Samantha and Her Genie

by Daisy Dexter Dobbs

  Her eyes snapped back to the smoky mist as it rose from the bottle and journeyed to the kitchen floor, where it hovered more than six feet high before she watched it morph into the shape of a man. A huge, too-handsome-to-be-believable man who was dressed like—

  “A genie!” Samantha screeched. Leaping out of her chair, she didn’t know whether to scream, laugh, cry or pee in her pants. She wasn’t sure, but maybe she did a little of all four. She heard a harsh, grating noise and realized she was gasping. It sounded worse than the racket she made when she had bronchitis and tried to take a deep breath.

  “I am at your command,” the genie said in a deep accented rumble so erotic it set Samantha’s insides aquiver. “To give you pleasure…to act upon your every urge.” Hands steepled together in front of his face, he made a small bow.

  Like the genie characters she’d seen in the movies and on TV, he wore balloon-like pants made of some silky, billowy material. Sultan-style pants. The color was a deep, rich turquoise and it seemed to shimmer. A wide belt of the same material but in golden yellow hugged his trim waist.

  He wore a short black vest, which showcased his broad, bare, sculpted chest. Embroidered all around the edges with the same colors found in his pants and belt, the vest also had touches of deep red, which appeared to be tiny embedded rubies.

  Her eyes roamed the genie’s perfect-Greek-statue body. He was barefoot and wore no turban or headpiece. He was one incredibly tall hunk of sun-bronzed muscles, long, thick hair, dark, hypnotic eyes, and a sizeable bulge tenting the crotch area of his voluminous pants. Mmmm, luscious.

  And he said he was here to give her pleasure? Oh. My. God.

  A huge, imposing curved sword hung sheathed at his hip. When she finally looked up at his face, she saw he was smiling at her and her breath caught.

  “I am glad you finally resolved to unfasten the bottle, Sam,” the genie said.

  “How do you know my name?” she said, thinking he did look awfully familiar. Nope, on second thought she doubted whether she’d run into any sexy-as-sin genies at the mall lately.

  Samantha sidestepped slowly to the drawer where she kept the silverware and cooking utensils. The guy may be gorgeous beyond words, but he was carrying a weapon plenty big enough to make mincemeat out of her with just a few swipes. She needed protection, just in case his idea and hers of pleasure were at odds.

  “I have heard your every word since you first set your delicate fingers on the box,” he answered her. “I also heard the other woman, Rosie, call you by name. Though I could not see you, Sam, your compelling voice spoke to my loins.”

  “Your—” Samantha’s gaze fell to the obvious bulge between his legs as the genie grasped his cock through his pants and held tight. “Excuse me?!” she squeaked out. Oh, well that’s just great. I finally get my very own genie and the guy’s a sex maniac. A perv. Maybe even a rapist.

  “I was in the midst of envisioning you,” the genie said, still clasping his cock, “imagining your womanly visage as I stroked my shaft just before you set me free. I assure you, your beauty far surpasses anything I could have imagined, Sam.”

  Ignoring the liquid heat gathering between her thighs at his deliciously outrageous comments, she sped to the drawer, searching for the biggest knife she could find. She pulled out a plastic soup ladle. It was either that, a pair of tongs or a rubber spatula. Everything else was in the dishwasher or the sink and she’d have to move past him to get at them.

  “You just hold it right there, buster,” Samantha warned as he took a step toward her.

  “I am not Buster, I am Lugal Damu-zid,” he said proudly. “Great warrior of Sumer.”

  “I don’t care what your name is, pal. What I care about is that you’re standing in the middle of my kitchen with your hand wrapped around your-your…” Her hand fluttered wildly as she gestured at his groin.

  “Cock,” he said. “And I would much rather feel it cloaked in the warm, wet silk of your channel than by my gruff hand.”

  “What! Oh my God, I am so calling the police.” That would have worked really well if she hadn’t left her purse with her cell phone in it on the table. And if she hadn’t finally given in and cancelled her landline just last week.

  She could scream at the top of her lungs and pray that old Mrs. Willoughby next door might hear her and come toddling over and thrash the genie into a stupor with her walker. Everyone else on the block would still be at work.

