How to use your Genie - Sex Stories

How to use your Genie

... parchment, along with a small, tarnished silver oil lamp, barely larger than my palm.

I placed the lamp on the desk and unrolled the note.

John, it began, If you're reading this, it means I'm no longer with us. Inside this box is a cherished possession that helped me cope with your grandmother's passing, and shaped me into the man I became. We were able to achieve great things, and my wish is for you to continue in my footsteps. I deeply regret not being there for you and the rest of our family. Don't make the same mistakes I did. I am incredibly proud of the man you've grown into. All my love, Your Grandfather.

"She? We?" I muttered, bemused and somewhat cynical. I could feel a sarcastic laugh bubbling up from my throat. "The man I've become? Seriously? You didn't even fucking know me."

That person, the one my grandfather saw, was a part of my past, a version of me that had long since evolved, with no desire to regress back to that stage.

Nonchalantly, I discarded the note, reaching for my discarded, cum-soaked shirt. I used it to wipe away the years of tarnish from the small oil lamp, eager to decipher the engravings etched onto its surface.

As I worked, an unusual warmth began to seep from the lamp into my palm. It was subtle, barely noticeable, until the lamp started to vibrate, a humming pulse emanating from its core.

Taken aback, I murmured, "Well, that's fucking bizarre," and promptly dropped the lamp back onto the desk.

I watched the lamp ...

... quizzically. It shook sporadically, like an object possessed, skidding across the desk's surface. I recoiled, stumbling over the leg of the desk, my heart racing in my chest.

My disbelief grew as a nebulous wisp of cobalt blue smoke started to spiral upwards from the spout of the lamp.

"This can't be happening, this can't be fucking happening," I repeated, my voice shaky as the smoke began to coalesce into a tangible form right before my eyes. As the blue mist swirled and twirled, it started taking on the outline of a small, petite woman.

As the last tendrils of the blue mist evaporated, the female figure standing a few feet ahead of me materialized fully. I was frozen in place, eyes wide, my words stuck in my throat, standing there in nothing but my boxers.

She was diminutive, just under five feet tall by my estimation, with a lithe body that reminded me of an acrobatic gymnast. Her face was radiant, skin as smooth and flawless as a porcelain doll's. Her eyes were a striking blue that mirrored the shade of her gown, her long blonde hair cascading down to graze the top of her pert, grapefruit-sized breasts.

Her gown was a second skin, perfectly outlining the sinuous curves of her petite frame.

Her gaze was fixed on mine, a silent, intense connection that neither of us broke. She didn't look a day over twenty.

"Who...who the hell are you?" My voice wavered, my body still riveted in place by the shock.

"Those who came before you knew me as Gene," she said ...