Marks Genie Ch 03

Mark looked at Kiara. "Help me fix this."

"Okay," she said. "Go to the office. I need a minute to get my strength back."

"Out there?" He looked into the coach's office. "Why can't we just lock ourselves in the bathroom until you get your strength back."

"Master, don't be a wimp."

"Quit calling me Master," he said, "and don't call me a wimp. Hey, I've got it. They break in, you get your strength back, and then I'll just call a Re-do. I could go back an hour, and I'd still have one Re-do left."

"Well, you get 3 Re-do's in a lifetime, but they have to be spaced out. Maximum one every 12 months. You used yours, what, two hours ago?"

"What the fuck? C'mon Kiara. You never told me that."

"Master, the clock is ticking, and I can't keep them outside much longer. I need time to regain my powers."

Mark looked at the two of them. They were naked. Kiara's forehead bruise was looking nasty, and her buttocks sported very clear red handprints. There was no towel, no way to cover up.

What bathroom doesn't have a towel?

Not seeming to have much alternative, he returned to the coach's office. The key was still jammed, and the metal door was, so far, holding up against the violent slams being administered by one of his college's strongest student athletes. Over the doorway, he noticed a motion-triggered security camera that was blinking red and pointed directly at him.

Perfect,

he thought to himself.

He looked down at his nakedness, at his dick that stretched languidly towards his knee. "Get smaller," he said in a whisper, but his dick's response was to start getting hard again. "No, no, no. Not now. Smaller, not bigger. Shit." He looked at the door, which appeared to be bursting at its seams. "Genie," he whispered loudly, "make it go back down."

Kiara didn't answer from the adjacent bathroom, and his dick continued to ignore his requests; it was now standing turgidly at attention, as if waiting eagerly for the crowd to burst through. The banging stopped.

Thank God

, he thought to himself.

Maybe I'm safe.

He could hear a loud whir outside, as if someone had located a drill or maybe a saw.

He shut his eyes.

How bad things are things going to get? The football players will beat me to a pulp, but maybe the cops will stop them, and cops aren't likely to beat a college student to death in front of witnesses. But they will arrest me for rape and assault, and then I'll be humiliated, and then be sent to prison where I'll be somebody's bitch. That's appealing. Maybe Kiara would be willing to testify. Of course she would. She's my damn genie. Can she actually create an identity that would fly in court? She could create the paperwork, but how could she be someone who has no friends or family or address? Won't that seem weird? Can she conjure up a whole social network? Does she do Instagram and facebook? Could she make strangers somehow remember her? Could she make all of those people forget? Would she risk being outed? Or would she care, since she could disappear and reappear as a Greta or a Swede or a Texan? But she wouldn't want anyone to even know someone like her existed. Maybe I could go to prison for a year and then get my Re-do. Assuming Kiara hasn't just disappeared, though I'd still have spent a year in prison. God,

he thought,

I'm fucked.

Moments later, Mark heard the door open. A security guard came in first, followed by two coaches and a few athletes. The coach spoke first, presumably because it was his office.

"Where's the girl?" he yelled. "Where's the girl? And how'd you get in my damn office?"

Mark stared at them, but strangely, no one seemed to be staring at him. They were looking for the girl. More people crowded at the doorway. A town policeman pushed her way through the throng, apparently ready to take control. Mark looked down. He was wearing clothes.

"What the hell?" An old man's voice burst from the bathroom, a loud, thin, cantankerous voice. Along with everyone else, Mark rushed over. An elderly man was sitting on the toilet. The guy who looked like Uncle Sid. "You want to see an old man pee?" They all backed away, but the old man kept talking. "One nice young man can help me find a place to pass a kidney stone in private, but the rest of you perverts needs to come in and check out my bloody piss? Leave me alone!"

Mark followed everybody out to the waiting area.

The coach looked at him. "Is that you, Mark? What happened to your hair?"

Mark didn't know what had happened to his hair.

The team manager said, "not him. The other guy had brown hair, a red shirt, and gym shorts."

Mark looked down at his white muscle shirt and blue jeans. In a mirror, he saw he had white-blond hair.

The posse scuttled out the door.

Minutes later, Mark held the old man's arm as they trudged slowly to the lobby of the gym complex. Mark could smell freedom. He could also smell the old man's unwashed clothes and old urine.

"Oh, Master, you're so strong." The whisper into his ear was toxically stale.

