The Battered Lamp Ch. 01

"I see," he muttered. He rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom. He had to pee, but he also really wanted to make sure he could still return to normal space.

As he relieved himself, he muttered, "Doesn't sound hard at all. She's just violating the laws of the universe like she's putting on her shoes."

He had no problem re-entering his now divorced-from-normal-space bedroom and slipped into his now king-sized bed. She snuggled against him, kissing him on the cheeks and murmuring her undying love. His cock hardened at the feel of her naked body. Her eyes snapped open, and her hand stroked his cock. Her lips were cool against his neck, and her hair felt like silk as it draped across his chest.

I'm not going to get any sleep tonight, he sighed. Her hand felt wonderful, and a smile crossed his lips. I'm not going to get any sleep tonight!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Christy shivered as she entered the unassuming house on 141st street. She quickly stripped off her clothes in the entry way, setting them next to the piles of other women's clothing. It was blessedly warm in the house, and she was grateful for that as she walked down the basement stairs, her amber amulet swinging between her breasts.

She was so horny and frustrated. Tonight she had intended to sneak Kyle into her bedroom, using a simple spell to keep her sorority sisters from finding out she was breaking the rules, and make love to him for the first time--her birthday present to him. Why did the coven have to have an emergency meeting now?

She stumped down the basement stairs.

Why did I ever listen to Ms. Franklin in the first place and join them? Ms. Franklin, who had been her Biology 101 teacher at the time, had made the coven sound so fun and exciting. "Put to practice all those little rituals you're reading about," Ms. Franklin had said when she caught Christy reading Alice Bailey's A Treatise on White Magic. Little did Christy know she was swearing her obedience to a dominating lesbian.

At the bottom of the stairs, she could see candlelight flickering beneath a door. She opened it up, spicy incense assaulting her nose. It was thick and cloying, and she almost coughed as her lungs adjusted to the pungent air. Five female college students and Ms. Franklin sat naked around a seven-pointed star inscribed on the floor in white chalk, each point anchored by one of the women, save for the empty spot reserved for her. Ms. Franklin's dark eyes fixed lustily on Christy. She shivered, her pussy growing wetter.

I'm going to have to eat her pussy out again, she thought bitterly. She hated doing it, and hated her teacher for forcing her. But she had no choice, she had made her pledge to the Goddess Hecate, swearing to serve Ms. Franklin without question in all things; obedience for power. She was desperate to find a way out, and constantly wracked with guilt for betraying her boyfriend.

But what choice do I have? If I break my oaths... She shuddered, not wanting to think of the consequences.

"Summoned, so have I appeared," she intoned. "I fulfill my oaths of fealty to the Coven and present myself naked so you can see the proof of my womanhood."

"Welcome, Amber," Ms. Franklin purred. She was supposed to call them all by their 'coven' names, depicted by the color stone about their necks that matched their auras.

She took her place between Opal and Tourmaline.

"The circle is complete," Christy intoned.

"The circle is complete," the others echoed.

Silver energy sparked across the circle, and the hairs on Christy's arms stood up. Energy hummed in the room, and she could feel it questing for something. What are we searching for? Christy wondered, trying to sense the power flowing through the circle.

"A new power stirred in South Hill yesterday," Ms. Franklin, or Celestite as she insisted the coven call her, stated. "We need to find it fast."

"What is it?" Jade--a Senior with straight, black hair--asked.

"A Jann is--"

Ms. Franklin's words were cut off as the circle flared silver and yellow dust swirled in the center for a moment. Ms. Franklin gasped, her round breasts thrust forward and her nipples hardened. Christy felt the energy flow into her, igniting the passions in her loins. A gasp exploded from her lips as a small orgasm rolled through her, adding her voice to the symphony of moans and sighs of her sisters.

"A Jann has awakened," gasped Ms. Franklin. "A powerful daughter. The blood of royalty flows through her!"

