Samantha and Her Genie

by Daisy Dexter Dobbs

  “As I said, Samantha, I am but at your command. You are my possessor. You only need to ask, to express your desires. Give me your consent, and I will have your full, ripe body quaking with bliss the whole of the night. I am hard, strong, and expertly skilled at giving women pleasure in ways you cannot even possibly begin to imagine.”

  And then the jet-haired genie brought his mouth down over hers, mashing his soft lips against hers, seeking entrance with his probing tongue. This time Samantha’s knees did buckle and the genie held her tight, supporting her as he kissed her absolutely fucking senseless.

  To Samantha’s horror and mortification, she felt the unmistakable throbbing and pulling that came just before an orgasm. It wasn’t possible—she’d never come without direct stimulation to her clit before. And certainly not from nothing more than a kiss. But, holy shit, it was happening now.

  Tightening her muscles, she brazenly rubbed her belly against the turquoise satin covering the genie’s cock and no more than a blink of an eye later she was screaming out an orgasm. As ribbons of ecstasy tore through her, he cradled her in his powerful genie arms.

  Okay, that was really embarrassing.

  Good God in heaven, she was needy. And, hot damn, but that was just about the best, most powerful, climax she’d experienced in years. And all he’d done was stick his tongue in her mouth. Just imagine what would happen if—

  “There, you see, little one? Now just allow yourself to imagine how I can make you feel once we are both naked in your bed.”

  Oh, I am…I am…

  “You know you want it, Samantha. You want my hands on you, my mouth on you. Do not deny yourself the pleasure of my highly skilled services.”

  An instant before Samantha was about to beg her genie to drag her off by the hair and have his way with her—minus any head-lopping sort of sword play, of course—somewhere inside her head a tiny alarm went off. She fought to push it aside, to ignore the sudden discomfiture and just give in to the delicious heat and passion of the moment. She wanted nothing more than to feel him thrust his big magical genie cock into her pussy over and over again as she begged him for more.

  Oh God, how she wanted that.

  But there was that damned warning bell going off.

  “You called me your possessor,” she said, oh so reluctantly, drawing away from his warm embrace and already missing the feel of him.

  “Yes.”

  “Is that like an owner? Does that mean I own you and you have to do whatever I tell you to do?”

  “Yes. It is my duty to fulfill your every desire, little one. To service you in any that I am able.”

  Samantha expelled the deep breath she wasn’t aware she’d been holding. “Duty,” she repeated as her shoulders sagged. “And service. Yes, of course, that’s what I thought.”

  Oh sure, she was pitifully needy. Starved for male affection and sizzling, sweaty sex with a warm blooded man instead of her triple-action plastic vibrator, no matter how great the sex toy was. Jeez, she hadn’t had a man make love to her in so long she could barely remember—and her last boyfriend, the cheating toad, sure as hell didn’t look anything like Mr. Sexy Sultan at Your Service over here.

  But, gorgeous and extraordinarily hot as her genie was, Samantha still wanted a man to be attracted to her simply because he was. Period. Not because it was his duty to service her. To pretend he found her appealing, just to please her. She did have some pride left, after all. And, seriously, how could anyone who looked like this guy be even remotely interested in her?

  “That’s enough,” she said finally, stepping a good two feet away from the genie. “I don’t want to carry this any further.”

  “But, Samantha—”

  “Hold it right there, genie.” She held up her hand like a crossing guard. “If I understand you correctly, I’m the one in charge and what I say goes. I give the commands and you obey,” she said in a no-nonsense manner.

  A look of defeat, torment or anger—or maybe a combination of all three—crossed the genie’s features so quickly Samantha almost missed the change in expression. In an instant he composed himself, steeling his features as he tightened the muscle in his jaw, making his emotions unreadable.

  “I am your slave and you are my master, if that is what you mean. Yes.”

  Suddenly Samantha wanted to give him a hug, but she thwarted her impulse and remained in place.

  “Genie, I—”

  “I have a name, Samantha. It is Lugal. I would ask that you use it, unless, of course, the idea displeases you.” He regarded her with a flat, cold stare.