"Jesus. Stop."

"Master, I hope you don't mind, but I made some other changes."

"Like what?"

"Like the video tape now shows the coach forgetting to lock his own door, and the heroic efforts you made at finding me a bathroom. I'm assuming by the way, that you aren't actually supposed to have a key to the head coach's office."

"No. I just happened across it last semester. Anyway, quick thinking."

"Oh, Master, when you flatter me, I get so wet."

Mark sensed and then saw that the old man had freshly peed on himself. He felt the man lean more heavily on him.

"Jesus, stop doing all of this. You aren't going to get an Academy Award."

"Oh, Master, I just thought you might want some cuddle time with your Kiara."

"Your name isn't Kiara. I'm calling you Sid."

"Your Sid is just so grateful."

"I wish you to quit leaning on me. Please get stronger and less smelly. In fact, just change back to the other old guy."

"Are you sure, Master?"

"And quit calling me Master."

The coach approached.

"Wait, stay the smelly guy for a while longer."

The coach looked angry and approached rapidly but slowed when he saw the growing urine stain on the front of the old man's trousers. The coach, not a man prone to uncertainty or inactivity, soldiered on. "Mark, do you know what this is? Is this why you were here today?"

Mark, surprised, looked at the sheet of paper. Written in calligraphy were the words:

Thou shalt identify a willing actress

And enact a scene of a pornographic

Nature on campus. It must be witnessed.

If you are apprehended, we shall disavow

All knowledge of your crimes.

"I swear, Coach. I've never seen this before and don't know anything about it. It's gotta be a pledge task, and I'm not even in a frat."

The coach nodded, looked back at the old man. "Nice work helping out today, Mark."

"Thanks, coach."

"And fix your hair. You look like a freak. What'd you do, dye it?"

"Yeah. My girlfriend's idea."

As the coach walked off, Sid whispered, "am I your girlfriend? Master, I'm touched."

"Let's get out of here," Mark said, and they walked back into sunshine. Mark had Sid turn back into Kiara. He had them both get freshly clean. She was back to wearing a sari. His hair reverted to its normal shade.

Moments later, Mark let himself relax and be led along. Kiara talked excitedly about all the things she was noticing, but he felt half asleep. This day had already been way too stressful. Kiara even struck up a conversation with Allison, a girl he'd known from a freshman chemistry lab. The two of them were jabbering away, and so Mark let himself drift a few feet behind.

He'd jerked off to Allison a few times. Not that she'd have known; he'd jerked off to hundreds of the women he'd come across.

Small and tightly wound, Allison had struck him as shy and serious. She was always prepared for lab, always very precise. She had the bright eyes of someone who never drank, smoked weed, or stayed up late. She was kinda the nerdy version of Jo, the sort who'd skip parties so she could finish her homework days in advance. Mark found those qualities annoying, and he wouldn't have looked at her twice, except that she was his lab partner, and--despite herself--was very pretty. She'd also let slip that she'd been a nationally competitive gymnast until she'd had an ankle injury in high school. That information had been enough for him to occasionally rub one out while imaging her flexibility, but she'd quickly dropped off his masturbation list. She'd always seemed too young and asexual.

Worse, she'd always seemed completely uninterested in him. In fact, as he recalled, she'd successfully switched lab partners because he would routinely not have read the material and so she had to explain the work each week. After that, they'd hardly spoken.

She and Kiara, on the other hand, seemed to have lots to talk about, so Mark focused on the billowy dress that Allison was wearing. It was loose and not at all form-fitting, but the act of walking framed her ass very nicely. He noticed that his larger dick didn't fit neatly into his pants when it got hard. Looking down, he realized he'd need to wish that Kiara do something about his bulge--but this time, they'd do it in his locked dorm room so he could do some fine tuning. He'd learned his lesson.

Twenty minutes later, under the late afternoon sky, Kiara and Allison were still walking along, arm-in-arm. They slowed, giggled, and turned to him. "Did you know that Allison is becoming a yoga instructor and studying the Upanishads? She's expanding her horizon, and we've read a lot of the same books."

"Yeah," Mark said, "my impression is that you've read all the books."

"Oh, Mark, you are always so kind to me." Kiara continued, with a sweet smile, "we're going to go back to Allison's apartment. You should come."

He started to refuse. It had been a stressful day. He needed a nap and some food. And he desperately needed to be alone and jerk off.