Christy's own, small breasts heaved as the energy withdrew, leaving her blood burning with desire and a desperate need to cum. Opal grabbed Christy, and pushed her down to the floor. Opal appeared as suddenly horny as Christy was. Opal kissed her, the coed's mouth hot on Christy's as her curly, brown hair fell around their faces. Christy opened her thighs, and Opal's pussy rubbed against her own, scratching the itch as passion poured through her.

"We must find this Jann," declared Ms. Franklin as her coven fell into passionate embraces. "We must capture her and siphon her powers. The things we can accomplish with it!"

"Yes!" Christy gasped, an orgasm already rippling through her as she ground her cunt into Opal's. She didn't care what her coven mistress wanted her to do, she just wanted to cum again. "We'll find her!"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Aaliyah smiled at her sleeping husband. Kyle. Such a strange name. She looked around the room at the wonders she had never seen before. Fear beat in her breast. She had a mission. She was supposed to be the salvation of her people, fulfilling the Kalsomid Prophecy.

She glanced at the lamp. It wasn't the pristine, brass she remembered, but battered and tarnished by age and neglect. "What journey have I traveled to reach here? Why was I not delivered to my intended bridegroom?"

Her last memories were of her father's court...

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Khoshilat Maqandeli -- 1156 AD

"Great Sheikh," Kalsom binti Abdullah bowed like an ancient oak beneath a raging wind. "I have read the frankincense vapors, and found the husband for your daughter."

Sheikh Umar ibn al-Jann, Ruler of the Jann Tribe of the Hidden People--whom the mortals called the Djinn--sat on his throne of tourmaline. Finally, after three hundred years of questing, the mortal instrument of prophecy had been divined--the champion who would wrest the Sultanate from the cruel hands of Rashid bin al-Marid. For millennia, the Five Tribes of the Hidden People had shared the rule, passing the Sultanate every one hundred years from the Jann, to the Si'lat, the Ghul, the Ifrit, the Marid, and finally passing back to the Jann, starting the cycle anew.

But Rashid, with the duplicitous Ifrits' aid, held on to the Sultanate, refusing to pass its rule to Sheikh Umar a thousand years ago. He ruthlessly subjugated the Jann when they had objected. Now Umar's tribe was too weak to challenge the Marid with no allies to speak of, the other tribes unable or unwilling to help: The Ifrit had made their deal, the Si'lat were too involved in their appetites, and the Ghul were too easily appeased with gifts and tributes.

But a mortal not bound by the Hidden Peoples' laws...

"Who?" Sheikh Umar asked.

"He is known as Yusuf ibn Ayyub," Kalsom answered, her voice reedy with age. She was the oldest of the Jann, among the first that formed out of dust and vapor. "One day men will call him Salah ad-Din Yusuf ibn Ayyub when he rules the mortal Caliphate."

The Sheikh nodded. A powerful man indeed. "Summon my daughter."

A moment later, his daughter entered. She must have been lurking in the antechamber, once again spying on matters that didn't concern a woman. She strode the length of his court, the various nobles and warriors in attendance bowed as she passed. His daughter was dressed in her yellow silk pantaloons and vest, her caramel skin darkening the sheer fabric where it pressed against her lithe flesh. Every man in the court lusted after her perfection. Her round face was hidden by the flimsiest of yellow veils, and her dark eyes stared at him with curiosity. She was the loveliest flower of his garden, and it pained him imagining a mortal plucking her. When she reached the base of his throne, she fell to her knees in supplication, and kissed the tasseled slipper of his right foot.

"I am ever your obedient daughter," she murmured. "What need do you have of me, Father?"

"A husband has been found for you, my daughter," he boomed. "A mortal."

"I know what is expected of me, father," she answered, calm and respectful. She had trained for this day for two hundred years, patiently waiting as she studied the arts of hearth and harem.

"Then sleep, my flower," the Sheikh whispered sadly. "You shall awaken in the house of your beloved husband in a few days and cleave to him as the first of his wives, the mistress of his harem."

