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The Battered Lamp
Prologue: The Lamp’s Journey
by mypenname3000
Copyright 2014

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Notes: Thanks to b0b for beta-reading this!

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.

— The Kalsomid Prophecy

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 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 Ifrit’s aid, held on to the Sultanate, refusing to pass its rule to Sheikh Umar a thousand years ago, and ruthlessly subjugated the Jann when they had objected. Now the Sheikh’s tribe was too weak to challenge the Marid. And they had no allies; 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, daughter,” he boomed. “A mortal.”

“I know what is expected of me, father,” she answered calm and respectful. She had been training for this day for two hundred years, patiently waiting, studying the arts of home and harem.

“Then sleep, my flower,” the Sheikh whispered sadly. “You shall awaken in the house of your beloved husband 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 Marid’s 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 Marid’s 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 innocents 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 – 1156 AD

The Sultan of the Unseen Realm, Rashid bin Al-Marid, absorbed the spies words as he sat upon his sapphire throne. He was silent for many heartbeats, then turned to the beautiful Ifrit kneeling before his throne. He considered her for more heartbeats, his ancient face twitching as he thought, his hands stroking his long, white beard. He had expected this news for three hundred years, ever since that twisted crone had pronounced her prophecy. If he could, he would have every last member of the Jann put to death for their insolence. Alas, laws stronger than death bound his race, and he could not shed their blood without…consequences.

“Zaritha, see that the Jann whore does not reach this mortal,” he rumbled like the sea pounding a rocky cliff; power filled his voice.

A smile appeared on the Ifrit’s lips, her eyes glowing red with her inner fire.


Baghdad – 1156 AD

“I will take ten men and travel night and day to reach Mosul,” promised Wafi as the Jann crone placed the brass lamp into his hands. “Allah willing, I will not fail.”

Wafi and his ten men rode hard across the lands, traveling northwest from Baghdad, the mother of cities. On their third day, the Crusaders found them. Wafi cursed his bad luck—the Crusaders never traveled this far from the Levant—and drew his scimitar, spurring his horse at the damned infidels. A knight led them, heavily armored, and his scimitar scraped off the metal plates of the knight’s armor.

The knight’s sword opened a cut in his side. Waif toppled to the sand. He tried to command his limbs to move; they ignored him. The knight dismount, armor clanging, and approached him. He couldn’t see the knight’s face past his visor. The knight bent down, opening the satchel at his waist. Wafi tried to protest, but his life was bleeding out, and his body was rebelling against his commands.

I failed her, Wafi thought as the knight picked up the brass lamp, then the darkness took him.


Acre – 1160 AD

Alphonse of Toulouse fingered the brass lamp as his boat slipped anchor, heading out into the Mediterranean to take the knight home. The lamp vexed him. He could sense there was something important about it; that some Moorish spell had been placed upon it. He was certain of it; the column of fire had led him to those Moslems for a reason.

For this lamp.

The voyage was long, boring, and puzzling over the lamp occupied his time.

As they sailed past Sicily, a storm rose up, howling with all the rage of hell. Alphonse almost imagined a woman’s voice in the wind, laughing in malicious delight. The ship’s keel broke, and the knight sank beneath the waves, clutching the lamp. His dying thoughts were full of frustration—he had never found the lamp’s secret.


Sicily – 1902 AD

The day before Nicoletta Bello left for America, she wanted to have one last walk on the beach of her beautiful, impoverished home. She savored the smell of the Mediterranean, knowing she would never see the sea again. The waves washed over her, and the sand squelched as she walked and skipped and laughed and cried.

On her walk back home, she noticed something shining in the surf. A battered lamp was half-buried in the sand, tarnished by age. Excitement trembled through her; the lamp tingled in her hand—it was special.

As the Citta di Milano sailed across the Atlantic, Nicoletta pondered over the old, brass lamp. But she failed to penetrate its secrets by the time her ship docked at Ellis Island. Within an hour of clearing immigration, her luggage had been stolen. To the day she died, she couldn’t stop thinking about the lamp, and often wondered what the thief had done with it.


New York City – 1902 AD

“It’s a right deal,” Sean Murphy proclaimed as August Harper examined the brass lamp. “Give it to you for a dollar.”