  “You appear to be frightened, little one.”

  Samantha huffed a laugh. “Gee, ya think?” Soup ladle in hand, she slowly made her way across the kitchen, step by agonizing step as he watched her every move like a hawk scouting his prey. “It’s not every day a genie comes popping out of a bottle, brandishing a gigantic sword and making lewd and lascivious comments to me as he stands there masturbating, you know?”

  “I am not a genie,” he said, a ferocious scowl taking hold. “And my weapon is no mere sword, but a saber,” he finished, ignoring the rest of Samantha’s accusations.

  Her thoughts whirling, Samantha narrowed her gaze. “Do I get any wishes?” she asked.

  The genie nodded. “I am able to grant my possessor three wishes, each of which must pertain to the possessor’s self-interest and not be cause of harm or misfortune to others.”

  “Uh-huh. So you came out of a bottle in dramatic puff of smoke, you’re wearing balloon pants, and you can grant me three wishes.” Samantha ticked each item off on her fingers. “A rose by any other name is still a genie.”

  “Your speech is strange to my ears, little one. My attire and the saber were given to me by a grateful sultan’s daughter in Persia after I kept her body trembling with delight until she collapsed in rapture.”

  Samantha’s traitorous pussy drooled as erotic images floated across her mind.

  “But if it makes you feel better to believe I am a genie, then let it be so. There will be time enough to educate you later. Just know there is no need to fear me. I am here to see to your pleasure only, not to harm you. What kind of man would I be if I inflicted injury on a small, helpless woman?”

  First he called her little one and now he said she was small. This guy definitely had a way with words. And, gosh, he just wanted to pleasure her, that’s all. Oh, Lord, it had been so long since anyone had bothered to do that.

  Samantha’s gaze flew to the metal sheath housing the massive saber again. Heck, she had to die sometime anyway. Why not at the hands of the most perfect-looking specimen of manhood with the biggest damn cock she’d ever set eyes on through a pair of balloon pants?

  Samantha blinked. Shit! What in the hell was the matter with her? Her libido was riding roughshod over her sensibilities. This wasn’t like her at all.

  “Just so you know,” she shook the ladle at the genie, struggling to maintain rational thought, “I am not helpless. I am well versed in all manner of self defense, karate, judo, chai tea—”

  “I believe you mean tai chi, little one. One of my possessors was proficient at it. Do you mean to slay me with your spoon or are you priming yourself to prepare food? My insides cry out in hunger.”

  “Right, tai chi. That’s what I meant to say. And this may look like a spoon but it’s a deadly weapon in the hands of someone like me who’s been trained in self defense. I could knock your block off with one swift, calculated tai chi move while rendering those man parts of yours completely immobile, so watch out.” With another wave of her ladle, Samantha kicked her leg into the air, wincing and stumbling when she felt a pull in her groin.

  Jeez, even in the face of death she was a klutz.

  “Thank you for the warning. But tai chi is not a means of defense,” the genie explained with a know-it-all kind of smirk. He stepped closer and she stepped back. “It is meant to heal and calm the body, mind and spirit. It involves subtle moves that I would be happy to teach you if you should so desire. After which I would be more than happy to pleasure you until you beg for mercy. “

  He strode toward h
er, no, he swaggered—all muscle and sinew and sizzling hot sexuality—with moves smoother and more sensuous than any male stripper could ever hope to mimic.

  Samantha felt an unmistakable zing at her clit at the same time her nipples tightened. “The only thing I desire is for you to keep your distance,” she said not at all convincingly, half wondering if distance was what she really wanted at all.

  “Listen,” she went on, “my husband and his motorcycle gang will be home any minute. They’re…they’re absolutely huge. Monstrous. Deadly. You better just get back into your bottle now before they tear you apart, limb from limb.”

  “Ah, a battle!” The genie’s eye’s lit up. “It has been far too long since I have engaged in face to face combat. I will crush each one of these monsters with one clutch of my mighty fist,” he said, releasing his cock to gaze at his hand and arm as he flexed his biceps.