  “Loo-gal,” Samantha repeated the name the way it sounded with a smile that was met with his same guarded expression.

  And then the cell phone in Samantha’s purse rang.

  With the seeming speed of light, Lugal drew his saber and adopted what couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than a fighting stance. Eyes flashing and teeth bared as the musical tone chimed again from her purse, Lugal raised the saber above his head.

  “No! Oh, shit! Oh my God!” Samantha screamed out, wanting to snatch her purse from the table before Lugal could turn it into mulch, but afraid her arm might get chopped off in the process.

  “Get behind me, Samantha. I will protect you from this malevolence.”

  “Lugal, stop! I-I order you to stop! It’s only my phone for chrissakes.”

  “Phone?” Arching an eyebrow he eyed her with a quizzical expression.

  “Yeah. Just hold on a minute, okay, Conan?”

  “Lugal.”

  “Right.”

  As Lugal stood ready to strike, his muscles bunched and prepared for action, Samantha made a swift grab for her purse. She took out the phone and held it aloft. “See?”

  It rang again. His eyes wild, Lugal growled. The untamed sound shook Samantha to her knees. Standing firm, the saber still positioned above his head, he spouted something in a foreign language as he gazed menacingly at her phone.

  “Holy shit!” Thinking again of the arm she’d become fond of over the past thirty-some years, she dropped the phone on the floor like it was a red hot poker. Just before it left her hand, Samantha saw Rosie’s name and number on the lighted digital display. “It’s just Rosie,” she told him.

  “This?” Lugal jerked his head toward the phone on the floor. “This strange, loud object with its own light source is your friend, Rosie? I do not understand.” Right after he finished speaking, another musical tone indicating voicemail played. “What is this wizardry? This black magic, this witchcraft?” Lugal said, cautiously studying the phone while keeping his distance.

  “It’s okay. Really.” Samantha held her hand up, in what she hoped was a calming gesture. “Please don’t start slicing.” Moving slowly, so as not to alarm Lugal further, she squatted to retrieve her phone, turning it off, just in case her brave genie warrior got the heebie-jeebies and started hacking away if it rang again.

  “Rosie’s not actually inside there, Lugal. And it’s not magic. It’s just technology. Part of the advanced skill and knowledge of our time.”

  “Technology,” he repeated, voicing the four syllables of the word slowly.

  “Yes. Remember how you felt the first time you saw your own image captured in that photograph, Lugal?” He nodded. “You probably believed that was some sort of black magic too, right?”

  “I am still not convinced that it is not.”

  Samantha decided this probably wasn’t a good time to show him how she could capture his image with her cell phone camera. “It’s not. I promise you. Why don’t you just put that big old nasty saber back in its holster before your arms start cramping, and I’ll explain all about it, okay?”

  When Lugal hesitated, Samantha smiled. “Really. Trust me. It’s just a…a speaking device. There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s not going to hurt you.”

  “I am not afraid! I fear nothing!” Lugal boasted, lowering his saber and holding it in front of him with the tip positioned on the floor at his feet
. “I only sought to protect you from harm, Samantha.”

  “Right. Well, thank you for saving me from the fearsome cell phone, Lugal. I appreciate it.” Biting the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, once again she felt the overwhelming urge to hug him—and more.

  His eyebrow shot up. “You are mocking me, if I am not mistaken.”

  “Maybe just a teensy bit.” Samantha smiled, holding her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it. Now, how about putting the saber completely away, hmm?” She gestured toward the menacing weapon.

  Thankfully, Lugal complied, seating the saber in the casing at his hip.

  “Good. Now why don’t you just sit down here at the table like a good genie and I’ll make us something to eat. I have lots of questions to ask you—like about those three wishes I’m supposed to get, for example—and I’ll bet you have a few questions of your own.”

  “Yes, many questions. You must tell me about everything that has changed since 1859.” His expression became enthusiastic, eager. “I want to learn all there is to know about your time, to understand this technology you speak of. I thirst to know how everything works, to take this thing you call a phone apart and study the internal mechanisms.”

