Bottles Ch. 01

So it turns out I love the sort of "sex genie" stories found here on Literotica. A lot. I sometimes wish there was a little more examination of what's going on and a little more talking things out before everyone dives straight into the magical master-servant relationships. I also wish we could recognize the "genies" we have in Western media are pretty far from Islamic and pre-Islamic sources. But I'm also down with overt wish-fulfilment stories when that's exactly what they are on the label, so why not?

This has been sitting in my drafts folder for a long time. Yes, I will continue my other series. I decided to fix this up and get it posted, since it wasn't doing much good sitting in a file. Let me know in the comments if you want it to continue!

rosa-blanca.ru up front: Genie, magic, male-female sex, male dominant, consent, fffm, blowjob, enhancement

"I'm all moved out of the house now. Got my name off the lease, gave her the keys, paid up the bills and changed them over to—yes, I paid the outstanding bills. Mom. Stop. Oh God," Eric sighed. He came to a stop in the aisle of mismatched kitchenware, put down his basket of "gently used" goods, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Mom. Mom...Mom." His other hand held the cell phone that conveyed his mother's rant straight into his ear.

He knew this was coming. He never should have mentioned the bills. By the time she was done, he knew, he'd forget half the things he came to the thrift shop to buy.

When he opened his eyes again, a slightly older black woman passed him by with a sympathetic smile. "Mothers," she said with a shake of her head. Between her accent and the neighborhood, Eric figured she was a recent immigrant. Her perfect understanding of the moment transcended any national or cultural barriers. Some things were universal. Eric tossed her a grin to confirm the assessment.

At 28 and blessed with good health and mildly good looks, Eric generally made a pleasant first impression. Dark hair kept short, hazel eyes, and a nice smile helped with that, but relationships took work to build. This last serious relationship involved a lot of changed-up plans in college and after, along with no small amount of financial stress. He couldn't walk away lightly from such an investment of emotion, time, and all the rest...but he sure as hell couldn't stay, either.

By the time he had a chance to speak again, he had the aisle to himself. "No, I didn't put it all on a credit card. Yes, first and last at the new apartment is paid up, too. I can't put that on credit, either. I'm not completely wiped out, but it's close. No fun for me this summer. I'll get by."

Eric looked down at the basket by his feet. All of this would go on his credit card, from the mismatched towels to the used "silver"ware, plates, bowls and pots in his basket. So would a lot of things for the next month or two...as if life with Karen hadn't already done enough damage to his finances before the break-up.

That was over, though. Maybe, hopefully, he'd start pulling his finances back out of the debts he'd incurred after moving in with her. The break-up left him in an emotional pit, too, but that wasn't the sort of thing he could quantify.

"Listen, I'm not trying to keep any bridges intact, alright? She dumped me for another guy, whether she admits it to me or to herself or not. The bridge is burned. I had to clear out the bills so she can't come after me if her new lawyer boy leaves her high and dry. Anyway. Can we stop talking about her?"

His eyes lifted once more, glancing around at the assortment of kitchenware on the shelves. Most of it was outdated trash, as he expected. Some of it had real character, probably a legacy of all the immigrant families in the neighborhood. He saw nice patterns here and there, though not usually in full sets of anything. Three plates, but not four. Teacups where one or another had a handle missing or faded decorations. That suited him just fine; for now, all he cared about was functionality. He didn't plan on entertaining company anytime soon.

"No, the school district doesn't allow me to sell off any of my leave days. That was a good suggestion, but no. Where I'm stuck is how I've got all this professional development shit and curriculum meeting stuff for the school during the summer and it's all just enough to screw me out of finding a temp job. Maybe I can do some delivery driving or whatever. I don't know. Something."

He moved to another shelf and found more of the old, somewhat exotic kitchenware. The blue bottles were nice. He liked the patterns. The intricate designs didn't match anything else on the shelves. For once he found a set of four, rather than some incomplete set. They would make nice storage pieces for spices or whatnot, if he ever had such need. But that was the kind of thing Karen liked. Eric didn't really have need for such things, nor any reason to appeal to someone else's domestic sensibilities. Salt and pepper could stay in their store-bought containers.