August carefully examined the brass lamp he held in his ebony hands. “It be dented and tarnished. I’ll give you a half dollar.”

“Hey! What you tryin’ to pull!” the Irish street urchin complained.

“Half-dollar,” August repeated. He didn’t make that much as a sailor, but there was something special about this lamp. It had some hoodoo about it. “It’s rubbish. I’m doin’ you a favor.”

“Half-dollar and a quarter,” Sean shot back. “Ain’t taken a penny less!”

“How ’bout a half-dollar and a dime.”

“Fine,” Sean sighed. “You rippin’ me off, negro.”

August never could figure out what sort of hoodoo the lamp possessed. Three months later, when he returned home to South Carolina, he gave it to his pretty daughter Marjorie, smiling as her eyes lit up when she saw the lamp.

That made it worth every penny.


Seattle – 1918 AD

Marjorie smiled when she unpacked the lamp.

The last gift her pa had ever given her. A week later he had taken a job on a merchantman and a storm had sunk his ship. She stroked the brass lamp, feeling the energy tingling through her fingers. The lamp possessed some hoodoo, and holding it always made her aches disappear, and she had more than a few these days. She waddled awkwardly across her living room to the mantle of the red-bricked fireplace, setting the lamp upon it. She sighed, and turned back to the boxes, wishing Nathaniel, her husband, was here to help her unpack their tiny apartment.

But he had found work on a fisher boat—the reason they packed up and moved across the whole country—and was on his way up to the Bearing Sea. She gave a quick prayer that he would return safe to see their son or daughter. She rubbed her belly; their first child should be born any day now.


Puyallup – 2001 AD

Dafon walked into Curious Treasures, one of the many antique stores in downtown Puyallup, with a box of his Great-Grandmother’s possessions. It still surprised him that she had died; she had seemed immortal sitting on her porch evening after evening, ready to snuggle one of her many great-grandchildren’s children. But Marjorie Collins had lived a good 103 years on this Earth, blessed with a large family.

Who left all the work of taking care of her estate to me, he groused in his mind as he set the box on the counter.

The owner was a fussy Asian man, half-bent, with only a few wisps of his gray hair still sprouting from his liver-spotted head. He sorted through Dafon’s box, clucking his tongue. “Most of this is worthless I’m afraid,” he wheezed, his voice dry sandpaper rubbing together. “I’ll give you twenty for the brass lamp and another thirty for this stuff here.”


Puyallup – 2014 AD

Aaliyah dreamed for nearly a thousand years, undisturbed by the journey her lamp had taken. Unaware of how much time had passed. She dreamed of her bridegroom, a faceless, handsome man and dashing warrior, who would treasure her and love her like all those romantic tales her father’s wives and concubines had filled her head with as they idled away in the harem.

A jolt stirred her. My bridegroom, at last, she thought, sleep still pressing on her. But she was waking up, shaking off the eons slumber.


Sahabah – 2014 AD

Sultan Rashid bin Al-Marid woke from his sleep, a terrible foreboding filling his soul. Something stirred in the world. “Summon Zaritha,” he commanded to his servant.

The 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 it was on to sink nearly a thousand years ago. It should never have been found.”

“Rectify your mistake.”

She bursa escort flinched at his words. “At once, Great Sultan of the Hidden People!”

The Battered Lamp
Chapter One: The Genie of the Lamp

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

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

Losing his virginity before his Junior year ended 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—some romantic comedy, he had already forgotten the title—he had managed to get a few smooches from his girlfriend and a quick grope of her budding 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 house. 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 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 my house, Kyle,” she giggled.

“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, nibbling on his lower lip.

Where did she learn to kiss like this? Their first kiss had been awkward, neither knowing what do to, but the last few times she had been dynamite. Well, we have been practicing a lot.

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

She wore no bra; the top she wore had built in support. She was warm, supple, her nipple hard against his palm. She sighed, a happy noise, almost cat-like. 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 getting laid tonight!

Her phone chirped mysteriously. She broke the kiss.

“Ignore it,” he panted, pinching her nipple.

“It’s my…parents,” she 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. So close, he groaned.


He blinked; she almost never cursed. “What?”

“I have to go home,” she sighed; frustrated dejection painted her face.

“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.

