while pledging back in October, and they had really hit it off.

"I know. But I'm still the bottom of the totem pole."

"Maybe a quick hand job?" he pressed, grabbing her hand and placing it on his crotch. "It's my birthday."

Christy squeezed him and leaned over, whispering in his ear. "I'll do more than jerk you off next time. I'm free Friday."

"It's a date," he said eagerly. She leaned over and kissed him one last time.

Friday night was their usual date night. It was unusual for them to go out on a Wednesday or any other school night. Christy focused on her academics, but she had made an exception for his birthday. He had it timed perfectly. Her sorority's curfew was eleven, and that was still thirty minutes away. Kyle had thought he had left enough time to score.

Dammit! Guess it's the sock tonight!

Like a gentleman, he walked her up to the door. She threw her arms around his neck and gave him a hot, passionate goodnight kiss. He groaned into her mouth as his hand ventured down to her ass. When she broke the kiss, he groaned, even more frustrated now than before. No boys were allowed in Epsilon Kappa Tau's sorority house after dark.

"I love you, Kyle. Sorry. I really was going to make tonight special."

"It's okay," Kyle lied, not wanting to say something stupid and make it worse. "Shit happens."

"Yeah, it does." She bit her lip, staring at him. There was an awkward pause. "Well, good night. Love you."

"Love you, babe."

She gave him one last kiss then she darted inside.

"Fuck," he muttered. He kicked over a lawn gnome on the way back to his car.

His balls ached the entire drive home, full of sperm begging to be released. It was the worst case of blue balls Kyle had ever experienced. In moments, rain hammered his car. The deluge fogged up his windows and covered the roadway in water in mere seconds.

Just like her damned sorority, ruining a perfect night.

Their first date had also been interrupted by her sorority.

He dripped water on the foyer, soaked by the deluge. Fatima laughed at him. She just couldn't resist mocking him at every turn, a sassy smile on her face.

"Wet outside?" his impish, little sister asked, a grin on her round, dusky face.

Despite how much Fatima drove him nuts, he couldn't help but admire her rich-brown skin and dark lashes. She had Round face and almond-shaped eyes from their Japanese father, but her rich brown skin and dark lashes came from their Kurdish mother. She had blossomed into quite a beautiful flower in adulthood. More than once, she had graced his fantasies when he stroked his dick, and left him feeling guilty afterward.

"You're home early," Fatima taunted. "Did Christy blow you off? I bet you wanted her to blow your cock instead!"

"Fatima!" snapped their mother. "Don't tease your brother. His date clearly went bad." A grin split the attractive, Kurdish woman's face. "Do you want a hug? Come here and let mommy make it all feel better."

His mother's grin turned mischievous, belying her comforting tone. She was beautiful, strong cheekbones and sultry eyes framed by dark-brown, almost black, hair. At thirty-nine, she was stunning, a ripened beauty, and Kyle's cock twitched in his pants. He wondered if he would be thinking of Christy or his mom when he jerked off tonight. Maybe both together...

"Her sorority texted her to come home early," he sighed. "But thanks for all the sympathy. It's only my birthday."

"Is it?" Faiza asked, tapping her cheek. "I think you might have mentioned that once or twice."

"Yeah, once or twice every minute!" Fatima laughed.

"That sounds right," his mom nodded.

He flushed. "Was I that bad?"

"Worse," she answered, then hugged him again. Her lush body pressing against him did little to help his aching balls out. "Now go upstairs, and get out of those wet clothes!" She rubbed at his black hair, buzzed to a flattop. "You'll catch a cold."

"Sure," he sighed. She had known him since he was a kid and he had a feeling Faiza would always think of him as a boy.

"And happy birthday."

"Thanks, Mom."

"Have fun polishing your pole!" his bratty sister chortled.

He froze, feeling his blood rise in his cheeks. "I'm n-not gonna do that."

She just grinned like an imp, jerking her right hand almost casually.

"You're one to judge," his mom said. "I know a certain, young lady who has started taking extraordinary long showers since we got that shower massager."

Fatima blushed darkly. "Mom!"

"If you can't take it, then don't dish it." She turned to Kyle. "Have a good night, dear."

His cheeks still burning, he trudged through the living room. An image of his sister, her dusky-brown body beading with water as she rubbed the shower head against her pussy, flooded his mind. Her back would arch, her brown nipples hardening atop budding breasts. She would gasp soft and sweet, her dark lashes fluttering, as her orgasm crashed through her.

