Servant of Desire (The Battered Lamp 2)(Harem Genie erotica)
Read Servant of Desire (The Battered Lamp 2)(Harem Genie erotica) Online
Authors: Reed James
The Battered Lamp 2
by
Reed James
Copyright © 2014 by Reed James
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the expressed written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Published in the United States of America, 2014
All characters depicted in this work of fiction are over the age of eighteen (18).
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Logo ©
Anton Brand
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Dreamstime.com
Thanks to Bob for beta reading The Battered Lamp.
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Table of Contents
Naughty Excerpt from “The Servant of Desire”
“Yeah,” he answered. “But I got to take a shower and all.”
“Of course,” she beamed, then stood up and held out her hand. “Shall we.”
“Shall we what?” he asked in confusion.
“Shower. Since you have no concubines, I'll attend you.”
He took her soft hand and she helped him up. He grabbed a robe, and she genied one for herself out of thin air, and they walked to the small bathroom. It was an old house, and there was only one bathroom, a small, cramped affair with a shower-tub combo, a toilet, and a porcelain sink on a stand underneath a medicine cabinet.
“How delightful,” Aaliyah purred when she stepped into the spray, her dusky body shiny with moisture. “There are some remarkable things in your land.”
His cock hardened, and he grunted and joined her in the shower. She looked around in confusion, so he grabbed his bottle of AXE body wash and she caught on quick. Her hands were soft and gentle as she soaped his body, starting at his chest, and working her way down his stomach.
“So strong,” she purred, tracing his muscles.
“Thanks.” He reached out, rubbing soapy hands on her stomach. “You're very beautiful.”
Her face darkened with her blush, and then her hands began to wash his cock, and his hands began to wash her breasts. They both were smiling as they fondled each other, his cock erect, and the thought of Aaliyah on her knees in the shower blowing him popped into his mind.
As you wish, my husband!
He had forgotten she could read his thoughts.
She dropped to her knees, sucking his cock into her mouth, her dark hair matted to her beautiful face by the water spray. He groaned, closing his eyes and enjoying her wonderful mouth on his cock. He could grow to like this morning routine.
To find out what happens next, read on! And if you missed The Battered Lamp 1, you can buy or borrow
Genie of Desire
!
The Battered Lamp 1: Genie of Desire
My Fallen Angel 1: The Girls of My Dreams
Succubus Cafe 1: My Submissive Desire
Aaliyah watched her new husband sleep. When she had went to sleep a thousand years ago, she had expected it to last perhaps a fortnight before she was joined with her bridegroom. She glanced at her lamp still sitting on Kyle's dresser. It was no longer the gleaming lamp she remembered, but was battered and pitted with age.
What journey did we travel? How did we cross half the world?
Sahabah – 1156 AD
The Sultan of the Unseen Realm Rashid bin Al-Marid, Master of the Djinn, absorbed the spies words as he sat upon his sapphire throne in the heart of Sahabah, the greatest city in both the Seen and Unseeen Realms. He was silent for many heartbeats, then turned to the beautiful Ifrit kneeling before his throne. He considered her for more heartbeats, his ancient face twitching as he thought, his hands stroking his long, white beard. He had expected this news for three hundred years, ever since that twisted crone had pronounced her prophecy. If he could, he would have every last member of the Jann put to death for their insolence. Alas, laws stronger than death bound his race, and he could not shed their blood without...consequences.
“Zaritha, see that the Jann whore does not reach this mortal,” he rumbled like the sea pounding a rocky cliff; power filled his voice.
A smile appeared on the Ifrit's lips, her eyes glowing red with her inner fire.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Baghdad – 1156 AD
“I am entrusting the greatest flower of the Jann to you,” Kalsom binti Abdullah pronounced, her eyes hard as flint.
“I will take ten men and travel night and day to reach Mosul,” promised Wafi as the Jann crone placed the brass lamp into his hands. “Allah willing, I will not fail.”
The crone nodded, then vanished in a cloud of yellow dust.
Wafi and his ten men rode hard across the lands, traveling northwest from Baghdad, the mother of cities. On their third day, the Crusaders found them. Wafi cursed his bad luck—the Crusaders never traveled this far from the Levant—and drew his scimitar, spurring his horse at the damned infidels. A knight led them, heavily armored, and his scimitar scraped off the metal plates of the knight's breastplate.
The knight's sword opened a cut in his side. Waif toppled to the sand. He tried to command his limbs to move; they ignored him. The knight dismount, armor clanging, and approached him. He couldn't see the knight's face past his visor. The knight bent down, opening the satchel at his waist. Wafi tried to protest, but his life was bleeding out, and his body was rebelling against his commands.
I failed her,
Wafi thought as the knight picked up the brass lamp, then the darkness took him.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Acre – 1160 AD
Alphonse of Toulouse fingered the brass lamp as his boat slipped anchor, heading out into the Mediterranean to take the knight home. The lamp vexed him. He could sense there was something important about it; that some Moorish spell had been placed upon it. He was certain of it; the column of fire had led him to those Moslems for a reason.
For this lamp.
The voyage was long, boring, and puzzling over the lamp occupied his time.
