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Be Careful What You Wish For – Ch. 4

After too little sleep, I reluctantly head off to work, briefcase in hand. If I don’t put in regular appearances and make progress on the menial tasks assigned to me, it makes it hard to explain why I haven’t been fired yet. Because I own the company sounds…elitist. Not to mention that it defeats the purpose of keeping a low profile.

I’m walking down a busy New York sidewalk when I suddenly notice a tall, handsome man at my side, dressed in a dark suit, dark shirt, and dark sunglasses. “Good morning, Mr. Reese,” I say, my tone dry. “How did last night go?”

“No problems,” he says, sounding amused. “It was just like you said, two men waiting to kill a guy.”

“And did you kill them?”

“Didn’t you ask me not to?” he replies. I give him a sideways look. “They won’t be taking the stairs for a while, but they’ll live. They might even consider a change of occupation in the meantime.”

“Good. You should get some rest now. We’ll need to talk later.”

“Your Machine gave you another number,” he says. “Who is it?”

“Not now,” I say. “I’m busy. Go back to the lamp and wait for me to summon you.” I glance around to make sure no one heard that.

“Yes, Master Finch,” he says, a bit louder than necessary, in my opinion, but this is New York — we could be murdering each other in the street and no one would pay any attention. To my great relief, he doesn’t disappear in a puff of smoke, but turns and walks away.

“Oh, and Mr. Reese?” I call after him. He glances back. “We’ll meet on my schedule, not yours. No more surprise visits.”

He nods and blends into the crowd, disappearing from view. The last thing I need is to worry about him popping up unexpectedly everywhere I go.

After a dreary eight hours in a cubicle, trying not to finish too quickly on a database that I could have coded in my sleep, I’ve done my time and made good my escape. After a quick stop at the library to check the Machine and get the lamp, I call for a car, arranging to be picked up a few blocks away. With as much as I pay my driver, I trust him to keep his mouth shut, but I also don’t take any chances. Most people would call me paranoid, but only the paranoid survive.

On the long ride out to the cemetery where Theresa and her family are interred, I sit and stare at the old brass lamp. No doubt about it now, the heavy patina has nearly vanished, the metal glowing warmly in the late afternoon sun. Could it really be three thousand years old? I’m tempted to rub it, to summon Reese and see if he’ll answer my questions, but I have a feeling that my driver might have a problem with one man climbing into his car and two getting out.

I wait until we reach the cemetery, carrying the lamp under my arm as I make my way down the neat rows of headstones. I stop before the large, marble family stone, trying to appear casual as I look all around. I’m alone.

I rub the lamp and it shivers at my touch, like a living thing. Reese appears and glances around, his gaze falling upon the stone before us.

“I thought you said you had a number,” he says. “This looks like you’re already too late.”

I tell him about Theresa, her murder, and the fact that my Machine can’t be wrong. “I need you to find her,” I say. “Can you do that?”

“Just say the words, Master Finch.”

I hesitate. “I don’t have any free wishes left. I’ll have to pay for this one.”

“Finding one girl isn’t a big thing,” he says. “It won’t cost much. And if it turns out her life isn’t worth what I’m asking, we can forget the whole thing.”

The worth of a life…How can anyone place a monetary value on that? “Mr. Reese, I wish for you to find Theresa Whitaker.”

He gives me a slight bow, but doesn’t disappear. “As you wish. Now, about payment…I’m afraid I’ll have to ask for it in advance. Then, if you don’t want to pay, there’s no harm, no foul.”

“That seems fair,” I say. “How much do you want?”

“Perhaps we could discuss this back in your car, someplace a bit more private?” he says, glancing around. I lead the way.

“Just out of curiosity,” I say as we approach the limousine, “your price — is it open to negotiation?”

“I don’t see why not. I’m very open to persuasion.” Something in his tone strikes me as off, but I’ve had that feeling before and I don’t doubt that being a three thousand year old genie has something to do with it.

We climb into the back seat and he closes the door. The privacy screen is already up, the tinted windows blocking us from prying eyes, and I suddenly feel uneasy, almost trapped, with him sitting beside me. He lounges in the leather seat, one arm draped along the back, his long legs stretched out.