"No, I don't think I want to look for a different job," he sighed. "It's not what I hoped, but it's better than the Army was. I feel like I've done some good for some of the kids, at least. No, probably not for my wallet. I knew that going in." This, too, was a topic he'd tired of long ago. The job wasn't at all what he'd hoped, but he needed it now—and he knew he'd done more good than he admitted. "I've gotta get back to school soon, anyway. I'm on my break period. Still got two more classes to go—"

The back of his hand brushed against one of the bottles. He froze in place, staring. Something about the texture intrigued him.

He didn't normally care about these things.

He heard a beep on the phone. "Is that you? Okay. No, it's fine, go ahead and answer. I've gotta get going, anyway. I'll talk to you soon. Love you, Mom. Bye."

The bottle sat in his hand. He turned it to study at the gold filigree over blue...was that really glass? Or something else? He wasn't sure. It bore no writing or logo, nor any sort of maker's imprint.

Eric put the bottle in his basket, glanced at the others for a brief second, and then remembered how low his finances had dropped in the midst of all his drama. He didn't have the money to buy things he didn't need.

***

People worried about him. Mom wasn't the only one who called. Friends texted, looked in on him, and made sure he was included. He appreciated that, but he'd get over the break-up. So would Karen, despite all the knots she twisted into things to make him out to be the bad guy. The pattern was right there in smaller ways, but consistently. To Karen, it was his fault for getting hurt, not her fault for doing things that hurt him. Last week was beyond the pale. In principle, polyamory might've been fine with him, but there was another word for someone deciding on it unilaterally. He should have cut it off long before that.

He parked his fading Honda in the lot and stared at the school from the driver's seat. Lunch would begin soon, with several students wanting the shelter of his classroom instead of the cafeteria and the halls. He knew the job would be tough and the pay wouldn't go far, but he'd underestimated the impact of both. Crappy pay was acceptable if he could do some good, and manageable until something went wrong...like a bad break-up, or car problems, or literally anything else beyond his control. The good he could do in the job was another matter.

Unlike a lot of his friends, Eric never wondered if his job was actually important to anyone. Amid his crowded classes and endless chores, he wound up being some kid's hero more days than not. Most problems were ordinary. Some were jaw-dropping.

Saving the day kept him afloat from one day to the next, but burnout had already set in. He knew all the statistics about new teachers; now he understood how and why. It wasn't a failure on their part. With things tighter than ever, Eric was stuck in it now. He got out of his car and headed in, steeling himself for the next few rounds. Friday afternoons close to summer could get rough. At least he had stability here.

"Hey, Eric?" The friendly call stopped him not far from the entrance. Jim walked up, radio in hand, ready to supervise for lunch. "Glad I caught you. Got a second?" asked the principal.

"Sure, what's going on?"

"It's about the Wheeler stuff. Listen, you know that kid's all set for college on ROTC, right? I know what he did wasn't acceptable, but your statement for the review was kind of harsh."

"It's what I saw him do and what he said." Eric shrugged. "I'm not embellishing anything."

"You really want to go this far over one incident?"

"It was pretty clear from the reactions I saw this wasn't unique. This wasn't the first time he's cornered and groped a girl. It's the first time a teacher caught him in the act. When I called him on it, he told me it was fine because she's a slut."

"Well, she's not exactly an angel," Jim scoffed. He saw the flare in Eric's eyes and immediately changed tracks. "Look, this kid's got a real future. Are you sure you want to trash it?"

Eric barely held back from snapping. It probably showed. "Jim, I served in the military. I'm absolutely certain a guy who assaults women shouldn't be on his way to becoming an officer. Also, that 'kid' drives a car worth more than I make in a year. Pretty sure he'll be fine. Might even learn from this." In truth, Eric didn't expect much, but he had to play that game.

"He drives that car because his dad is a partner in a law firm and one of his colleagues is on the school board." Jim sighed. "I can see you're set on this. Fine. There's another matter. We've got our budget for the next year. I hate to tell you this, but your position has been eliminated."

