Genie of Desire (The Battered Lamp 1): (Genie Harem Erotica) Read online

  Genie of Desire

  The Battered Lamp

  by

  Reed James

  Copyright © 2014 by Reed James

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the expressed written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Published in the United States of America, 2014

  All characters depicted in this work of fiction are over the age of 18.

  Cover Photo © Dwiedemann | avtograf66 | Depositphotos.com

  Logo © Anton Brand | Dreamstime.com

  Naughty Ladies Publications

  www.NaughtyLadiesPublications.com

  If you liked what you read, you can sign up for Reed James's newsletter here. Every subscriber gets two FREE erotica ebooks as well as updates on new releases, coupons, sells, and upcoming projects. Your contact information will not be shared with anyone!

  Check out Reed James's Catalog of steamy erotica on Amazon.

  Reviews at the retailer are appreciated. Honest feedback is very important to Reed.

  Genie of Desire

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

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

  Losing his virginity before his first year of college was over 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 small 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 sorority house in a dark alley. 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 the sorority, Kyle,” she giggled. “This is a frat house.”

  “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.

  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 finally getting laid tonight!

  Her phone chirped mysteriously. She broke the kiss.

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

  “It's, um, my sorority house mother,” 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.

  “Shit!”

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

  “I have to get back to the sorority,” she sighed; frustrated dejection painted her face. “There's a problem.”

  “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 sorority. I'll make it up to you next time.”

  “You're not a pledge anymore,” he said. That's how they had met. She had been forced to invite a cute guy to her sorority's mixer while pledging back in October, and they had really hit it off.

  “I know. But I'm still the bottom of the totem pole.”

  “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 was focused on her academics, but she had made an exception for his birthday. He had it timed perfectly. Her sorority's curfew was eleven, and that was still thirty minutes away, and Kyle had thought he had 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. No boys were allowed in Epsilon Kappa Tau's sorority house after dark. “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. “Shit happens.”

  “Yeah, it does.” She bit her lip, staring at him. There was an awkward pause. “Well, good night. Love you.”

  “Love you, babe.”

  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 sorority, ruining a perfect night. They're first date had been similarly interrupted.

  Since Kyle's attended the nearby Rogers College, a small, private university in South Hill, he decided to keep living with the Faraj family off campus instead of moving into the dorms. When Kyle's parents had died a few years ago, he had ended living with Faiza and her daughter Fatima. Faiza had been close friends with Kyle's mom. They had fled from Iraq together in the nineties when the Kurds were being purged. Kyle's mom had ended marrying Ethan Unmei, a Japanese American, giving Kyle the dark skin of a Middle-Eastern with the sl
anted eyes of an East Asian.

  He dripped water on the foyer, soaked by the deluge. Fatima laughed at him. Ever since Kyle had moved in, Fatima had been the annoying thorn in his side. They were the same age, their birthdays mere months apart, and she just couldn't resist mocking him at every turn, a sassy smile on her face.

  “Wet outside?” the young woman asked, a grin on her round, dusky face.

  Despite how much Fatima drove him nuts, he couldn't help but admire her rich-brown skin and dark lashes and had blossomed into quite a beautiful flower in adulthood. More than once, she had graced his fantasies. If only she would stop teasing him he might have asked her out. That, and he was afraid Faiza would not be thrilled that her friend's son and house guest was seducing her daughter.

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

  “Fatima!” snapped Faiza. “Don't tease Kyle. His date clearly went bad.” A grin split the attractive, Kurdish woman's face. “Do you want a hug? Come here and let me make it all feel better.”

  Her grin turned mischievous, belying her comforting tone. She was beautiful, strong cheekbones and sultry eyes framed by dark-brown, almost black, hair. At thirty-nine, 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 MILF landlady when he jerked off tonight. Maybe both together...

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

  “Is it?” Faiza 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,” Faiza nodded.

  He flushed. “Was I that bad?”

  “Worse,” she answered, then hugged him again. Her lush body pressing against him did little to help his aching balls out. “Now go upstairs, and get out of those wet clothes!” She rubbed at his black hair, buzzed to a flattop. “You'll catch a cold.”

  “Sure,” he sighed. She had known him since he was a kid and he had a feeling Faiza would always think of him as a boy.

  “And happy birthday.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Have fun polishing your pole!” the bratty Fatima 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,” Faiza 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 Fatima, 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 as 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.

  He glanced at the picture of his parents on their wedding day next to the brass lamp he had recently bought. 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 mom had died of cancer seven years ago and then his dad had been killed leading his company against insurgents only two years later. By then he had already been living with Faiza and Fatima while his dad was deployed overseas and it just made since to keep living with them after his death. It's why Kyle had joined the small ROTC cadre at Rogers College. He told people it was to pay for college, but he really wanted to follow in his dad's footsteps and make him proud.

  Light glinted off the brass lamp sitting next to the photo. He 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 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—the bulk of his spending money for January. 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 burned them when he was a child, and Kyle was quite fond of the scent now that she had passed on—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 Faiza 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 young woman was born.

  She his age, nineteen, 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, yellow vest. 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 woman'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, askin
g 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?” 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.”