An obsession
Barbara was fascinated by a television program, which harked back to a favourite childhood story, about a genie in a lamp. When she married Donald it became a favourite bedroom fantasy, for her. She ordered a Halloween costume over the internet, and played naughty games with him, when he was in the mood to indulge her.
She dressed up in the naughty outfit every chance she got. It consisted of sheer pantaloons, a g-string, a little open waist jacket over a sheer top, and carpet slippers with pointy toes. A gauze scarf was wrapped around her face, with her large hazel eyes peering above it. The outfit left her looking full of mysterious Eastern promise.
Her smooth skin would be teasingly exposed and hidden, as she moved in the filmy outfit. Her voluptuous hour glass figure was tantalisingly revealed and hidden. Her thighs were glimpsed through the slits of the pantaloons. When the little waist jacket fell open, prominent breasts were revealed in a haze of thin gauze.
With Donald's promotion came business trips away from home. Working harder meant less time together, and when home, he was tired. She tried harder to interest him, cooking his favourite meals and pampering him when home. While he was away she recorded his favourite sports programs.
Over the last year their love life began to wane, with him hardly ever wanting to play her favourite game, or anything else. Recently an old Eastern brass lamp, a birthday present from her father, was rediscovered in the attic. It became a focus for the fantasy. She would dress up, pretending to be a genie, acting as though the lamp were a precious possession.
'Leave that damn lamp alone! You're obsessed with it!' Donald complained.
'Stop complaining! I'm willing to be your genie, and look after you, aren't I?'
'Yes, you do look after me, but I'm fed up with this genie stuff. It's not right! You're twenty-two, not twelve. You should have grown out of them by now. We shouldn't need to play that game all the time. I don't find it sexy, so let's just do without it,' he told her.
She wanted to be his genie, and needed him to play along. Barbara thought he meant he was fed up with her. Forgetting the genie game, would be impossible as it was so strongly ingrained in her way of thinking. He just didn't understand her at all.
They argued some more about mundane things, until he stormed off to the spare bedroom. She lay on the bed feeling hurt and neglected. For the rest of the week they spoke hardly at all. Just enough to carry on the necessary day to day chores of life. Barbara didn't mention anything to do with a genie, or dare wear the genie outfit.
All that week, while he was at the office, she dressed up in the magical outfit, playing out her favourite fantasy. It gave her some comfort to play the little game, though it was becoming even more of an obsession since he had shouted at her.
After completing chores while dressed as a fabled Eastern Genie, she would watch an episode of the show, or read a well thumbed book. When he declared her obsession stupid, she rebelled, to more intensely throw herself into it. Rather than abandon the childish fantasy, she immersed herself further into it.
***
Friday came around quickly, and surprisingly a neighbour called. Without thinking about how she was dressed, the door was opened to him.
'Hi, Jack,' she said.
Fortunately the door wasn't fully open, for the bright sunlight would have shone right through the outfit. With a look of embarrassment upon her face she peered out at him, feeling very vulnerable.
'Hi Barbara,' he started to say something, then caught how she was dressed. On seeing her hiding, he added. 'You just got up? Hope I haven't caught you in your pyjamas.'
The thought of her wearing a brief nightie was enough to interest him, as she had such an attractive figure, the most alluring in the neighbourhood. The young woman was a beautiful, shapely blond. Her long shiny hair was alluring, but it was her large breasts that attracted him. One was leaning out at him from behind the door.
Hell! What was the girl wearing? Her breast was pointing at him, from an almost sheer piece of material.
'No, not really,' she lamely said.
'My telephone number is changing on Monday. I need to give you my new number, do you have a pen and paper?' he asked.
When she left the door ajar he couldn't help push it open. He wanted to see more of this attractive neighbour. Whatever it was she was wearing, it didn't seem to be covering her very well. Not seeing her around, he stepped in.
'Oh!' she exclaimed.
Hurrying from the kitchen she bumped into him. For a moment they just stood staring at each other.
'You trying on an outfit for a party?' he asked, with his eyes roving all over her body.
'Yes, a party,' she lied.
He wrote the number down with a trembling hand.
'Can you read it?' he asked.
