Turn her into a proper Genie

Yasmin’s eyes fluttered closed. Her body went slack. The lamp slipped from her fingers and hit the carpet with a soft thud. The crowd murmured. A few men whistled. The hypnotist turned back to the audience, a smug look on his face behind the mask.

“Well now,” he said, “we can’t have an authentic genie running around without fulfilling any wishes, can we? Let’s make sure she knows her role.”

He leaned in close to Yasmin’s ear and whispered something Peter couldn’t hear. When he finished, he picked up the lamp from the floor and snapped his fingers in front of her face. Yasmin’s eyes snapped open. She looked around, then focused on the lamp in the man’s hand. Her whole posture changed. She stood straighter, clasped her hands in front of her, and gave him a bright smile.

"What is your wish master?" she asked him with complete seriousness as she beamed at him.

“I wish that you fulfill one wish for whoever holds this lamp for the rest of the party,” the man said, his voice loud enough for the room to hear.

Yasmin nodded eagerly. “Your wish is my command, Master!” she chirped.

The man laughed and tossed the lamp into the crowd.

"Don't hog her folks! One wish per person only." as yelled out and chucked hard.

People scrambled and reached for it. One of the jocks in the football pads caught it first. Yasmin hurried over to him, her breasts bouncing under the thin gold fabric. She stopped in front of him and bowed slightly.

“What is your wish, Master?” she asked sweetly.

The jock grinned. He looked her up and down, his eyes lingering on her chest. “I wish you were a genie who loved showing off her tits.”

Yasmin smiled wider. “Your wish is my command, Master!” She pulled off her gold bra top and threw it aside. The crowd cheered. Catcalls filled the room. Peter’s mouth went dry. Yasmin’s bare breasts hung heavy and round, her dark nipples hard. She didn’t cover them. She just stood there, smiling, waiting for the next command.

The jock laughed and threw the lamp across the room. Yasmin turned and ran after it, her breasts bouncing with every step. Peter couldn’t look away.

The hypnotist watched her go, then turned back to the line of volunteers. His eyes moved down the row of blank-faced people, stopping when they reached Rose. Peter’s chest tightened. He wanted to scream. He wanted to run up there and drag her off that carpet. But his feet wouldn’t move. His throat wouldn’t work. All he could do was watch as the man stepped in front of his sister and lifted the mic to her lips.

“And what about you, my dear? You look fun!” the man asked. “What’s your name and costume?”

Rose blinked. Her voice came out slow and hollow. “I’m Rose. I’m a… beer bottle.”

The man chuckled. “A beer bottle, huh? Perfect. And do you like being a beer bottle?”

Rose hesitated. Her brow furrowed slightly, like she was trying to understand the question. “I… I don’t know.”

“Well, let’s fix that,” the man said. He raised his hand and covered her face with his hand.

The man started whispering into Rose’s ear when one of the assistants standing to the side suddenly dropped. She fell hard onto her knees on the purple carpet, both hands clutching the sides of her head like something inside her skull had just snapped. For a second she just stayed there, breathing hard. Then her head jerked up. Her eyes were wide and sharp, nothing like the blank look she’d had a minute ago. She looked around the room fast, taking in the carpet, the banner, the crowd, the man in the mask. Her hands dropped from her head and started patting at her hips and waist, fingers digging under the shiny black corset and the short skirt like she was searching for something that should have been there.

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME!” she yelled. Her voice was loud and raw. “Where’s my gear!”

She started scooting backwards on the floor, heels scraping the carpet, still patting herself down. The other assistant stayed where she was, face empty, not moving.

The man in the purple mask didn’t rush. He walked over calmly, reached down, and grabbed her by the shoulder. He pulled her up onto her feet in one smooth motion so she was standing in front of him. She tried to yank her arm free, but his grip stayed tight.

“Don’t worry, Agent Palmer,” he said, voice low enough that only the people closest could hear it clearly. “You’re in costume. You’re assistant number one at the moment. Please play your part.”