He shook his head, trying to banish the image as he headed upstairs, trying to banish the image, and his eyes fell on his parent's wedding picture. Dad stood in his dress uniform, a young Lieutenant in the Army next to his mom in her white wedding dress. They looked so happy together. It sometimes snuck up on Kyle that his dad had been dead for five years, killed in Iraq leading his company against insurgents. That's one of the reasons Kyle planned on joining the Army. It's why Kyle had joined the small ROTC cadre at Rogers College. He told his mom it was to pay for college, but he really wanted to follow in his dad's footsteps and make him proud.

Kyle's lust, and his very aching cock, didn't allow for a longer reflection though, and he headed upstairs; his sock and imagination awaited him.

His room was clean, unlike most of his friends. The bed neatly made, ready for a military inspection, and the floor wasn't littered with dirty clothes or books or garbage. His laptop rested on his desk next to a lamp and a pencil cup. A few video game posters decorated one wall, and his TV hung above his dresser. His Xbox perched atop his dresser next to the brass lamp he had bought yesterday. Everything in his room set in its proper place the way his dad had ingrained in him as a child.

Kyle's eyes fell on the battered, brass lamp, and still wasn't sure what had drawn him to it. He had been in the antique section of downtown Puyallup picking up his grandfather's watch from a repair shop, when he caught a glint through the window. He walked into Curious Treasures, marched right up to the lamp, and when he had touched it, he knew he had to have it. There was something special about it, a spark of energy that touched the very core of his being. The lamp had been priced sixty bucks--the bulk of his spending money for January.

He didn't even hesitate to buy it.

Kyle still wasn't sure what he would do with it, or even why he spent so much money on it. It looked like one of those Arabic lamps from that Disney cartoon, made of plain brass, and clearly old, with dents and creases pockmarking the surface. The best use he could come up with was as an incense holder. He pulled out a frankincense stick--his mother had been burning them since when he was a child, and Kyle was quite fond of the scent now that she had passed on--lit it, and stuck it into the lamp's spout, filling the room with a sweet, piercing scent.

He dropped his pants, stretched out on his bed, found his grimy sock, and jerked his cock. He imagined Christy kneeling on his bed, her tongue lapping at his shaft while her hazel eyes looked adoringly up at him. Then his mom would walk in and join his girlfriend, her tongue--

The whooshing sound jolted him out of his fantasy.

He looked around his room for the source; panic surged through him as thick smoke poured out of the lamp, swirling into the center of his room. Then he froze. What kind of smoke was yellow? A dusty smell, like sand baked in the sun, hit him, reminding him of the family trip to the Grand Canyon before his dad's last deployment.

The yellow smoke--no, it's dust--swirled down to his floor, staying in a tight mass. His jaw dropped, too stunned by the dust's strange behavior to be scared. It gathered in a single cloud about the size of a curled up person, whirling faster and faster, howling like a fierce storm. The hair on his arms stood up, static electricity charging the air. The dust coalesced like a star being born in a nebula.

Instead, a young woman was born.

She was his age, nineteen, with midnight-black hair that draped across her dusky skin, dark like Kyle's, but more olive than his brown. Yellow, silk pantaloons clad her legs, so sheer he could see her dark thighs bleed through where the fabric rested on her flesh, and a sheer, yellow vest. Her nipples were dark brown, easily visible through the fabric, and the green embroidery on her vest's bosom seemed designed to draw the eye to her beauty. Her eyes were closed. Her face was beautiful, covered by a translucent, yellow veil; her lush, red lips, shadows through the thin material. Her dark eyelashes fluttered at him. On the back of her hands were intricate tattoos, geometric lines forming a complicated pattern inked with brown henna.

Like marriage tattoos. His mother had temporary tattoos drawn on her hands before her marriage; if you looked carefully at her wedding pictures, you could make the delicate designs out on the back of her hands.

The woman's eyes flashed open, sultry and dark. She sat up, stretching, thrusting her round breasts forward, her nipples dark points through the sheer silk. They were larger than Christy's, grapefruits to his girlfriend's oranges. Her eyes flitted around the room, then settled on him. Her smile grew, her eyes widened, and a dark blush suffused her delicate cheeks. Blood flooded his cock, expanding in a heartbeat like a car's airbags.

She bowed, speaking respectfully, and rapidly, in Arabic. He blinked, only catching one word in ten; he didn't know much of his mom's tongue.

"Uh...I...um..." he stammered.

She looked up at him and asked another question. Her voice was musical and soothing.

"I don't speak much Arabic," he finally spat out. What was going on? She came out of the lamp... His eyes widened. Is she a Genie?

Her look was confused. Great, she doesn't speak English. I'm half-Japanese and half-Kurdish, and the only language I speak is English. She asked another question, her syllables merging together as she rapidly spoke, then a frown appeared on her face. Then more questions, a deluge of meaningless sounds, as beautiful as a bird's songs and just as incomprehensible. She switched languages, and it sounded a little like Greek.