"My dreams shall be full of my bridegroom's handsome countenance," Aaliyah purred, not a hint of fear at her impending imprisonment.

Nothing frightened the Hidden People more than being bound to an artifact, at the mercy of a mortal's tyranny. And she went willingly with the strength and dignity of a Sultana. He held back his tears of pride, they were for the privacy of his harem and his wives' ministrations, not for his entire court, and the Marids' spies, to see.

"Obey him in all things, my beloved daughter, but your powers shall be limited to matters of hearth and harem while you dwell apart from the Unseen Realm." As he spoke, his words fell like chains about her, limiting the great gift she possessed. She was a Noble Jann, and the power of creation swirled inside her. Too much power to be given to any mortal, even the one who would rescue his people from the Marids' bondage.

"I understand, Father."

Kalsom began her chant, setting the plain, brass lamp at Aaliyah's slippered feet. His daughter glanced at the simple lamp, unafraid. No. Anticipation filled her face; she had awaited this day for two hundred years, keeping her innocence intact for a bridegroom that hadn't even been born yet. She would guide this Yusuf ibn Ayyub and free the Hidden People from Rashid's tyranny.

The chant grew louder and power filled the room like the searing wind of the desert. Aaliyah's form wavered, dancing like a mirage on the desert sands. The distortion grew and she fuzzed, her body breaking apart into billowing, yellow dust--the essence of a Jann. The cloud of dust that was his daughter whirled and howled, spinning into a cyclone above the lamp. Faster and faster she spun about, stirring a breeze in the court. Kalsom finished her chant, and the spout of the lamp began to draw his daughter's dust, sucking her into the plain, brass vessel. He forced himself to watch, even as his heart broke in his chest. The last of the dust vanished; the wind died down.

"Sleep, my daughter," the Sheikh whispered. He picked up the brass lamp and handed it to Kalsom.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sahabah -- 2014 AD

Sultan Rashid bin Al-Marid, ruler of the Unseen World, woke from his sleep in his palace in Sahabah, a terrible foreboding filling his soul. Something stirred in the world, a power that should have long been lost. "Summon Zaritha," he commanded to the buxom servant kneeling naked before his bed.

The sultry Ifrit entered and knelt, curiosity playing in the fires of her eyes.

"The lamp has been discovered," Rashid growled, tugging at his long, white beard. "How?"

Zaritha shifted. "I caused the boat her lamp was on to sink nearly a thousand years ago. She should never have been found."

"It has. Rectify your mistake."

She flinched at his words. "At once, Great Sultan of the Hidden People!"

To be continued...

Kalsomid Prophecy

Six Shall be one, the Marid defeated.

In the lands of the West shall be born our salvation,

The Blood of Sultans and Warriors flows through his veins,

Four wives and countless lovers shall he possess; the appetite of sultans.

If you wish freedom for the Djinn, send a daughter of Jann, slumbering in a brass lamp, to wife,

She shall guide him to his champions and gird them for battle.

Six shall be one, the Marid defeated.

The Warrior of the Earthen Sword, whose youthful inexperience conceals the strength of a Sultan;

The Consort of the Brass Lamp, whose meek obedience obfuscates the will of a Sultana;

The Consort of the Fiery Spear, whose playful petulance hides the desires of depravity;

The Consort of the Arcane Grimoire, whose innocent beauty obscures the powers of darkness;

The Consort of the Airy Bow, whose calm demeanor cloaks the fury of storms;

The Companion of the Watery Dagger, whose deep intellect masks the hunger of predators.

Six shall be one, the Marid defeated

In the Lands of the West shall our salvation arise,

Their trials will be many, their conflicts fierce,

Their enemies will beset them on all sides, hidden behind masks of authority,

The darkness grows, hungering for power; guard well the daughter of Jann, freed from a brass lamp,

Through blood and tears shall they be forged.

Six shall be one, the Marid defeated.

In the lands of the West shall be born our salvation.