How to use your Genie - Sex Stories

How to use your Genie

... heaviness of the funeral. John sat opposite me, his gaze unreadable, his demeanor cold.

"So, Jeanie, I have a new command for you," he said, breaking the silence. His tone was casual, belying the gravity of his words.

"And what would that be, Master?" I asked, my voice filled with a dread I couldn't hide.

"I want the funds that my grandfather so generously gifted to charity...rerouted to me," he declared, his eyes gleaming with a dark excitement.

My heart plummeted. "But Master, those were your grandfather's final wishes. He wanted to help people."

He smirked, leaning back in his seat. "His wishes no longer matter. You belong to me now. You follow my commands."

I swallowed hard, wrestling with the conflicting emotions roiling within me. "I--I don't think that's right, Master. I owe a lot to your grandfather. He was always kind to me."

A cruel laugh slipped from his lips. "Kindness? Do I look like I care about kindness, Jeanie? Your loyalty to him means nothing. Now do as I command."

With a heavy heart, I acquiesced. A part of me wanted to resist, to honor my previous master's last wishes. But I was bound by the rules of my existence. I was his genie. I had to obey. With a wave of my hand and a mental tug at the reality around us, I transferred the funds to him.

A triumphant smile spread across John's face, his eyes glittering with greed. "There we go, Jeanie. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

It took all my willpower to maintain my composure. But the ...

... victory in his eyes, the pleasure he derived from my discomfort, it was too much. Yet, I had no choice but to endure it. With each command, he exerted his control, shaping my existence to his liking. And each time, it chipped away at my resolve, dragging me further into his twisted world. The limousine ride back to the mansion was silent, but the echo of his laughter haunted me, a harsh reminder of the power he held.

Back at the mansion, John strolled around with a sense of ownership that was discomforting to watch. He picked through his grandfather's belongings with an apathy that chilled me. He discarded things that were once cherished, keeping only what he saw as valuable or useful.

"Jeanie," he began, waving around a cigar in his hand, "I need you to pack all these things up. And book us a private jet. I want to fly back home tonight."

"I see, Master," I responded, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice. With a flick of my wrist, I began to pack his chosen items magically, while simultaneously making reservations for a private jet. The opulence was a stark contrast to the humbleness his grandfather preferred.

His eyes roamed around the room, landing on a portrait of his grandfather and me. He looked at it for a moment before letting out a scoff, "You look so different here, Jeanie."

"I-- I was different, Master," I admitted, not meeting his gaze.

"Good thing you're not anymore," he said dismissively. "You are better suited for me now."

It took ...