He sighed. "I wished you spoke English."

"...not at all how I expected this to go, I would have..." her voice trailed off. "You can understand me now, my husband?"

"Yeah." Wait, did she just call me husband?

"I'm glad you made that wish," she smiled.

"Wish? So you are a Genie?" His heart beat in excitement.

"Yes, I am a Djinn, Yusuf." Djinn was one syllable when she said it, and far more beautiful than Genie. "I am Aaliyah of the Jann tribe, daughter of Sheikh Umar ibn al-Jann and, by ancient tradition, present myself as your bride."

Kyle's mind whirled. An actual Genie or Djinn or whatever. Oh crap! I wasted one of my three wishes! "So you're here to grant me wishes?"

Aaliyah frowned. "No. Well, yes, I have some limited powers. Surely the letter from my father explained all of this, Yusuf."

"You're a Genie. You grant three wishes to whomever frees you, right. That's what all the stories say. Well, I want a billion dollars!" The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could even think things through, but excitement gripped him.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," she answered, her voice contrite.

"Why not? You're my Genie."

"I am here to serve you, Yusuf. But there are limitations on my power."

"Why do you keep calling me that? Is it a title? My Arabic is very bad."

She frowned at him. "It is your name, right? You are Yusuf, right. Yusuf ibn Ayyub?"

"Nope. I'm Kyle Unmei, Jr."

"What a foreign name." She peered at him, then nodded. "I can see the far east mixed in your face, but this language sounds European."

"It's English."

"I don't understand," she frowned. "But only my bridegroom or one of his blood could have...oh my, how long have I slept?"

I shrugged. "It's 2014."

She shook her head.

"It's the European calendar"

"Sorry. I was never taught that."

Kyle thought for a moment. "So who is this Yusuf guy?" he asked. "Maybe that can help pin it down. Was he famous?"

"A Kurdish man destined for greatness," Aaliyah answered. "I was told one day he would be called Salah ad-Din Yusuf ibn Ayyub when he ruled the Caliphate."

"Salah ad-Din," Kyle muttered, chewing the words up. "That sounds kind of...wait, Saladin? He died like a thousand years ago. That was during the Crusades or something." He vaguely remembered the fact from an Assassins Creed video game.

Aaliyah's face fell. "You must be his descendant, Kyle." She looked him up and down critically, then nodded. "His task has fallen to you, my husband. The Hidden People have been enslaved to the Marid tribe. You are our only hope."

"Fuck," he muttered. This was starting to sound like a video game or Star Wars.

"By your twentieth birthday, you must present yourself at Sahabah and claim the throne in my name."

"Sahabah? Is that in Saudi Arabia?"

"It is everywhere and nowhere," Aaliyah answered. "It is the capital of the Djinn."

"This has got to be a dream," Kyle gaped, pinching his arm hard. He didn't wake up.

She scooted closer. "It is no dream, my husband."

Her hands touched his thighs and he realized he was naked from the waist down. Her dark eyes gazed at his hard shaft. He throbbed as she licked her lush lips. Her warm breath blew across his cock when she exhaled. Everything went out his head at that moment--the fact that she was a Genie, her cryptic words about a task, the girlfriend he loved--nothing mattered except that a hot girl was inches from his aching cock.

"Would you like to use my mouth for relief, my husband?" Aaliyah purred. "Or would you like to take my maidenhead?"

"I...uh..." Christy's smiling face appeared in his mind. "I have a girlfriend."

"Girlfriend..." She mouthed the words. "Ahh, such an interesting concept. I do not see the problem. I am your wife. It is only proper that I relieve your needs. I am well versed in the arts of the sigh and the pillow, though no man has ever touched me."

"But she's my girlfriend."

"I know." Confusion marred her face. "You are destined for greatness. Of course there will be other wives. You will need four before you can claim the throne."

A strangled sound escaped his lips. "Four?"

"A great man must have four wives," she answered. "Proof of his power. Now relax, my husband, and let me relieve you."

Her veil melted away, then her mouth engulfed his cock. She was warm. So wonderfully warm. And her tongue was agile, swirling about his cock as she sucked. A girl's mouth is on my cock! A real, live woman or Djinn or Genie or whatever is sucking my cock!

He came.

He leaned back, gripping the sheets. The pleasure was so intense. Far better than anything his hand had ever generated. It drove all thoughts of his girlfriend, and his guilt, out of his mind. It was rapturous. He heaved, looking down at the girl, the genie, who just gave him his first blowjob. She had a pleased smile and a bemused look in her eyes. White cum stained her lips.