"Wait, what? Sue told me—"

"The situation changed, Eric. We might get an adjustment over the summer and you can reapply again, but—"

"Reapply? I can beg for my job back? What the hell, Jim? You go from asking me to change my report on an assault to this? You're the principal. You're supposed to back me up, not throw me under the bus when a rich kid's parents get upset."

"Yeah, and maybe the Army should've taught you how to pick your battles." Jim's words fell under the sound of the lunch bell, which the principal took as a lifeline. Students poured out of classrooms up and down the hallway. "I have to go. I'll email you later."

Stunned, Eric wandered through the mob of students back to his classroom. Several kids liked to take shelter there from the sometimes rough social scenes of the cafeteria and the halls. He found a couple of them waiting at his door, filing inside after him with hardly a word to him as they carried on with their own conversations.

Eric sank into his desk. He still had two classes to go today. A couple weeks left in the year. More to do for his certifications. Loans to pay for stuff the GI Bill didn't cover. He probably had a clear case for getting the union involved to protect him from retaliation, but he had no idea how that would play out—especially against a high-powered law firm. He stared off into space and mumbled, "I just signed a lease."

* * *

By the time he made it back to his new apartment with his arms full of thrift store shopping bags, his stress had moved straight into exhaustion. Focusing on his classes might've helped take the edge off the shock, but even the students could tell he was hiding stress about something. Now he just wanted to go home and hide, even if "home" was brand new and part of that stress.

The new place had only one bedroom, and for now even that was just a futon he'd bought from another thrift shop. His living room held no furniture; just luggage full of clothes, boxes of books and a stack of plastic crates holding costumes, games and all the other accoutrements of a full-grown geek. Even his computer sat on the floor against one wall.

The building and the neighborhood were safe. He'd be able to build up some furniture over time. His tastes weren't expensive. He wouldn't be trying to impress anyone in the near future. "Don't freak out," he said to himself. "It's only up from here, right?"

Eric fought off the urge to lie on his futon staring at the ceiling and worrying. He stepped into his small kitchen and set to unpacking things on the counter. Everything from the thrift shop would need to go through the dishwasher, of course. He pulled out the plates and cups, unwrapping them from the cheap paper the store clerk offered to keep everything from getting chipped. His mind wandered to idle thoughts about perhaps going out tomorrow and enjoying a little of the weekend to decompress. There were ways to enjoy LA on the cheap. Better to spend time with friends than hole up alone and sort out belongings and emotional baggage.

Then he came to the bottle.

It felt heavier in his hands now than it had in the store. Eric lifted it gently and pulled away the plain brown wrapping paper with greater care than he'd exercised with his other purchases. When he saw the gold-colored filigree on blue glass again, it sparkled much brighter than anything should under the plain, ordinary overhead light of his kitchen. He even thought for a moment that it might be vibrating...or was that his own hand trembling?

In idle curiosity, Eric pulled the old black stopper, fighting the resistance of a vacuum seal. He kept the bottle upright, lest he spill whatever might be inside. He didn't expect blue gas and light to shoot straight out of the bottle to fill the room in a thick mist.

His head swam as the mist swirled around him. He knew he should be frightened, but felt no fear. Soon enough, his head and the mist cleared to reveal a woman standing before him.

Her outfit made him think of belly dancing, though it looked far more "erotic fantasy" than "culturally authentic." Apart from the jewels and silk scarves here and there, he mostly saw a great deal of her toned, tanned, and incredibly shapely body. A thin mask of countless tiny black jewels across her face added a slight note of mystery, but even with the veil her beauty was as obvious as her bright green eyes and sandy blonde hair.

She knelt immediately and bowed her head. "Master, I am bound to your service."

Eric's heart pounded. He felt almost out of breath. He didn't feel fear, exactly, but it brought out some of the same physical sensations. She seemed to have much the same reaction. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yes. I am sorry, master." She glanced around, though keeping her head bowed. "This tongue is new to me. We are matched and bound, but is now what I expected. You seem surprised, too."

He stared more in awe of the manner of her appearance than her beauty, but there was that, too. The special effects were far too elaborate for this to be a prank. He was sober and completely alone. All of the rational explanations fell apart as quickly as he thought of them, leading to the obvious fantastical conclusion. Even if this was a little too Hollywood or sexy Disney, his first guess seemed obvious: "You're a genie?"

