Genie 3

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.

Just so long as he didn't realise she belonged to him, she was safe. In any case, if she defied him, it would break the fantasy, and she could relax. What if he told her to do something innocent, and feasible, so she simply carried out his order? What if she found herself compelled to follow his orders?

No! That was so very wrong, she mustn't give in to a fable. Her husband was right, she must give up this childish fantasy world. It wasn't as innocent as she had thought.

She looked at the lamp again and wondered if she accidently called him 'Master', what he might do. It would be strange, and she wondered what he would think of her. Would he make her explain what she was playing at? Would he take advantage? A slight shiver of excitement ran over her body, and tickled her imagination.

Having a man accidently take her over, was one of her favourite stories. It wasn't an innocent bedtime story it was something she used with her husband.

She would have to be careful! What man could resist a young woman calling him master, and then explaining she was his obedient genie. There were genies who could give three wishes, and be free of the master. She wasn't like that. Once a person owned her lamp, they owned her.

'No need to be so formal,' he laughed, 'here is fine. I meant to have a word with you about something,' he said.

'I need to get changed,' she nervously said.

'No need, let's have that coffee, and we can both get on with chores,' he heavily said.

For a second she wondered what he meant by 'we', but dismissed it as a figure of speech. She felt embarrassed and worried why she hadn't left the kitchen to change, or hurried him out of the house. Surely the fantasy game hadn't taken her over so much that she was obeying him.

Avoiding him, she busied herself with pouring the coffee. Her bottom was a bit exposed, but so far they had both ignored the naughtiness of it all. Needing to see if he was staring, she turned quickly and plonked a cup down on the table.

He was looking at the lamp not her. She wondered if he had something serious to say, perhaps he was ill, or worse, and she felt a tinge of guilt. She came and sat down with another cup in hand.

He had been too preoccupied with his thoughts to notice the first cup she plonked on the table, and so he reached out to take the one she was holding.

'Thanks I need this,' he told her. He held out the cup indicating she should take the other one. 'A toast, to happy times ahead,' he said.

She reached for the first cup, and felt the little jacket opening up. She felt awful over how thin the top was. He was sure to have noticed her hard nipples, though he made no comment. She sipped the coffee, holding onto the cup with both hands. With her elbows she held the top closed.

He still held the lamp, and it didn't look as though he was ever going to put it down. She was feeling confused, from needing to make him leave the house, and wanting to obey him. No! That was foolish, she couldn't let a private fantasy get out of hand.

She also wondered what was so important that he had to barge in on her like this.

She sipped the coffee, hoping his wasn't as bitter as hers. He didn't seem to take any notice of the way she was dressed, so whatever it was, must be seriously troubling him. She yawned and apologised. She heard him saying something, but the voice seemed to be coming from someone far away. She couldn't make out the words which droned on, becoming further away still.

He recited the necessary words that would put a command into her mind, while she was under a hypnotic influence. It didn't take long, as the drug in the coffee had made her prone to hypnotic suggestion. Something of the old stage act had at last become useful again.

He watched her head slowly sink toward the table, meeting it with a slight bump.

***

Jack wished his friend was here. She was a light little thing, though a dead-weight while unconscious. He rolled her into a packing case, flipped the catch, and tipped it onto a trolley. Wheeling it out and across the yard, he felt irritated.

Breathing heavily, bumping the trunk from their drive onto his, he wondered what the hell he was doing. She could report him for kidnapping, which was a very serious charge. It was one thing for her husband to arrange this, to teach her a lesson, but for him to carry it out, was just too crazy.

He felt so guilty playing this stupid trick on her, he resisted the temptation to feel her luscious body.

As gently as possible he wheeled the trolley down the steps into the basement. On opening a hatch in the bottom of a large box, he realised it was not going to be easy to get her inside. The large fibreglass box was an awkward shape inside, though, with all the sound insulation, it was padded out square on the outside.

He scrunched her up as though she were a child, being brought in from the car, ready for bed. Fortunately, like a kid, she didn't wake. He placed her onto a little platform, and wound the little platform up into the box. It was now closed with her on the inside.

