A/N: When I first had the idea of this story it went in a much different direction. But as I always say, I just press the keys on the laptop - the stories write themselves. I can only follow where they choose to go. This one chose a much different path. Thank you for reading, rating, and commenting. Ollegio
Wandering through the woods of his seven acres, Tristan spotted something shining, under the dead branches of a fallen pine. Curious, he pulled back the dead limbs until he could reach in and get the object in his hand. Pulling it out he was astounded to find it was a silver bottle, wide at the bottom and narrowing to a thin neck, capped with a matching silver stopper.
He turned around and followed the trail back to his garage, stopping at the outdoor workbench on its back porch. Rummaging in the supplies cabinet in his garage, he came back with several all-purpose cleaners, some of those scrubby green pads, and naval jelly.
Starting with the mildest, he began cleaning what appeared to be many years of dirt and grime from the bottle. That first cleaner did a decent, but far from perfect, job. So once the worst of it was gone he moved to the naval jelly and then finished up with Nevr-Dull. At that point the bottle gleamed like new.
Taking it into his cabin, he placed it on his mantle, thinking he'd lucked into a great decor piece. Then he fixed dinner, cleaned the plates, and relaxed on the sofa to watch some tv.
Suddenly a movement caught his eye. Not sure where it came from, he eventually decided it was something on the tv, mounted to the wall above the mantle. He went back to watching his show until it happened again. This time he knew it wasn't on the tv, but still didn't know what it was. A reflection from the windows, he thought.
The third time it was undeniable as he both heard and saw it. The silver bottle had rocked. WTF? he thought. Rising from the sofa he walked over to the mantle and grabbed the bottle. He took it with him as he returned to sit on the sofa, bottle now on his lap.
Then he felt the bottle move. Sheesh! he thought, there must be something alive inside this thing. Thinking things through, he got two thick plastic bags out of his pantry and put one inside the other. Back on the sofa he put the bags over the neck of the bottle and held the open ends with one hand. With the other hand he carefully removed the stopper from the bottle, expecting some animal to rush out but be captured by the bags.
Something did fly out of the bottle and into the bags and Tristan was able to slide the bags off the neck of the bottle while pinching them tightly closed. Whatever was trapped in the bags was definitely alive. In a moment, the bags burst open and a 8 inch tall woman popped out onto the sofa next to him.
"Hello, Master," she said. "I am at your service." At that she snapped her fingers and was instantly transformed into a full-grown person, 5'2", thin but shapely, and beautiful. She appeared to be about ten years younger than his 62. "I am your genie, tasked to do your bidding. I have no one name but you may call me whatever you wish."
"Okay," he said, "what kind of prank is this? There's no such thing as a genie, and no one can grant wishes or the rest of that bullshit."
"I understand your skepticism, Master. Belief in genies faded hundreds of years ago, but we have always existed. May I demonstrate?" she asked.
"Sure, give it your best shot."
She snapped her fingers again and a glass of Oban single malt appeared on the end table next to him. "I believe this is your favorite," she said.
Astounded, he picked the glass up, put it to his lips, and immediately recognized the excellent 12 year old scotch. "Nice parlor trick," he told her.
"I grant wishes and take care of you, Master. I do not do tricks. I suggest we both go to sleep and tomorrow I can perhaps convince you that I am real."
"Yeah, that sounds good. Should I make up the guest room?" he asked.
"No, I sleep in my bottle, but I would appreciate you're not inserting the stopper unless you have some strong reason to keep me trapped inside," she told him. At that she snapped her fingers again and disappeared, presumably into the bottle.
Not even believing what had happened, he headed to his bedroom. His instinct was to lock the door but after seeing her trick with the scotch decided it wouldn't keep her out if she wanted in. It took an hour for him to settle enough to fall asleep.
The next morning he woke, looked around, and realized that he had survived the night with a potential supernatural murderer in the next room.
Getting out of bed and making it up, he dressed and opened his door, to walk into the great room of his cabin. He didn't see her anywhere.
As he popped a pod into the coffee maker and poured in a mug full of water, he heard a whooshing sound. Turning, he saw her fly out of her bottle and then grow to full size. "Good morning, Master. I trust you slept well."
"Umm, I did, thank you. So, what happens now?" he asked.