  Samantha blinked. Balloon pants and saber or not, her genie was clearly a typical man. She was a reasonably intelligent woman, but not a walking encyclopedia. There was no way she could answer all his questions. And she sure as hell wasn’t about to let him dismantle her phone. “Thank God for Google and the internet,” she muttered beneath her breath.

  “For what?”

  “It’s…” She gazed at his hungry expression and realized it was ludicrous to attempt to explain all about computers and being online in a few sentences. Especially to someone who’d just stepped out of 1859. “Nothing. I’ll show you later.” She gave a dismissive wave.

  “Sit,” she said, patting the top of a kitchen chair. “Please. I’ll see what I have in the fridge to eat.”

  “Food would be good. My belly aches from hunger. Thank you, Samantha.”

  She waited until Lugal was seated before she went to the refrigerator and opened it. As he glimpsed the first shaft of light radiating from the inside of the refrigerator, Lugal leapt to his feet again, saber drawn, body positioned to slay the formidable refrigerator beast.

  “Oh dear.” Samantha rolled her eyes. “Something tells me this is going to be a very long night.”

  Chapter Three

  Lugal calmed when an army of glowing armor-clad fiends failed to emerge from the refrigerator.

  As Samantha withdrew hearts of romaine, baby spring greens and an onion from the vegetable bin, she wondered for a moment at what she was doing.

  Considering the fact that a man had magically floofed out of a perfume bottle in a puff of smoke, by all rights she should be lying on the floor in a dead faint. Or racing down the street uttering a blood-curdling scream. Or be strapped in a straitjacket, cowering in a padded cell.

  Instead she was making salad.

  And making conversation with the big, brawny, half-naked barbarian of a genie who sat at her kitchen table.

  His size and presence riveted her attention as he strode to the refrigerator and opened the door to inspect the unfamiliar object. Good God, the man was stunning. He moved like a panther, sleek, graceful and deadly. Taking in a deep breath, she caught his enticing scent as he walked by and the surge of lust she felt made her tremble.

  “You have an entire market inside this chilled, illuminated box,” Lugal marveled. “How is this possible?” He slanted Samantha an awed gaze. “Indeed, you must be wealthy beyond imagination.”

  She barked a laugh at that. A more graceful, sophisticated, confident woman probably would have answered the handsome hunk’s faulty assumption with a low, throaty, sexy chuckle, but, dork that she was, Samantha guffawed.

  “Hardly,” she assured him, mentally calculating how many more days she had before her mortgage, car payment and utilities were due. “Everyone has a refrigerator and freezer, Lugal.”

  “What an amazing time you live in, Samantha.” He lifted a whole fresh pineapple from the refrigerator’s interior, examining it. “What is this?” He took a deep sniff.

  “Pineapple,” she said, amazed that he’d apparently never seen one before. “It’s a tropical fruit. We’ll have some for dessert. Why don’t you bring it here so I can cut it?”

  Lugal deposited the pineapple on the counter, next to the cutting board. His shoulder rubbed hers as he bent low, inhaling the onion she was cutting. The casual action was enough to send her poor, needy libido into overdrive.

  Until today, the closest Samantha had ever come to rubbing shoulders with a drop-dead gorgeous specimen of manhood like Lugal was… Her thoughts galloped as she sliced the romaine. There must have been a time… Maybe at a dance, perhaps at some job, or maybe… Nope. Never.

  Samantha had made it her business to steer clear of confident, too-handsome men because they rattled her, made her feel even plainer, duller and more ordinary that she already was.

  She couldn’t recall ever being in such close proximity to a man like this, much less making him a salad as she stood at her kitchen counter, trying to be blasé and pretend that her pussy wasn’t trickling as she chopped vegetables.

  Leaving his side reluctantly, she opened the freezer, scanning the contents. All she had to offer him was dieter’s fare. “Let’s see…lasagna with meat sauce. I think you’ll like that,” she said, drawing two small boxes from the freezer and setting them on the counter next to the microwave.

  Lugal came to stand next to her, placing his hand on the freezer’s icy contents.

  “Astonishing. It is like the frozen tundra of Mongolia.”

  Pulling back the clear top layer of the dinner to allow steam to escape, she paused and looked up at him. “You’ve been to Mongolia?”