She’s as horny as I am, he realized. She’s not trying to get out of it.

“It’s my stupid parents. I’ll make it up to you next time.”

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

She 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’s parents were strict, and only would let her date on a Friday or Saturday, and Saturday was Christy’s book club. Her parents had only let her come out tonight because it was his birthday and he promised to get her home by ten. That was still thirty minutes away, and Kyle had thought he left enough time to score.

Dammit! Guess it’s the sock tonight!

Like a gentleman, he walked her up to the door, and her goodnight kiss—passionate, full of tongue, his hand venturing down to her ass—left them both frustrated. “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. “Parents suck sometimes.”

“At least mine do,” she giggled. “Your mom is so cool.”

“I guess.” There was an awkward pause. “Well, good night. Love you.”

She gave him one last kiss then she darted inside.

“Fuck,” he muttered, kicking a lawn gnome over 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. Rain started hammering his car, a deluge that fogged his windows up for a moment and covered the roadway in water in mere seconds. Just like her damned parents, ruining a perfect night.

He dripped water on the foyer, soaked by the deluge. Fatima laughed at him.

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

Fatima had the same, strange racial mixture as Kyle. Round face and almond-shaped eyes from their Japanese father, but her rich brown skin and dark lashes came from their Kurdish mother. She was sixteen, and blossoming into a beautiful flower that often fueled his fantasy, and left him feeling guilty afterward.

“You’re home early,” she taunted. “Did Christy blow you off? I bet you wanted her to blow you instead!”

“Fatima!” snapped their mother. “Don’t tease your brother. His date clearly went bad. Do you want a hug? Come here and let mommy make it all feel better.”

The mischievous grin on his mother’s face belied her motherly tone. She was beautiful, strong cheekbones and sultry eyes framed by dark-brown, almost black, hair. At thirty-seven, 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. Maybe both together…

“Her parent’s texted her to come home early,” he sighed. “But thanks for all the sympathy. It’s only my birthday.”

“Is it?” she 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.

“Was I that bad?”

“Worse.” she answered, then hugged him. Her lush body pressing against him did little to help his aching balls out. “Now go upstairs, and get out of those wet clothes!”


“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, 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. He told his mom it was for college, they would pay for it while he served in the ROTC, 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 for his mom 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—most of the birthday money his Oba-chan, his father’s mother, had given him—he didn’t even hesitate to buy it.

He 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 he was a child, and Kyle was quite fond of the scent—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 started jerking 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, he realized—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 girl was born.

She was young, perhaps sixteen, 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 vest, also yellow. 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 beautiful, covered by a translucent, yellow veil, and through that veil he could see lush and red lips, while dark eyelashes fluttered at him. On the back of her hands were intricate tattoos, lines forming geometric patterns, in brown henna.

Like marriage tattoos, he realized. 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 girl’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 oh his mom’s tongue. “Uh…I…um…” he stammered.

She looked up at him, asking 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. Was 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, husband?”

“Yeah.” Wait, did she just call me husband?

“I’m glad you made that wish,” she smiled.

“Wish? So you are a Genie?” bursa escort bayan 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.”

His 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?”

She 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 he was so excited.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” she answered.

“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 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 that fact from Assassins Creed.

Her 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.

“On your eighteenth 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, warm breath blowing across his cock. 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—except that a hot girl was just inches from his aching cock.

“Would you like to use my mouth for relief, 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, husband, and let me relieve you.”

Her veil melted away and 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 girl 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.

“That wasn’t…unpleasant,” she smiled. “Salty and a little bitter.”

She rose up, leaning in to kiss him; he flinched back. “There’s cum on your lips.”

“Oh, right,” she nodded and the cum vanished. “All better.”

Her kiss was soft and timid, much like Christy’s had been the first time; for all her talk of training, she was quite inexperienced. Memory of Christy’s bone-melting kiss in the car plagued his conscience; he did love his girlfriend, but Aaliyah’s ardor was making it hard to remember that fact, and his own lust was quickly drowning out his guilt at betraying his girlfriend.

His hands grasped her sides, and he found her naked. He slid higher, expecting to feel her silk vest. Instead her found her ripe grapefruits. Where did her clothes go? They were softer than Christy’s, but her nipple felt smaller, tiny buds compared to the fat nubs he felt on his girlfriend’s breast not even an hour ago.

