My Girlfriend is a Genie

The familiar scent of Mrs. Miller's pot roast hit Stacy the moment she walked through the front door, a comforting anchor in the swirling chaos of her life. Still in her school uniform – the pleated skirt feeling a little too short, the blouse a little too tight after the day's events – she dropped her backpack by the stairs.

"Stacy, honey, is that you?" Mrs. Miller called from the kitchen. "Come on in, we have a surprise!"

Stacy's heart did a little flip-flop of anxiety. A surprise? Please don't let it be Carl. She rounded the corner into the kitchen and stopped short. Sitting at the table, sipping a cup of tea, was her mother.

"Mom?" Stacy breathed, genuinely surprised.

Her mother looked up, her eyes crinkling at the corners in a warm smile. "Hey, darling. Just dropping by."

Mr. and Mrs. Miller bustled around the kitchen, looking delighted. "Becca just stopped by, Stacy," Mr. Miller said, beaming. "It's so wonderful that you two are reconnecting after all these years. We insisted she stay for dinner. It's just lovely." There was no judgment in their tone, only genuine pleasure, which somehow made Stacy feel even more awkward about the magical, world-altering secret she was keeping.

As they ate, the conversation flowed easily, the Millers filling the space with cheerful chatter. Mrs. Miller mentioned the upcoming school dance. "Saturday is Prom, Stacy," she said, voice light. "We know you haven't said if you're going, and we don't want to pry, honestly. But we just hope, if you decide to go, you do so with someone special."

Becca's eyes twinkled as she looked at Stacy. "Oh? Someone special? Maybe that new guy she's been hanging out with?" she teased, a knowing look passing between mother and daughter that went right over the Millers' heads.

After dinner, while Mr. and Mrs. Miller were clearing the table, Becca steered Stacy towards the living room, her voice low and serious. "Alright, darling. Now that we have a moment alone, we need to talk. About the ring. About Carl. I need to know exactly what kind of deal was struck. Think – what did you two agree to?"

Stacy quickly explained the situation: how Carl had found the ring, the initial wishes, the confusion, and the **** bargain she'd made – one week with the ring in his possession in exchange for him not making unannounced wishes, provided she kept him 'entertained'.

Becca listened intently, her expression growing more concerned with each detail. "A week? And you have to... entertain him?" She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Alright. Listen to me. Hold on till the end of the week. Just hold him off. The cavalry will arrive, I promise."

Stacy's stomach twisted. "Hold him off? Tonight? Mom, I don't know if I can. It's... it's our first date. As his girlfriend." The word felt foreign and heavy on her tongue.

Becca's eyes widened slightly. "Tonight?! What's tonight?"

"Our… first date," Stacy repeated, feeling a blush creep up her neck. "He... he wished for me to be his girlfriend last night. And then he said our first date was tonight."

Becca was silent for a moment, processing. Then, a determined look settled on her face. She grabbed Stacy's hands. "Okay. Pep talk time. You are a genie, Stacy. You are powerful, resourceful, and incredibly clever. You can handle one teenage boy, magic ring or not. Bedazzle him, darling. Distract him. Use your wit, use your charm. Stay strong. And I will look into this. I need to go dig up my own ring. It's been... decades, but I need to see what I can do."

Her own ring? The words echoed in Stacy's mind, a sudden, startling revelation. She has one too? Is that... is that how this works? It's not just my thing? It's... genetic? A family legacy? Does everyone in our family get one? When do they get them? How do they work for her? Does she have a master too? Or does she have a way around it? Is that why she gave me mine on my eighteenth? A thousand questions flooded her thoughts, a dawning, bewildering understanding washing over her. Her mother, a genie. It made a strange kind of sense, explaining so much she'd never understood about her, the mysterious disappearances, the cryptic warnings. Okay... okay, she thought, trying to process it all internally, she'll look into it. Dig up her ring.

With a final, urgent squeeze of Stacy's hands, Becca stood up. "I have to go. Keep your head up, Stacy. Remember what I told you. You have the power." She gave the Millers a quick, warm farewell and slipped out the door, leaving Stacy alone with her thoughts and the looming dread of her first date with Carl.

Stacy went upstairs to get ready, her mind a whirlwind. As she entered her room, she felt a familiar, subtle shift in the air, a faint magical resonance. Carl had made a few wishes. But unlike before, she couldn't tell what they were. It was unusual; normally, she felt the specific intent behind his desires. This felt... diffused. She waited, half-expecting a wish that would change her appearance or transport her somewhere, but nothing happened. The magical energy settled, leaving her untouched.

Confused but relieved, she decided to focus on her own appearance. She stripped off her school uniform and reached for the gift Carl had left in her locker that morning – the fancy, heart-embroidered black lace g-string thong.

She slipped it on, the delicate lace feeling surprisingly comfortable against her skin. She turned around. It’s not what she would have picked, but just looking at her ass made her feel sexy.