Then he noticed that Kiara had interlaced Allison's arm with hers, and that Allison's arm was clearly pressing into Kiara's right breast. And did Allison just glance at his crotch and giggle?

Allison looked him in the eye. "I hear y'all met in Greece."

"Let me talk to Mark for a minute." Mark and Kiara huddled. "Would you like to get naked with Allison?"

"Sure."

"Would you like to make love to Allison for hours, to fulfill her every fantasy, to have erotic sensations that make you feel like you're going absolutely nuts, all while having to do hardly any work? I say that because I know you're tired and probably want to rest."

"What's the catch?" Mark had figured out that things didn't always go smoothly with Kiara in charge.

"No catch. Well, except that once we get rolling, you can't opt out--that would screw up her erotic adventure. Though look at her--she's a sweetheart. What could she possibly want to do that would be too much for the likes of you?"

"Then just tell me more about Ms. Purity's fantasy world. I shouldn't sign on unless I know what we're doing. Since you've read everything and speak every language, you may have heard something about the importance of consent on campus?"

"It's so funny you bring that up, my Master Boyfriend, "Kiara smiled disarmingly, "but I've been wondering all day whether you'd missed that memo."

Mark felt a moment of chagrin. "No, I watched the video. Listen, this isn't some scam so you can hurt me, right?"

"First off, do you have a sense that I have a lot of power?"

"Yes. I've figured that out."

"If I wanted to hurt you, I'd hurt you. No problemo. But this is about Allison, and you'll feel no pain beyond the wistfulness of love, the shortness of life, and the occasional discomfort that is part of any good sex with a new partner."

"Shorter, Kiara. You confuse me."

"No pain. And the rest will just have to be one big erotic surprise. But if you ever do want to stop things, just say the word, Genie, and the fantasy will sadly end. Genie's our safe word."

"Okay, sounds good."

An hour later, Mark awoke in Allison's one-bedroom apartment. His hands were cuffed to the radiator. He was sprawled face up on a lime green bean bag chair. One of his ankles was cuffed to the bed, the other to a clunky old file drawer. Mark was wearing only boxer shorts. They weren't his--he didn't own boxer shorts--but that's what he was wearing when he'd awakened moments earlier.

It's so weird

, he thought to himself

, to be wearing somebody else's underwear.

What happened?

He remembered that he'd been sitting on this bean bag chair while the girls whispered in the other room. They'd gone to get something from the store. Maybe he'd fallen asleep.

Mark was angled so that he could see the thin slit of Kiara's hairless pussy. Kiara was there, too, of course. She was lying on the bed, and her pussy was perhaps 8 feet from Marks' mouth. From his position on the bean bag chair, the pussy was approximately head high. He knew that labia were usually more visible. He didn't have a preference about labia or about hair; he didn't know why he'd made her hairless in the coach's office. Maybe because he could. In his previous life, during his occasional forays with other girls, he'd been so appreciative and rushed that his thoughts and opinions were garbled, and, during calmer times or watching porn, he's found himself agnostic on the issue of pubic hair.

He also noticed that Kiara was naked and sprawled across a four-poster bed. Her wrists and ankles were bound to the wooden posts by neatly tied sashes.

The two made eye contact.

"Okay," he heard Kiara shout. "We're ready. You can come in!" She spoke with the tone of a parent welcoming young children in to get their Christmas stockings.

Allison opened the door, entered the room and stood, just a few feet from him. She surveyed the scene. "Wow."

Mark tried to get up. He couldn't move. He tried to speak. No words came out.

Tied to the bed of a near stranger, Kiara looked perfectly calm. Of course, she's calm, he thought to himself, she's practically God.

"Sweetheart, is this what you had in mind?"

"Oh, my God. Kiara. It's amazing. You're just so beautiful, both of you. He looks like one of those Greek gods, like one of those ancient museum statues except he's tied up on my bean bag chair. And no one's knocked off his nose or penis."

"Yet," said Kiara, and the two women laughed.

"But you, Kiara, I've never seen anything like you. You're amazing. And the knots." Allison walked over and looked at the knots that bound Kiara's ankles and wrists. "These are perfect. How'd you do that."

"Ask the Boy Scout down there. Though I have a feeling that he earned his bondage merit badge after he got out of Scouting."

The girls laughed again.