"Whatever you wish, Master. If I may, I would suggest that I provide you with a few examples of my abilities. For example, I know you have a classic car in the garage that you've been working on but have hit some snags. I can help with that, she said.
"But first, let me make us breakfast." Snapping her fingers, the table was instantly set with plates filled with fluffy omelets, hash browns, and toast. The coffee mugs steamed.
They both sat to eat and his curiosity took over. "What do you eat inside that bottle?"
"Just as there were no eggs or veggies in your fridge yet I conjured up these omelets, I can create whatever food I need inside my bottle. I've lived there for 127 years since I was last out, and you can see I'm perfectly healthy," she explained.
When they finished eating she snapped her fingers again and the dishes were instantly cleaned and put away. Then she led him out to his garage. His '58 Morris Minor Tourer was still up on jack stands. He'd replaced the anemic 948 cc engine with a 1275 and matching transmission but then run into problems trying to replace the wiring harness. So the car sat, unfinished. The dual carbs were on the workbench, awaiting rebuilding. The bumper, grill, and radiator were in the attic above, having been removed to facilitate the engine swap. Other miscellaneous parts needed to be reinstalled.
The genie looked around, seeming to gather in all the aspects of the situation, and then snapped her fingers. Instantly the Morris was complete. Tristan couldn't believe his eyes. It was like the parts flew invisibly through the air to reunite with the car - one second they were scattered all around and the next they were where they belonged.
"The fluids are all filled and correct and the gasoline is fresh. Give it a try," the genie said as she handed him the keys.
Tristan got behind the wheel, inserted the ignition key, and pumped the gas pedal as you always needed to do back in the carburetor days. Turning the key, the engine spun over two or three times and then caught and ran. After a couple of minutes it warmed up and the choke released, dropping the idle down to a smooth, easy lope.
"Wow! That's fantastic. Is this real?" he exclaimed.
"I assure you, Master, it is. You released me from the prison of my bottle and now my purpose is to please you every way I can, except sexually. You and I can never have sex as it is forbidden. Beyond that, I can likely fulfill any desire you might have."
"We need to talk," he told her as he led her back into the cabin.
"Please explain this all to me. Nowadays we don't believe in genies and magic and stuff, so I need explanations," he stated.
"We know. Humans no longer believe in genies, or fairies, or leprechauns, but I assure you we are all real. Your refusal to believe in us is one reason why you rarely encounter us. Ironically, many of you believe in ghosts, vampires, and werewolves, which don't exist."
"Okay, so how does this all work with you and I?"
"You freed me from my bottle and thus I am indentured to you. I will remain with you and fulfill all your wishes within my abilities until you either dishonor me, entrap me back into my bottle, or die. In that case my bottle will disappear and likely remain hidden until someone chances upon it, as you did yesterday."
"So the whole Master/Genie thing is a lot like Dom/Sub but without the sex? he asked.
"That isn't far off."
"Well, I'm not into that. I don't want a slave, even if she has magical powers. Since you are now 'indentured' to me, I would like you to act as if you are a partner. I pay the bills, you fix our meals, clean the house, and so on, but stop calling me Master. I'm Tristan, or Trist if you prefer.. And choose a name you like - genie doesn't work for me."
"Thank you, Mas...Tristan. I would like it if you call me Angel."
"Now, can you fix my classic Mini like you did the Morris?" he asked.
"I already have, Tristan," she said with a smile.
Over the next few weeks they settled into a comfortable routine. Tristan went about his typical, retired life week filled with workouts, volunteer work, and odd jobs around the cabin. Angel surprised him by choosing to do many household chores manually, dusting, running the vacuum, and so one. She did snap her fingers to clean the bathrooms, though.
After she had been there for six weeks, Tristan called for a discussion. "Angel, I have a problem we need to discuss. I haven't had sex for six months. It's very hard for a 62 year old man to find a sex partner around here, as rural as we are. Is there anyway you can help me with this?"
"Tristan, you know we can't have sex, so I hope that isn't what you're asking," she replied.
"It isn't."
"Okay. You've said you think your sexual drought is due to age and location. What I can do is make you any age you choose, and place you anywhere you like. I can make you a 20 year old stud in a Russian whorehouse, or 30 year old gay male in Studio 54. The only catch is it will only last for 48 hours each time."
"Could you send me back into a real relationship I had, but screwed up at the time? Give me a second chance with her?"