As they sailed past Sicily, a storm rose up, howling with all the rage of hell. Alphonse almost imagined a woman's voice in the wind, laughing in malicious delight. The ship's keel broke, and the knight sank beneath the waves, clutching the lamp. His dying thoughts were full of frustration—he had never found the lamp's secret.
South Hill, Washington – Thursday, January 16th, 2014
The loud, annoying, repetitive beep of Kyle's alarm woke him. He rolled over, slapping at the clock. Only his hand fell short, landing upon a warm, soft lump that gasped.
A person...
Kyle's thoughts tried to ponder that—
He bolted upright. There was a woman in his bed.
Aaliyah, his wife, smiled at him as she rubbed sleep from her dusky face. His heart sped up as the blanket slipped down to reveal her round, firm tits topped with hard, dark nipples. He tried to remember that he had a girlfriend named Christy. A beautiful girlfriend. But the sight of those breasts—
“How would you like to be satisfied, Kyle?” she purred, stretching. “My mouth, my pussy, or maybe someone else. Fatima perhaps, or her mother, Faiza? Maybe your girlfriend Christy? I could arrange for Megan again. Name the woman, and she'll be eager to please you, my love.”
Her fingers grasped his hard wood, polishing it with skilled hands. He fought off his baser urges. Fucking Fatima would almost be like fucking his own sister, they had practically grown up together, and Faiza had raised him since his parents died. He desperately wanted to make love to his girlfriend, but he wanted Christy to be willing, not because his genie-wife had made it happen. Other women popped into his head: Ms. Franklin, his biology professor from last quarter with her fiery-red hair and low-cut blouses; or Toni from his math class, a gorgeous cheerleader with a petite body and dark-red hair; and the very lovely Carla Taylor from his gym class that always looked amazing in her tight sweatpants. There were dozens of girls at his college he had jerked off to before; he could have them all.
No. It's wrong. They should have a choice. Not forced to please me because of a wish. Right?
Aaliyah's hand stroked harder, rubbing his cock's head, and it became harder and harder to remember that as the blood roared in his veins.
Megan seemed to enjoy herself last night,
his lust whispered.
What was the harm?
He almost relented, imagining Ms. Capelo, his busty English professor, wrapping her luscious tits around his cock.
“I want you,” he moaned, pushing down his dark desires. “On top!”
He always wanted a woman to ride him, but he always hoped it would be Christy mounting him. Aaliyah beamed, gracefully moving into position. Her full breasts heaved as she straddled him, her hands guiding his wood to her shaved pussy. She felt amazing, like wet, warm silk as she rubbed his tip against her nether lips, then she found the entrance to her sheath and sank down on him, engulfing him in nirvana—slick, tight nirvana.
“Oh, my love!” she sighed. “Thank you for choosing me!”
“You're welcome.” What else could he say? “Ride me!”
“Yes, yes!” she gasped.
Her breasts were beautiful as they rose and fell and jiggled and swayed. The mattress squeaked and Aaliyah squealed. He reached up, squeezing those lush orbs, perky and pliant and soft. Her nipples were hard; she gasped when he pinched them, her cunt constricting on his cock.
“Your cock is stirring me up!” she purred.
There was a sudden knock at his door. “Hurry up and finish, Kyle!” Faiza called. “You have to get ready for school! It's more important than fu...being with your wife!”
It was surreal how Faiza, the woman how had taken him in when his parents had died, and Fatima accepted Aaliyah and their relationship thanks to his wish. “Yes, ma'am,” Aaliyah answered. “I'll see that he's ready.”
“I knew I could count on you, dear.”
Aaliyah laughed then picked up her rhythm. She looked down, her dark eyes full of lust. “Cum in me, my love! Let my pussy bring you to satisfaction!”
Kyle's balls were boiling; her pussy wet, warm, wonderful silk. His body tensed and his passion erupted into her. She shuddered, gasping, her pussy massaging the cum out of his balls. Then she slumped over him and he couldn't help kissing her.
She really is wonderful.
“I love you, Kyle,” she murmured.
“I... I love you, too.” The guilt returned. He loved Christy, right? He missed her, and he badly wanted to see his girlfriend, and yet a part of him wanted to stay with Aaliyah. His thoughts were too confused, and Aaliyah's lithe body atop him only fueled his turmoil.
“I could stay like this all day, my husband,” she sighed, nuzzling his neck.
“Yeah,” he answered. “But I got to take a shower and all.”
“Of course,” she beamed, then stood up and held out her hand. “Shall we.”
“Shall we what?” he asked in confusion.
“Shower. Since you have no concubines, I'll attend you.”
He took her soft hand and she helped him up. He grabbed a robe, and she genied one for herself out of thin air, and they walked to the small bathroom. It was an old house, and there was only one bathroom, a small, cramped affair with a shower-tub combo, a toilet, and a porcelain sink on a stand underneath a medicine cabinet.
“How delightful,” Aaliyah purred when she stepped into the spray, her dusky body shiny with moisture. “There are some remarkable things in your land.”
His cock hardened, and he grunted and joined her in the shower. She looked around in confusion, so he grabbed his bottle of AXE body wash and she caught on quick. Her hands were soft and gentle as she soaped his body, starting at his chest, and working her way down his stomach.
“So strong,” she purred, tracing his muscles.
“Thanks.” He reached out, rubbing soapy hands on her stomach. “You're very beautiful.”