She mewled into his lips as his fingers pinched her nipple, and wiggled on his lap, his hard cock prodding the softness of her rear. Her hand rubbed at his bare chest. Where did my shirt go? Her fingers traced his pectoral muscles—JROTC and kendo kept him in shape. She giggled and cooed, clearly enjoying his definition.

“So strong, my husband. A warrior’s body.”

His blood boiled, going straight to his cock. He didn’t care about anything right now, least of all his girlfriend. He had to fuck this lithe, beautiful creature in his arms. He had to finally get laid. She didn’t resist as he lowered her onto her back, her black hair fanned out across his pillows and Seahawks comforter. Her hands found his rod, stroking it gently, guiding him between her legs.

“Take me, my husband!”

Why does she keep calling me that? His cock brushed the petals of her flower, damp with her passion’s dew, and that question didn’t matter. A spicy scent filled his nostrils, exciting him and driving him to plunge into her silky wetness.

His first thrust missed, his cock sliding up through her lips, bringing a wet moan as he brushed her clit, then he slid through the silkiness of her neatly trimmed, black bush; he almost came again. He drew back, taking a breath, and moved his cock lower, pushing slowly until he felt her wonderful folds slipping around him.






Sensations poured through him as he savored his first taste of pussy. He pushed in more, feeling something stopping him, soft like tissue, an obstacle keeping him from his goal. He pressed on; she gasped as it gave way before him. Then he was all the way inside her, his balls resting against her groin.

He erupted; the sensations too much to hold back.

His cock shrank, wilting inside her. Frustration seethed in him. He was finally in a girl’s pussy and he lasted five seconds. “I wish I could last as long as I wanted,” he muttered, “and keep fucking you.”

“Done, my husband.”

Life flared into his cock, and he expanded inside her. There goes my second wish! His hips pumped. Her hips rolled. He kissed her again, reveling in the tight, wet, silky feel of her sheath. He loved it. Her blowjob had been amazing, but this—this was paradise.

“Oh, my love!” she gasped as she writhed beneath him. “I love you, love you, love you!”

“I love you too!” Kyle moaned back. Did I love her? I love Christy? Right? His emotions were too confused by the pleasure surging from his cock. It didn’t matter if he loved her. It just mattered that he kept pumping his hips inside her until that wonderful moment of release. He’d say anything to keep fucking her—any lie, any admission of love. He could sort out his feelings later when he wasn’t buried to the hilt in hot cunt.

“You’re so hot!” he grunted. “You feel wonderful!”

“Oh, yes!” she gasped. “I’m…I’m…cumming! Oh, what a wonderful word! Cumming!” She said it slow, letting every vowel and consonant linger on her lips. “Cumming, cumming, cumming!”

Her sheathe convulsed like a gloved hand about him. New sensations adding to plethora of other, wonderful feelings. Her legs wrapped tight about his hips, pulling him to her, and her nipples rubbed hard against his chest. He buried his face into her hair, smelling of sandalwood and jasmine. He bit at her ear, and that made her squeal and cum again on his cock.

He exploded.

Driving his cock as deep as he could, he basted her pussy with his seed. His body tensed, every muscle tightening. He grunted and groaned, pleasure spiking through him with every blast of cum. Then he was finished, and he collapsed onto the pillows of her breasts, burying his face into her silky tits. Sweat and the sweet unguents adorning her body warred in his nose along with reek of their lovemaking: cum and spicy cunt.

“Oh, my husband,” she purred.

“I’m not your…”

The door banged open. “What in the hell is going on in…” His mother’s voice trailed off at the sight. “Kyle…what…who…”

“Mom, I…” He was about to say he could explain, but he couldn’t. Beyond his astonished mother stood an even more astonished Fatima.

“Big brother, you are in trouble,” she taunted; her astonishment replaced by a devilish grin.

Aaliyah slipped out from beneath him, still naked, and knelt before his mother on the floor. She has a nice ass. A rich, olive color, and no fat—two perfect hemispheres.

“Mother, it warms my heart to greet you. I am Aaliyah, daughter of Sheikh Umar ibn al-Jann, ruler of the Jann, and wife to your son.”