  Still entranced by the frosty wonder before him, Lugal nodded. “Hundreds of years ago, one of my possessors belonged to a fierce nomadic tribe. I will never forget the brutal cold of Mongolia’s barren plains.”

  An image of Lugal wrapped in furs and animal skins permeated Samantha’s brain. She would have loved to have been his body pillow on those frigid nights. To provide warm breasts for his head and a hot, wet—

  “And here you have its coldness isolated in a box,” he said, snapping her lusty thoughts back to the present. “Truly astounding.” His voice was breathless with excitement at all he had just discovered.

  He reached out to touch a freezer coil and Samantha snatched his hand away.

  “Don’t touch that. You’ll get an ice burn.”

  Lugal touched it.

  Whisking his hand back, he examined it. A little capsule of warmth encircled Samantha’s heart as she gazed at his awed expression. He reminded her of a rambunctious little boy, eager to explore his fascinating new surroundings.

  “Okay, Lugal, pay attention. I’m going to heat our dinners. First you’re going to hear a whirring noise.” She deposited a Lean Cuisine meal on the microwave’s rotating table. “After that you’ll hear a few beeps. It’s all normal. Nothing witchy or wizardish or anything, so don’t go getting all tensed up and ready to pounce again, okay?”

  Lugal gave a tentative nod. “How does the heat source get into the box?”

  Samantha eyed the microwave and shrugged. “Beats me.”

  Lugal frowned. “Who beats you?” he demanded. “Tell me. I will lop off his head.”

  Placing her hand on his arm, she smiled at his chivalrous attitude, quite taken with his protective mode. “No one. It’s just an expression. I just meant that I have no idea how it works, other than it cooks with microwaves—and I have no clue what they are.”

  “I understand.” Lugal gave a knowing nod. “You have not been taught these aspects of technology because you are just a female,” he said with a grunt. It seemed more a statement than a question.

  Leaning against the counter, Samantha crosse
d her arms over her breasts, eyeing him with a narrowed glare. “It has nothing to do with my gender, Macho Man,” she countered, aware that he’d blithely gone from protector to chauvinist in the blink of an eye. “Trust me when I tell you the average man on the street has no idea what microwaves are either.”

  “What is the meaning of macho man? Is this a reverent form of address?”

  Samantha snickered. “It means pigheaded.”

  He ambled back to the kitchen table and sat in the chair, arms folded across the broad expanse of his chest. “I sense there has been a shift in male and female roles since I last walked the earth. Or, perhaps it is merely you, Samantha, who shows a lack of respect for your superiors.”

  Her jaw dropped. “My what?”

  “The men of your time.” Her look of shocked disbelief didn’t seem to faze Lugal a bit. “Do they not still fight the battles, slay the animals for the dinner table, work and toil to provide shelter and protection for the fairer sex?”

  Just as Samantha opened her mouth to reply, the microwave dinged, setting Lugal on edge.

  “Things have changed, Lugal,” she said, taking the meal out and putting in a second. “A lot. Men and women are equals now.” She thought twice about that. “Well, we’re getting there.”

  “Equals.” Lugal relaxed his handsome features into a patronizing half smile. “I like you. You are humorous, Samantha.” He sniffed the air and pointed toward the small meal. “This small container holds an entire dinner? It does not seem possible.”

  “Tell me about it,” Samantha answered with a chuckle. “But it’s possible if you’re dieting and limiting yourself to about eleven hundred calories a day. For a big guy like you,” she eyed him up and down for the umpteenth time, “it will probably seem more like a little snack. Sorry. All I have in the house is diet food. I wasn’t expecting a six-foot-tall genie for dinner.”

  Lugal straightened in the chair. “I stand six feet and five and three-quarters inches,” he stated proudly.

  Samantha’s lips curled into a devilish grin. Regardless of what time they lived in, size and every fraction of an inch were clearly vital statistics with men. That had her thoughts and gaze settling on Lugal’s cock. Specifically its dimensions. “Did you learn that when you got fitted for your balloon pants?” she asked, dragging her eyes from his crotch to his face.