“Do you have a phone?” he asks suddenly. “The kind that fits in your pocket?”

“Yes. Why?”

“May I see it?”

“Again, why?”

“Everyone that I’ve seen since you released me from the lamp has one and I’d like to take a look at it.”

I hesitate, then pull the cell out of my pocket. “If you’d like one, I can arrange it,” I say, handing it to him. He doesn’t answer, his attention on the phone, which he turns over in his hands several times. I jump as his eyes flash, like a flicker of lightning in the distance, and a puff of blue smoke wafts up from my phone. “What the hell did you do?” I ask, grabbing it back from him.

He chuckles. A wave of relief washes over me as the screen lights up, my simple ringtone filling the enclosed space. I look to see who’s calling and frown. It says Reese with an unknown number. I glance over at him.

“Better answer it,” he says.

I raise the cell to my ear. “Hello?”

“Hello, Master Finch.” Reese’s voice comes through the phone, but I’m staring right at him and his mouth doesn’t move. “I thought this might be more convenient that carrying my lamp around with you. This way, if you want to make a wish, you only need to call.”

“Convenient,” I agree, and hang up, a little unnerved. “So, how much do you want?” I ask again. I have several thousand on me and several million hidden in various places around the city. The rest is tied up in investments, but not completely unattainable.

“I don’t want money.”

I blink, only momentarily put off. Of course he doesn’t. “Then what do you want? And I hope you take into consideration that some items are harder to procure than others. It might take time, but I can get you anything–”

“Don’t worry,” he says with a small smirk, “you have what I want.”

“Which is?”

He doesn’t answer, but he’s suddenly on my lap, straddling my legs, one hand cradling the back of my neck, the other cupping my face as he kisses me. His lips are soft. I can’t move, I can’t speak, but I gasp, drawing a sharp breath as he rolls his hips, rubbing his crotch against mine. His tongue is in my mouth. What is he doing? What does he want? He can’t want me.

I don’t know how long I’m rendered immobile by shock, but I suddenly realize that I’m just sitting there, letting him maul me. I bring my arms up and shove, trying to push him off of me, but it’s like trying to move a building. I can’t budge him. I feel a terrible, choking sort of panic start to rise up in my throat, and then he draws back, his hands braced against the back of the seat as he looks down at me.

“Is something wrong, Master Finch?” he asks.

“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice hoarse and strained.

“I’m collecting payment.”

“I- I beg your pardon?”

“I want sex,” he says, leaning down again, his lips hovering over mine. “I spent the last thirty-seven years trapped in that lamp, thirty-seven years as nothing but a formless consciousness, and now that I have a body again, I want to use it.”

“That’s understandable, really, but I could find someone, hire someone, someone better than me–”

“No, I want you,” he says, and God help me, I almost believe him. “A genie’s greatest desire is to please their master, and I have never had a master more deserving of pleasure than you.”

I feel compelled to argue — he doesn’t know me, doesn’t know what I’ve done — but he leans closer, moving slowly, his lips brushing against mine. He tastes good. I make a soft, breathless sound, almost a whimper, and press my hands to his chest. I don’t try to push him away, though. I know I can’t. And that scares the hell out of me.

“Please…” I whisper, the pins in my neck preventing me from turning my head to get away from him. “Please don’t hurt me.”

He stops, drawing back and looking down at my hands, flat against his chest. “If you want me to stop, all you have to do is say so,” he says, “but this is the cost of your wish. If you don’t want to pay–”

“I’ll pay,” I say, closing my eyes, “just please–”

“I won’t hurt you. That’s the last thing I want.”

I flinch as his hand touches my face again, fingertips soft against my cheek, and I open my eyes, each breath shuddering through me as I stare up at him. I can feel myself trembling as he bows his head, stopping just before his lips touch mine.

“Kiss me,” he whispers, and the longing in his voice pulls at something inside of me, igniting a deep and echoing ache beneath my skin. “Please…”

I hesitate. What the hell am I doing? I lean forward, closing the distance between us, and draw a noisy breath as our lips meet. He groans and I can feel him shaking, his hands sliding beneath my jacket.