"Now, Allison, I want to get the ground rules completely straight. The reason that I'm here is because you're totally hot, and I look forward to a big night. That's more of a side reason, since we could have done that without bringing in the silent boy down there."

Mark again tried to speak. Nothing.

"The bigger reason for all this is that while you were talking about your fantasy life, I realized that you matched up so perfectly with Mark's personal kinks."

Kinks? Mark thought to himself. I don't have kinks!

Kiara began to speak, so Mark--having no alternative--listened.

"Okay Allison, here's your man. Just to be clear, he completely agreed to what we talked about. He'll lie there and be your boytoy. You can play with his dick and suck his nipples, or you can just leave him on his bean bag chair and play with me. That's why he tied me up, and then used the handcuffs on himself. The keys are on the floor, right next to him." Kiara pointed at a spot on the floor with a head tilt. Allison took the keys and put them on a table across the room.

"And obviously, he's agreed to our ground rules. No thrusting, no cumming, no fucking, no touching."

Mark nodded and smiled at the two women. To himself, he silently shouted, "

NO, I fucking didn't agree to any of that."

"Basically, Mark is totally agreeable to your being in absolute control." Kiara paused.

Mark found himself nodding reassuringly at Allison.

Kiara continued, "I think this is everybody's lucky day. Go check him out. Feel his dick through his boxers."

Allison slid her hand up and down the length of his cock. She looked at Kiara. "I like the look of dicks in boxer shorts."

"I thought you might," Kiara smiled.

Yeah

, Mark thought.

You thought she might.

"The little guy looks cramped, Allison. Why don't you free him up?"

She picked up a knife.

Why in the world, he thought to himself, does she have a sharp knife lying around her bedroom?

"This going to be great for everyone," Kiara continued, "he loves this stuff. Watch his reaction to the knife approaching his balls."

Mark's eyes widened. No, I do not love this stuff!

Mark was briefly scared that she'd slip, that she'd get clumsy or become a killer, but he immediately calmed. Instead of twisting away from the knife or trying to get free or screaming, Mark found himself arching his pelvis, offering himself up to Allison's blade. His dick slid through the hole in his boxers--somebody's boxers--and he was reminded of his size.

He listened as Allison's breathing got shallower. He watched as one of Allison's small hands grabbed his dick tightly while the other precisely slid the blade of the knife in the tight space between the boxers and the skin of his upper thigh. Mark marveled at the way that his longer, harder body tensed.

"Wow," Allison said, after she'd cut long slices and peeled free the cotton. "I can see why you'd say it wouldn't fit inside you. He's really big." She looked back at Kiara. "And you were absolutely right. The knife just got him harder. He's so docile."

Mark felt his own trembling, felt the sweat running down his back. His hips couldn't lunge. He could moan, but quietly. He literally couldn't move.

She picked up her dress and sat on his lap. He felt satiny wet panties slide along the length of his hard cock. He lay there, frozen.

"He looks like such an alpha male," Allison began, making Mark smile to himself, "but he gets turned on by being such a pussy. Just about any guy would be trying to ram their junk into me, but he just lies there looking like that Greek statue. Are you sure he's not gay?" Allison stood and looked down at him.

"Who knows what goes on inside someone's head?" Kiara shrugged.

You do,

Mark thought to himself,

you do.

He heard himself make a very small groan.

The two women looked at him for a moment and returned to their conversation.

"I'm sure he'd have told me if he was gay--we tell each other everything. And that hard cock doesn't look bored. His main kink is that, under the right circumstances, he's always wanted to be sexually dominated by a strong woman."

I've never wanted that in any fantasy, ever. You, Kiara, are such a liar.

Kiara stood, and out of sight of Allison, stuck her tongue at Mark, as if to say, "if you don't have anything nice to think, don't think anything at all."

Out loud, however, she continued, "Mark's usually just your garden variety bundle of late adolescent hormones, but, for today only, he's dedicated himself to being your sexual object. Do to him what you will. Anything. And if it makes any difference to you, he's fine with being teased, and he's agreed that for today only, he's very curious about being a pain whore."

Pain whore? What?

He was able to make another almost inaudible groan.

Mark tried to remember what sort of agreement they'd made.

She's said no pain. She guaranteed it. Hadn't she?

Mark thought he was going to scream but instead he had a mini orgasm, a small explosion deep in his pelvis, a spasm without ejaculation. That's new. Since when do I have mini orgasms?