It gave him a chance to take a better look at her, while she was distracted.
'I don't suppose I could scrounge a cup of coffee, everything is ready to go. All that packing, its thirsty work,' he laughed, with the nervousness showing.
'I'm in a bit of a hurry, Jack, another time maybe,' she said, a little too harshly.
He wasn't staring but it was obvious he was taking a good look at the outfit. She felt guilty and abashed at showing off her body to a neighbour. He and Donald were friends, so she felt safe enough. It was just that it was so naughty, she felt uncomfortable.
They both ignored the embarrassment by talking about nothing much. She wished he would shut up and go, yet it seemed they were trapped in a never ending conversation.
Her body swayed a little, between herding him toward the door, and not wanting to get too close to him. She didn't want to give him any ideas. Unfortunately he wasn't taking the hint, as each time she moved forward, he stood his ground, so she had to back off.
The last thing she wanted was to be close enough for a goodbye hug. The neighbour was sure to wrap his arms around her, and feel how insubstantial the brief outfit was. She would be almost naked in his arms, and he was a big strong handsome man. Better not tempt him into anything they would regret.
He was older, about forty-five, and a powerful figure, like her father. It was her father who told the bedtime genie stories. It was nostalgia that resurrected the stories, and hooked her into making up fantasies involving a genie. not working, and her husband working away, left her plenty of time to indulge herself.
The hall was too narrow to squeeze past, while dressed so briefly. It felt as though she were flaunting herself to her husband's friend.
Ready to dash past him, to open the door, she stopped absolutely still, with a look of anguish upon her face. She wanted to dive at the hall table, but everything was moving in slow motion. Her racing thoughts watched the disaster unfold, without a chance of redemption, no way to catch up with events. She couldn't move, as though becoming a statue, with both feet melding with the stone tiled floor.
'This goes with the outfit does it?' he asked, absently picking up the old lamp.
He knew what it was and what it meant, as Donald had moaned about it to him. After a few drinks, Jack had offered to help, though he hadn't thought about how or when.
A stifled yell was turned into a cough. He had her precious lamp in his hand, casually swinging it with a finger through a loop of its handle. Barbara wanted to snatch it from his grasp, but was terrified he might drop it.
'Do you want that coffee,' she asked, hoping he would put it down.
In the story and her fantasies, whoever possessed the lamp possessed her, so she had to obey them. It was only a fable and a fancy, though she had concentrated a lot of time and effort into playing out the fantasy. A little shiver ran up her spine.
Why was she doing this? Was she going to make a coffee in abeyance to his wishes, or to distract him from the lamp? Either way, it was not a healthy thing to do. Keep him here any longer than necessary was foolish. Something silly would happen and she would be to blame, because of the way she was dressed.
The damned housecoat wasn't behind the kitchen door where it usually hung, and she didn't want to go into the lounge serving coffee dressed like this. She quickly put on the coffee and arranged two mugs. While the coffee bubbled she could dash upstairs to put something decent on.
She turned from the sink and stood still in astonishment, blinking a pair of large blue eyes at him. He'd followed her into the kitchen! He watched her bending over and stretching, in the damn outfit! At certain angles, too many, it was see-through! Shit!
He still had the lamp in his hand, and she thought, with a little tremble running down her backbone, at any moment he might rub her lamp. Then she would have to admit to being his genie, and call him master!
'Do you want to go into the lounge,' she suggested, with a meaningful tone.
It was important to lead him into the lounge out of the way, and she hoped he would leave the lamp here. Only just in time she refrained from calling him, 'Master'. As he held the lamp it made him her master. So intense was the habit, that she only just stopped herself from using the awful word.
Jack was an older man, someone of influence in the community, and a friend to both of them. Since they moved in they had been good neighbours, over the past two years. Calling her neighbour, 'Sir', might be a little weird, but calling him master would seem ridiculous. A tense moment held her, while she stared at the lamp. He held it firmly not looking as though he would ever put it down.
Shit! Even if he put it down now, he was the last one to posses it, and that meant he would possess her, until her husband arrived home. She would somehow contrive for him to pick it up, and take back possession of her.
