The door creaked open a fraction of a cubit more as the svelte young djinni
writhed her way through the narrow gap. It wasn't every day you smelt
something that intriguing, that magical on the wind, and Alia had always
been a particularly curious sprite. She tiptoed into the darkened room,
having quickly assured herself that there wasn't anyone standing around
guarding it. Not that she feared human guards- after all, how much harm can
a stupid human do if he's been turned into a frog? She advanced further into
the chamber. The magical smell was coming from over there- on that low
table. Interesting! A skull and candles and some bottles- maybe some
wizard's experiments? Maybe Alia could find some nice little magical trinket
to play with? What's that in the middle... a bronze thingy... a lamp?
What's that? A glow had appeared above the table. Oooooh! What a pretty
glow! But should it be doing that?
Alia's inquisitive smile changed to terror as magical ropes whipped out from
the base of the table, guided by some unseen wizard's will. Quicker than
even a djinni could blink, the ropes snaked out and entwined Alia's shapely
ankle. She screeched in outrage, tried to turn and run. The ropes held firm
and she came crashing to the ground. The indignity of it! Quick as a flash
the magical ropes wound and tied themselves fast around her ankles, then up
to her knees. Her frantic struggles just caused the ropes to tighten further
still. Then the lamp on the table began to glow, and her gaze was drawn
inexorably towards it...
No matter how she twists and writhes, those magic ropes have her held fast.
She tugs and pulls, but only offers her wrists to them and ends up bound
more securely than before. The lamp on the altar begins to glow and pulse,
the very air above it alive with magic. Alia feels herself being dragged
body towards it. The ropes constrict yet tighter and drag her in, then the
very air itself seems to be drawn and pulled in towards that wrteched lamp.
No matter how hard she tries to escape, it is useless.
The lamp sucks her in and the vortex collapses with a wet smack. Alia is
Stuck in a lamp, time passes very slowly. With no way of telling time, Alia
could have been trapped for an hour... or a century. Finally, something
starts to happen. Alia feels herself dragged out of the lamp, the physical
fetters around her transforming into mental shackles that ensure she has to
obey the commands of her summoner.
Old Al-Azib the wizard gives a filthy chuckle as he rubs the lamp. It
worked, it worked! Caught a genie, and not just any genie but a really
beautiful one too! He remembers the time when he first studied magic. He had
the highest of principles, the best intentions in the world. But thirty
years of studying had its effect, and for the most part life passed him by.
The more he studied the more he learnt of man's wickedness. The more he
worked, the less he felt like saving anyone. When the locals mocked him as a
halfwitted old crank, he didn't feel like anything much any more. So he
turned them all into frogs, drank every bit of illegal booze in the town and
decided to really have a good time for a change.
Sex was another thing that had mostly passed Al-Azib by in his years of
devoted study. There was thirty years of lust and lechery to make up on. But
why bother trying to find satisfaction with a human woman- wouldn't it be
better to get a nubile, flexible, magical genie would could do anything,
unhindered by the limitations of mere flesh? Al-Azib rubs his hands together
in glee as Alia materialises out of the smoke.
"Your wish is my command, Oh Master" Alia finds herself forced to say, the
mental constaints of the lamp and the magic taking away her will.
Al-Azib chortles "Dance for me, oh genie slave! Dance me a sexy dance!"
Alia is relieved. She likes dancing, and sexy dancing is fun. She leaps and
pouts and parades and struts her stuff proudly.
"Very good, oh genie slave, but not quite complete. Since you're my little
puppet, I think you should have to dance on a string!"
With a wave of his hand, Al-Azib causes the magic ropes to reappear around
Alia's wrists and ankles. She still has enough freedom to dance, but it was
a different sort of dance. A slave dance.
Al-Azib, chortling and belching, finds his previously inactive manhood
rising to the occasion. How wonderful she looks, lithe limbs swathed in
rope, totally at his command. What should he order her to do next? It could
be anything, no matter how disgusting! After all, his wish was her command!