"I am a pleasure genie, yes," she nodded again. "Your pleasure genie, master." Curiosity and excitement warred with her submissive posture. She kept glancing around, just not up at him. "Are you unfamiliar?"

"Well, yeah." A dozen more questions came to his mind at once. He shoved aside most of his concerns for the basics. "You don't have to call me that. Are there—I'm—are you alright? You don't have to kneel, just..." He offered his hands and guided her up. Words failed as she rose with him, meeting his gaze directly for the first time. The way she looked back at him could've knocked him from his feet. "I don't even know where to begin. I'm Eric. What's your name?"

"I am fine," she replied. "My name is... in this language, I think my name is Amber. Is that a proper name? I will master your tongue quickly, but it is not instant."

"Amber is great," said Eric. "I've only read a few stories about the djinn from the Middle East. Most of what I know probably isn't accurate at all."

"Ah. My people know of the djinn, but we are not the same. As I understand it, we are often mixed up together by mortals. The language and names are similar. Where is this East in the middle of?"

"Sorry. Arabia?" he tried again. "Egypt? Persia? Do you know those? You're in America."

"I don't know that one, but I think I've heard those others before." She looked around the room. "I was told this world was solid and steady compared to mine. This is like what I was shown, but being here is another matter."

"You're from another world?"

"Another plane of existence, yes. You might call it the astral plane or a spirit world. That is what I was told before coming here. I have not studied the lore. Magic is very rare in your world, but in mine it is common."

"Did you want to be here? Is this voluntary?"

"I wanted this more than I can say. This is no prison or punishment. I ached for it." Her eyes held his with a mixture of reverence and affection. "I want to serve. I want to serve you."

A dozen more obvious questions leaped into his mouth. He tried to limit his reaction to the one that wouldn't stuff his foot in there, too. "Why?"

"Genies are only allowed in this world as servants. It is law, to protect this world from our magic and to protect our own. This world feels better. Many of us would come here if it was easy, so many that it would completely change this world. Thus, we are limited. To come here even as a servant is an incredible privilege. Also, the enchantment that matched and bound us is among the most powerful of all our magic. I remained sealed within until released by a soul worthy of my devotion."

"Worthy? Okay, I'm not Thor here. Or Captain Am..." He cut himself off. She didn't get the reference, but at least she seemed a little amused. "What do you mean by worthy?"

"Many qualities. Good ones. I know that I am safe with you as surely as I know the sun will rise and set. I know that you will care for me and be good to me. I know I will love serving you. If I am unhappy with this life, I have the power to return to my world. I am bound to you but not as a prisoner. The seals on my bottle would not have broken if the match was uncertain. You have my complete loyalty."

"But we literally just met in the last...magic. Right." Seeing how that could go around in circles, Eric forced himself to pull out of the spin and go with it. She did appear in a cloud of magical smoke from a bottle, after all. Instant, undeniable attraction probably played a role, too. It wasn't as if he didn't want this to be true. "So if you're not like the djinn I know from myths, what does this 'pleasure genie' stuff mean? Are we talking about magic and three wishes here?"

"Yes. I will do anything for your private pleasure. To that end, my magic can grant almost any wish. There is no limit of numbers. I can create comforts and treasures, anything from food and drink to any object you desire. I can make your home vast and luxurious. I can reshape my body or yours to your liking. And I will always keep you healthy and safe. You'll never get sick again. You won't even grow old."

"That's a lot to process," Eric replied slowly. The gamer and mythology geek within instantly wondered about the catch, the limits, the loopholes, the cost... "I'm guessing there's a lot of 'be careful what you wish for' here, right? Is it safe?"

"I can do no harm with my magic. If I see harm or think a wish might not work as you want it to, I will say so. You have my complete loyalty. May I show you, master? Do you have a wish in mind?"

"I could think of many." He glanced around his humble, not even yet unpacked apartment. "My home, you said? I guess...?"

Amber crossed her arms in front of herself, rubbing her fingers together to produce a fine golden dust, and spread her arms in a flash.