He examined the inside of the box on a monitor, confirming she couldn't see the hatch inside the box. The guys had made a good prop once again. It had been a special favour, getting it made at such short notice, but Donald had paid the extra fee they asked for.

***

Barbara woke up feeling heady as though still drunk, with the unenviable prospect of a hangover. She hadn't drunk anything though. She hadn't even been to a party. The last thing she remembered was being in her kitchen.

'Where the hell is this?' she whispered.

She remembered having a cup of coffee with Jack, and that was all.

Surrounding her were cushions and fine silk hangings. She looked up at them unable to see the ceiling in the gloom. On tiptoe, squinting and opening her eyes wide, she managed to make out the ceiling, which curved in a disturbing way. It was always taken for granted ceilings were flat, and met the tops of walls.

She looked around the small space realising it wasn't a room at all. It was oval, and the walls bent inward, joining at the top to become the ceiling. It was about twelve feet to the far end. She looked straight up to find what might be a chimney, only there was no fire place, which she would have been sitting in.

Pulling the cushions away, she found Persian rugs covering the floor. They seemed familiar, but she couldn't think where they had been seen before. Since Donald had been away so much, a lot of window shopping had been done. Her eye followed an intricate maze like pattern, and the feeling of familiarity grew.

'A maze,' she whispered. 'Why familiar though?'

An illustration for one of the stories in her book, that's where she had seen the pattern. She looked up and stared at the ceiling, to find this shape was familiar, yet different.

Barbara seemed to fold in on herself, to collapse upon the cushions. Her lamp! This space was the same as her lamp, only on the inside! This curve upward, to what she thought was a chimney, was the spout. Over there it curved up, to what was obviously a handle on the outside.

Her heart was thudding in her chest, and her breathing threatened hyperventilation. This must be a dream! She began to relax. A pleasant, happy emotion lightened her mood.

Never before had she dreamt so vividly. She pinched herself, only to yelp and giggle. The small room seemed so real. Perhaps she was under the bed clothes, though the space was much bigger than that.

On hands and knees she crawled around searching under cushions for something, anything, investigating the space like an intrepid explorer. A little box was found.

'How intriguing,' she murmured, her voice sounding like a weaver of tales.

With a click, it sprung open, to reveal jewels. Red rubies, diamonds, sapphires, and precious stones she didn't recognise.

A marvellous one changed colour when turning it between her fingers. Was it an opal? Underneath the magical stones was a tiny sheet of paper. Pulling it gently from under them, she could see tiny writing on it, through the thin paper.

She hesitated a moment, wondering if she should read it. Would it spoil the experience, would it turn out to be a shopping list, or a list of chores? She hoped it might be a challenge, from some prince, needing her help.

'My master gave me jewels, yet I would rather he give me his time,' she read.

There was the watermark of a teardrop in one corner.

'How sad,' she commented, with the happiness of the moment dampened.

Looking at it again, she realised it was her own handwriting. So it was meant to be a message from her subconscious!

How strange dreams are she thought. Who was her master and why did he give her jewels? It must mean her husband. Though really, her master was now the one who held the lamp. Of course it was. Who held the lamp? Barbara cringed on remembering Jack holding it so lightly.

If he were the last to hold the lamp, even if he put it down, he was her master and she must obey him. Somehow, she must get her husband to grip the lamp, so that he was once more her master. Ah! So that is the meaning of this dream! After the argument, she needed to get him back inline and play her games.

She giggled, wondering what sensible Jack would make of all this. Perhaps she should have prostrated herself before him, when he picked up her lamp, just to see the look on his face. Maybe her task as a genie, was to help him overcome whatever it was that troubled him so much.

There was a violent shaking, as though an earthquake had struck. She tumbled about rolling from side to side on the soft cushions. As quickly as it had started, it stopped.

She heard a booming voice calling, 'I summon you, Genie of the lamp. Your master summons you!' the bass voice rolled out like thunder.

Barbara wondered what the significance of the voice was. Maybe she was being woken up from the dream.