“I…” she stammered. “What? Wife?”

“Forgive my undress,” Aaliyah blushed, and suddenly she wore her silks that did little to conceal her lush body. “We were consummating our union. I promise to love your son and see he is well cared for.”

“Who is this girl?” his mother stammered. “I don’t…what about Christy?”

“She’s a…” Crap, how do I explain she’s a genie?

“I am sure Christy will make a fine, second wife for Kyle,” Aaliyah answered. “Do not think me the jealous type. I grew up in my father’s harem. He had four wives and a thousand concubines, all as fair as a desert oasis.”

Holy shit. A thousand?

“I don’t know what kind of bull you are shoveling, young lady, but it will not fly in my house. I did not raise my son to sneak girls into his bedroom.”

Aaliyah wilted. “I am sorry to give offense, Mother, but…”

“I am not your mother, young lady!” She glared at her son. “Kyle, I thought you had better judgment then this.”

He didn’t know what to say, and was all too aware of his nakedness beneath the blanket. His heart raced a mile a minute, and his thoughts felt like molasses. He wanted to speak, opening his mouth, but he could think of nothing. I wish there was someway to make mom understand.

*Done, my love,* Aaliyah’s voice echoed in his head.

His mom relaxed in an instant. “I’m so glad to have you for my daughter, Aaliyah.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

Then his mom entered his room, pulled Aaliyah to her feet, and hugged her warmly. “Welcome to the family.” Tears actually adorned his mother’s dark lashes.

“Mom!” gasped Fatima. “You’re okay with them fu…having sex?”

“They’re married, it’s only proper for them to be…uh…intimate.”

His sister spluttered like she was choking on a chicken bone.

You can read my mind?

*Of course. It can be difficult. Your thoughts are very…well…disorganized.*

Make my sister understand.

Fatima instantly regained her composure, her impish grin exploding across her face. Then she chortled. “Well, I guess your hand can finally get some rest. No more self-stimulation.” She made a jerking motion with her hand.

Aaliyah nodded emphatically. “I will make sure my husband’s needs are satisfied. He will not have to resort to masturbation any longer. All of my body is his to use.”

Fatima rolled her eyes. “I see why you married her. You two are peas in a pod.”

“C’mon, let’s leave them alone. It’s a special night for them. I remember my own wedding night…” His mom’s words were cut short as she closed the door.

“All of your body?” Did that mean her ass, too?

“All of me. Even my ass, my love.”

His cock was hardening beneath the blankets. Her clothes vanished and she knelt naked before me. “How do you do that? Make your clothes disappeared? And how do read my thoughts?”

“My powers are limited to the hearth and harem.”


“I can use my powers to make clothes or furniture, or to conjure food,” she answered. “All to maintain your household.”

“How does making my mom and sister accept all this fall under that?”

“It doesn’t, husband.”

“Call me Kyle. I’m not your husband.”

“You are,” she insisted. “You accepted my betrothal when you freed me from the lamp, and then you consummated our marriage in this very room.”

Kyle wasn’t sure how to feel about that. She was pretty, but he didn’t know her. His hormones made it hard to think clearly, especially with her kneeling naked before him, but he was sure he didn’t love her. How could he; they just met. But he did want to fuck her again. He wanted to use her in every way his imagination could conjure, his lust warring with the guilt of cheating on his girlfriend.

“So we’re really married?”

Pain crossed her face. “Are you displeased with me? Did I not satisfy you properly?”

“No, no! You…um…satisfied me very well. This is all just so sudden. We don’t even know each other!”

“Everyday we shall grow closer and closer, our love growing stronger,” she declared.

“And what about my girlfriend?”

She gave him a confused look. “If she loves you, then surely she would consent to be your second wife.”

He sighed. How am I going to explain this to Christy. Hey, this is my wife and she’s totally fine escort bursa if we keep dating and hopes we’ll get married. Like that’ll fly! That was a problem for tomorrow. “How did you make my mom and sister accept this if your powers only affect the hearth?”

“My powers affect hearth and harem,” she answered. “Causing your family to accept us falls under the harem part of my powers. As your first wife, it is my job to oversee your harem and see that you are satisfied. I read your thoughts so I can anticipate your desires.”