  Watching him curl into position was like watching the magnificent ballet of a body builder in the heat of competition.

  “Then I will pick my teeth with their little bird bones.” He stood arms akimbo, looking proud and fierce and threatening and glorious and, oh God, how Samantha wanted to strip naked and rub herself all over his dazzling body.

  Whoa! Okay, either she’d somehow managed get ridiculously drunk on a couple shots of Kahlua and Baileys, or she’d developed some rare form of alcohol poisoning that had her hallucinating as if she’d eaten magic mushrooms.

  Or maybe she’d suddenly flipped her lid and gone completely crazy.

  Yeah, that’s it, a stress-induced brain malfunction she’d developed after reading that TBT letter, warning she’d better lose that extra weight.

  There couldn’t be any other answer, because this simply could not be happening. The man came out of a bottle, for chrissakes! Things like that only happened in fairytales and cartoons. And this guy was definitely no cartoon. He was flesh and bone and muscle all wrapped up in balloon pants, which Samantha had never thought of as being particularly sexy until she saw them on her genie.

  Genie. Sheesh. The idea was ludicrous. Preposterous!

  “You said you’re not a genie…are you some sort of a magician?”

  “Nay.” He laughed now, displaying a full set of beautiful white teeth. “I am…how did you say it? Ah yes, I am the gorgeous man with the big broad chest and the dark, piercing eyes. Eyes that seemed to be looking right at you through the centuries.”

  Samantha sucked in a sharp breath as she recalled the words she’d uttered when she’d first spotted the old photograph at the estate sale. Curiosity and wonder overriding her better judgment and sense of panic, she walked back to the kitchen table and picked up the faded photo she’d set there. She studied the man’s picture a moment before transferring her gaze to the genie and studying him.

  “It’s-it’s you! But…but it can’t be. The man in this photo has been dead for well over a hundred years. This picture was taken in—”

  “In 1859,” the genie said. He stood so close, Samantha felt his warm breath on her ear. She hadn’t even been aware that he’d moved. “As you can observe, Sam,” he was only a whisper away from her now, “although I have been held captive these many years, I do not smell like an ass.”

  Lord, no, he certainly didn’t. In fact, he smelled of something spicy and exotic. Faintly of incense perhaps. Like sandalwood and patchouli. “You heard that, huh?”

  “From your friend Rosie and then from you, just as you released me from my vessel.”

  “Sorry, I thought you were just a bottle of stale old perfume. You definitely don’t smell like ass.” Samantha chuckled. “You’re not saying you’ve been cooped up in that bottle since 1859, are you?”

  “It is true.” The genie nodded. “It was the last time I walked the earth. When Abigail Henley was my possessor.”

  “Wow. Things have really changed since then. A lot.”

  “I can see that,” he said, glancing around the kitchen before settling his gaze on her. “Do all women of your time dress like men?” he asked, gesturing to Samantha’s slacks.

  Samantha tried to remember the last time she had on a dress or skirt. She suddenly wished she was standing there dressed all frilly and feminine for him. Like a helpless little Southern belle. Mint julep in one hand…his cock in the other. Why, ah do declare! It’s a genie, come to pleasure me up until I expire from bliss.

  “We often wear pants,” she answered. “It’s the custom.”

  “I do not think I like this custom.” She saw the confusion in his gaze as he frowned down at her, appraising her from hear to toe. “Is it also the custom of your time for soft, womanly creatures to bear masculine names? Sam,” he spat her name with distaste. “You do not look like a Samson to me.”

  She felt her cheeks color. “Actually, it’s short for Samantha.”

  “Samantha,” he repeated, his smile a white flash in his tawny face. “Yes, a much better name for you.”

  She sighed at the way her name sounded like poetry spilling from his lips. “So while you were in the bottle you heard what I said about you—I mean, about the guy in the photograph?”

  “Not only did I hear you, I could feel the sensation of lust emanating from you as you gazed upon my image.”

  Samantha felt her cheeks flush crimson. Just behind her, he nuzzled her neck with his cheek and she sighed as she found her big old sex-starved self sinking back against his chest, loving the feel of hard muscle pressing into her—the one between his thighs as well as the ones in his chest.