I’m out of breath, my glasses fogged up, when he draws back, leaving me nonplussed as he slides backward off my lap. As the lenses clear, I find him kneeling on the floor in front of me, my mouth going dry as his large hands cover my knees, a gentle, steady pressure urging my legs apart. Swallowing hard, I shift in the seat, my damaged hip giving a slight twinge as I spread my legs. Those hands slide up the insides of my thighs and I can feel the heat from his skin through my trousers.

I gasp as one hand covers my crotch, fingers teasing my hardening cock. He looks up at me, a flicker of light dancing across his blue eyes, and when he pulls his hand back, I’m startled to find my belt unbuckled, pants unbuttoned, and zipper unzipped.

“How did you do that?”

“I’m a three thousand year old spirit with magical powers,” he says with a smirk. “And if you think that’s impressive, wait until I get your cock in my mouth.” He slides a hand inside my briefs and frees my erection, his breath hot on my skin as his lips part and he takes me into his mouth.

This isn’t the first time I’ve received oral sex, although I can count the number of times on one hand, and it hasn’t happened since college, which means it’s been…thirty-some years since I’ve gotten a blowjob. And I haven’t even been locked away in a lamp.

My hands curl into fists as he swirls his tongue around the head of my cock, his lips sliding down the shaft as he takes me in. His hands grab my hips, pulling me toward him as he presses closer. He’s so strong. My hands find his shoulders, fingers digging into his blazer as he bobs his head in my lap, his mouth so hot and wet and tight, and the sucking! Doesn’t he ever breathe?

He moans, taking me to the base, his throat squeezing me as he swallows around my flesh, his hands sliding beneath me and gripping my ass. He damn near lifts me off the seat. I cry out, my hands jumping from his shoulders to his head, fingers combing through his hair, holding him to me as I spill myself in his mouth.

Dizzy and gasping, I sink back into the deep leather seat, my whole body trembling from the inside out. I had no idea anything could feel like that. Reese draws back slowly and I shiver as his lips and tongue glide over my softening cock, cleaning me off before he tucks me back in my pants. He rises from the floor of the limo and flops onto the seat beside me with a satisfied sigh.

“Thank you, Master Finch,” he says.

It takes a minute before my brain starts working again. “That’s it? That’s what you wanted?”

He nods.

“But…what did you get out of that?”

“I got to touch you,” he says, his voice low, smoldering. “I got to please you. I did please you, didn’t I?”

“That you did, I have to admit,” I say. “That was…amazing.”

“Then I look forward to your next wish,” Reese says with a lazy smile. He opens the door and gets out, leaving me alone with a pounding heart and my pants undone. I take several minutes to compose myself before I instruct my driver to take me back to the corner where he picked me up. If he heard anything, he doesn’t let on.

I spend the long drive staring at the window, but not really seeing anything beyond the tinted glass. I can’t believe what just happened. I didn’t even try to negotiate, I just let him have at me, trading sex for favors like a common whore. I can’t let it happen again. Next time he might want intercourse, and I will not sell my first time with a man for anything, not to mention that my injuries are unlikely to make it a pleasant experience. I’ll just have to convince him to accept something else as payment. Or else stop wishing.

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2 Comments
  1. XD

    XD

    XD

    That was lovely. I’m ever so glad that I haven’t gotten my work yet and could read this chapter!

    Fave line: “And I haven’t even been locked away in a lamp.” ROFL!

    “this might be more convenient that carrying my lamp around” – “than”

    On to the next!! 😀

  2. Mandirus permalink

    ❤ this story.

    After spending a few moments to collect myself, I have to wonder…what would genie!Reese's backstory be? What caused him to be trapped in the lamp for the past 37 years? One would assume whoever had him last either was or became influential in 1970's New York. Could he have been working for the mob? Was he ever on the FBI's most wanted list? Is there a NYPD file on him? …Which coincidentally would be an interesting way to weave Carter into the story if you so chose.

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