“So making my mom accept you…”

“Let’s me satisfy you without causing undo stress in your family,” she finished with a smile. “I can also make any woman fall in love with you, desire you, or allow you to bed them.”

He swallowed. Any woman? His masturbatory fantasy reared its head: Christy fucking him; Ms. Capello, his hot English teacher, fucking his cock with her large tits; fucking his classmate Carla’s fine ass; dusky-skinned Megan, his old babysitter, slipping in the shower with him; Toni, one of the hot cheerleaders, on her knees sucking his cock; his mother’s face dripping with his cum; more and more filled his mind, an endless parade of the hot women.

“Even your mother,” Aaliyah purred. “If you want a woman for your harem or as your wife, all you have to do is ask.”

“Why do you want to do that?” he asked, swallowing. It seemed wrong to Kyle to make any woman have sex with him, let alone marry him.

“You’re a powerful man. And powerful men have appetites. I understand this, my love, and wish only for your happiness.”

“So if I said, ‘I wish for Megan to appear in my bedroom and fuck me,’ you could do that?”

“Do you want that?”

Her dark eyes fixed on him, and an image of his old babysitter bent over in a pair of tight daisy dukes filled his mind. That image still haunted Kyle, and he loved to spank it thinking about his babysitter doing naughty things to him. Her ass was perfect, and she always wore tight clothing to show it off.

“I…” He worked his mouth, his mind whirling. It would be wrong. Like date raping a girl.

I want to fuck that ass! his cock seemed to yell as it hardened.

He shuddered as Aaliyah licked up his shaft.

You’ve always wanted to fuck her, what’s the harm? the lustful side of him whispered

It would be against her will. the rational part of him countered.

Aaliyah’s tongue felt wonderful on his cock; he squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a moan. Megan’s perfect rear floated in his mind, bent over. She probably shaves her pussy. You love spanking it to bare twats! Let’s do it! Let’s fuck Megan!

“I wish Megan was in my bedroom, wanting me to fuck her ass!”

“As you wish, my love.”

“Hello, Kyle.” He opened his eyes to see his old babysitter leaning over his desk. His eyes fell on her tan, perfect legs, following them up to her beautiful ass clad in a tight pair of jeans cut so short her pussy lips bulged around the material. She was older, in her twenties now, but still as beautiful, maybe even more beautiful, as she had been at sixteen when she watched him.

“Is she real?”

“Of course,” Aaliyah answered. “I summoned Megan from her bed and clad her in the outfit from your imagination.”

“I’ve been naughty,” Megan purred. “I need your hard cock up my ass, Kyle.”

“Holy shit!”

“Enjoy,” the genie whispered, pulling him to his feet and pushing him towards her. He glanced back to see her stretch out on the bed, her fingers rubbing through her bare pussy. I thought she had pubic hair?

*I’m bare for you, my love,* her voice cooed in his mind.

I got to watch what I think or she’s liable to turn me into a toad.

*Much too ugly. A nice songbird to perch in a cage and serenade me.* He froze. *A joke, husband. I would never hurt you. Relax and enjoy your gift. And don’t feel guilty. You’re a powerful man, and powerful men take advantage of beautiful women. There’s some lube on the desk. It’s your choice if you want to hurt her or not.*

He glanced back at Megan and her wonderful ass wiggling in those tight jeans. Sitting next to her was a tube of KY jelly. “Umm, you should lube yourself, Miss Reynolds.” I didn’t want to her hurt.

She smiled at him, face framed by gorgeous brown hair. “Call me Megan, I’m not your babysitter anymore.”

Her fingers unsnapped her jean shorts and she ever so slowly wiggled out of them. His breath caught as her firm rear appeared, and then he saw her pussy peaking between sleek thighs. She was shaved, with fat lips glistening with her arousal. She grabbed the lube, squirted it in on her fingers, then worked two into her ass. It was so obscene, her asshole widening, clinging about her fingers as they reamed her bowels.

“Umm, I can’t wait to feel your cock in there.”

“You like it up the ass?” he blurted out, then flushed; he shouldn’t be asking such questions.

“I was a Catholic schoolgirl. How do you think I kept my virginity?” she giggled.