  “I have a question about the words you spoke as you gazed at my image.”

  “Hmmm?” she hummed dreamily. “What’s that?”

  “What is this vibrator you spoke of? I am not familiar with the term. To vibrate is to tremble, to pulse, is this not so?”

  “Um…yes…” Samantha giggled. She couldn’t help it. “It’s…well, a vibrator is just a special sort of device. A modern tool, of sorts. Maybe I’ll tell you about it another time.”

  “I’m glad you find me gorgeous, Samantha. Of course, I’m not surprised. All women do. It pleases me that you were trying to picture me naked. I am most certain you will not be disappointed once I have shed my clothing and pose before you.”

  She felt the delicious heat of his large hands on her upper arms, turning her to face him. As if she was a mindless doll, Samantha allowed him to move her about, only to feel her knees go weak as she peered up into those mesmerizing eyes with the killer set of long lashes hooding them.

  “Gee…” she squeaked and cleared her throat before trying again. “I mean, gee,” she said, her voice coming out closer to normal that time. “Nothing like being just a wee bit egotistical.” She did her best to sound unaffected and nonchalant when what she actually felt was the prickle of thousands of nerve endings standing at rapt attention throughout her pleasure-deprived body, urging her to jump her hunky genie’s bones.

  “Egotistical? This word means confident, yes?” the genie asked and Samantha nodded. He elevated his chin and puffed out his chest—which was really a case of pure overkill because Lord knew the man didn’t need to draw any more attention to his meticulously defined, drool-worthy body.

  “And why should I not be confident? My hard, battle-scarred warrior’s body is what women crave. What they dream of. Centuries of experience with women of many different lands and times have proven this.”

  “Well it’s not what I crave or dream about,” Samantha said. Liar, liar. Pants on fire. She clamped her fingers on his arm to push him away, a restraining action about as effective as trying to bend a crowbar. Lured by the solid feel of his flesh, she found herself overcome with the urge to explore every inch of his hard body. Her attempt to conceal a whimper failed miserably.

  “We shall see.” He ran his hands up and down Samantha’s arms and she felt her panties soak. “Let me prove it to you, little one.”

  “I’m sorry, but smug, arrogant men who walk around with swelled heads aren’t my type. They don’t interest m
e,” she went on, knowing that was exactly the way she’d always felt before. This guy, however, had every right to strut around with supreme confidence because he was the embodiment of male perfection. And she was so fucking turned on by him it was making her nuts.

  But Samantha would be damned if she’d admit it to him. She’d had more than her share of experiences with cocky, self-serving guys in the past. She knew damn well what it was like to fall hard for a gorgeous guy only to have him use and then discard her.

  “You do not speak the truth, Samantha.” He increased the pressure on her arms, yanking her flush against his body. “I can see it by the way you look at me with burning hunger in your beautiful, wide, blue eyes.”

  Samantha really wanted to respond to that, to make some clever, witty, cavalier remark. To spout some glib line that would make him believe she thought he had rocks in his head, but she couldn’t.

  It was all she could do just to breathe.

  Damn if she didn’t feel like she was being held in the arms of some big, sensuous, half-naked savage from the cover of a romance novel. All that was missing was the wind blowing in their hair—and her wearing a bosom-baring dress that he could tear away so he could feast on her breasts.

  The involuntary little moan rising from Samantha’s throat and spilling out gave her away.

  “Your ravenous hunger for me is nothing to be ashamed about, Samantha. I share the same hunger for you. I have not held a magnificent, well-rounded woman like you in my arms for centuries. I long to gaze upon those big, soft breasts of yours.” He cupped one of her breasts with his hand and she moaned again. “I am eager to see if the tips are pale or rosy, or perhaps a light shade of brown, before I take them in my mouth, torturing them ever so sweetly.”

  “Oh God…” Samantha didn’t even recognize her own needy voice at that point. Her breasts ached, yearning to feel his tongue lash across the taut peaks while his hands explored her body. Hell, if he kept on talking that way her body would ignite. Mmmm, what a way to go.