His cock ached to be inside her. She pulled her fingers out, spreading open her cheeks. Her puckered anus glistened with the clear lube. He swallowed. I’m going to fuck my hot babysitter’s ass. Holy shit! He rubbed the tip of his cock on her anus then pressed slowly forward. The tight ring held for a moment, then he buried into her.

“Oh, yes!” she gasped. “Umm, you got a pretty nice rod.”

“Your ass feels pretty nice, too.”

His cock buried deeper into her as she purred and shot him sexy glances over her shoulder. His nervousness fled when he buried his cock all the way inside her. Her hips moved, muscles in her ass massaging his cock, and he started pumping away. It was better than his fantasies. Tight, warm velvet. He humped and groaned, gripping her hips and nailing her as hard as he could. Her asscheeks, firm and taut, rippled as his groin slammed into her.

“Fuck me harder, stud!” she moaned, throwing him a smokey glance over her shoulder.

He had to kiss her. He cupped her chin and leaned over and captured her hot lips. Her tongue was wild, aggressive. She explored his entire mouth, moaning into him as his desk jiggled and rocked with the force of their fucking. His balls were boiling over rapidly. It wouldn’t be long. He was fucking one of his fantasy women, there was no way he was going to last long. He reached around her, squeezing her soft breasts through her tank top. Then he shoved his hands under the top and felt her naked tits. Her nipples were fat and he pinched them hard; her ass bore down on his cock.

She howled into his lips. Her ass clenched his cock as she bucked beneath him. I made her cum! I made my babysitter cum by fucking her in the ass! His balls went into overdrive and he basted her bowels. He groaned, burying in her. The pleasure released out of his balls, surging through his entire body for a few, glorious seconds.

And then he relaxed, leaning against her back and kissing her neck. Megan smiled over her shoulder at him like a satisfied cat, then gave him another kiss. She had a floral smell he hadn’t noticed before; he had been too intent on fucking her ass to pay attention. He pulled out of her, and saw his genie lying on her back, her body spasming as her fingers busied between her thighs. Her round breasts heaved as she climaxed, her lush lips squeezed shut to mask the sounds of her pleasure.

He sat down on the bed, wondering what to do now, as Megan pulled up her shorts. “Thanks for the fuck. You were pretty good, kid.”

“Yeah. So, what now, Aaliyah?”

“Well, do you want to keep her?” the genie asked, snuggling next to him. Her spicy aroma filled his nostril. “You can make her your wife or one of your concubines.”

“Uh…no.” Fucking her was one thing, but forcing her to marry me or be my concubine just seemed too wrong. His cock didn’t seem to offer any objections, but he wasn’t hard anymore, so maybe that’s why he could think straight again. “So, do you send her home? Will she remember what just happened?”

“Do you want her to remember?”

He thought about that for a long moment. “Let her think it was a pleasant dream,” he finally answered and Megan vanished. He glanced at the clock, and saw what time it was. “I got school in the morning, so I need to get some sleep.”

“Of course,” she smiled. “I’m feeling tired myself.” She scooted over.

The guilt returned. He cheated on his girlfriend with his wife. And his former babysitter.

“Um, the bed’s really not big enough for two people to sleep in.” He wasn’t sure where she would go. Maybe back into the lamp. That’s how it works, right? She lives in it.

*Why would I live in it?* she wondered in his mind.

“Stories,” he said out loud, still not comfortable with this telepathy.

She laughed. “I think your stories might have a few things wrong. I don’t live in it. The lamp was merely a vessel and a focus for our union. By freeing me, I’m yours. The lamp is just a lamp now.”

“Oh, then what about…shit!” He cursed in surprise as his bed became a king size, and somehow his room grew large enough to accommodate it. “Did you just make my room grow?”

“Yes and no,” she answered. “It’s larger inside, but the same size outside.”

He blinked. “What?”

“There are spaces between matter,” she answered. “Djinn exists in those spaces. So it’s really not that hard to create an opening into that space and move everything in your room into it.”

“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 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 teacher at her High School at the time, had made it 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 teenage girls and one woman 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 her, and Christy shivered, her pussy growing wetter.

I’m going to have to eat her pussy out again, she bitterly thought. She hated doing it, and hated her teacher for forcing her. But she had no choice, she had made her pledge to 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 Puyallup 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 Ja…”

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 teen’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!”

To be continued…

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