Stacy then went straight for a silver sequin tank top and complimented it with a black pleather miniskirt. The tank top shimmered under her bedroom light, and the skirt was short and hugged her hips. She looked at herself in the mirror. The outfit was definitely 'next level,' as Victoria had put it, and despite the circumstances, she had to admit she looked attractive. Maybe Becca was right. Maybe she could bedazzle him.

A car horn honked outside. Carl was here.

Stacy took a deep breath and headed downstairs. Carl's arrival was indeed in style – a sleek black car, definitely not his usual beat-up sedan, was parked at the curb. The Millers looked surprised as Carl, dressed in surprisingly sharp clothes, walked up the driveway.

"Goodness, Carl, you look very... dapper!" Mrs. Miller exclaimed as she opened the door.

Carl grinned, looking pleased with himself. "Thanks, Mrs. Miller. Just trying to make a good impression." His eyes found Stacy standing behind her foster parents, and his grin widened, a predatory glint in his eyes that sent a shiver down her spine.

"Ready for our date, Stacy?" he asked, his voice low.

Stacy **** a smile. "Ready… Master." She waited until they had walked out the door before addressing him by his title.

As they walked towards the car, Stacy felt another faint pulse of magic. Still diffused, still unclear. What was he wishing for?

They got into the car, and Carl turned to her, his earlier suave demeanor replaced by a restless energy. "Okay, so, tonight," he began, his voice buzzing with excitement. "I've been thinking. I want a different kind of fantasy. Something I can really participate in. Something... epic."

Stacy raised an eyebrow. "Epic? I thought maybe we'd go see a movie or something."

Carl waved a hand dismissively. "Movies are passive, Stacy! I want to feel it. I want action, adrenaline, the roar of the crowd!" His eyes gleamed. "Fight Night. A huge arena, mixed martial arts! I want to be in the ring!"

Stacy blinked, taken aback. "Fight night? How... involved do I need to be for this one?"

"Okay, so here's the plan," Carl continued, leaning closer, his voice full of enthusiasm. "You make me a fighter. An underdog, obviously. But with a chance at an upset. And you... you could be one of the sexy girls introducing me to the fight! You know, walking me to the ring, holding the sign." He grinned. "Then you can watch from the crowd, if you like. See me dominate."

Stacy considered this. It wasn't ideal, but at least it wasn't another scenario where she was the sole focus of his... experiments. "Alright," she said, a small, strategic smile forming on her lips. "That sounds... like fun, Master. And I assume I have the freedom to move around as I like during the match?"

Carl nodded eagerly. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just make it happen!" He reached for the ring on his finger, his eyes closing in concentration.

Stacy felt the familiar surge of power, the magical compulsion to fulfill his wish. Fight night. An arena. Carl the underdog fighter. Her the ring girl. She focused her intent, twisting the raw magic into the reality Carl desired, while subtly weaving in her own condition – the freedom to move. The air around them shimmered, and the scent of car leather was replaced by the faint smell of sweat and popcorn. Their surroundings began to blur and reform.

The car vanished, the suburban street dissolving into a dizzying swirl of light and sound. When Stacy's vision cleared, she was standing in the front row of a massive, roaring stadium. Thousands of faces blurred into a sea of anticipation under blinding spotlights. The air vibrated with the energy of the crowd, the thumping bass of entrance music, and the distinct smell of sweat and stale beer.

Beside her, Carl stood shirtless, his torso surprisingly toned, muscles she'd never seen before rippling under his skin. He was listening intently to a burly man in a corner-man jacket, who was talking strategy, slapping Carl's shoulders, and adjusting imaginary gloves. He looked every inch the underdog fighter.

Stacy looked down at herself and gasped softly. Her silver sequin tank top and black pleather miniskirt were still there, but they were... different. Skimpier. The tank top was now a cropped, almost bra-like top that barely covered her chest, and the miniskirt was shorter, tighter, riding high on her hips. She was wearing knee-high boots and holding a large sign. It read: “Go Carl!” She was indeed a ring girl.

She felt oddly exposed in this new version of her outfit, and she had to be careful not too move too quickly or everyone would see what Carl had gotten her to wear underneath. At least she wasn’t the center of attention right now. In theory, she could sit back and quietly watch the fight.

She took a tentative step away from Carl and his coach, testing the 'freedom to move' she'd wished for. The crowd noise seemed to lessen slightly as she moved, allowing her to think. Okay, this was happening. Fight night. What next?

Just then, a booming voice echoed through the stadium, amplified by the massive speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen! Get ready! The next bout is about to begin!" The crowd roared in response. "Introducing first! Fighting out of the blue corner! The hometown hero! The underdog with heart! Give it up for... CARL 'THE CRUSHER' JACOBS!"

Carl, looking pumped, nodded to his coach and bounced on the balls of his feet.

"And now!" the announcer's voice boomed again, the lights shifting to the opposite side of the arena. "His opponent! The undefeated! The reigning, defending, undisputed Champion! From... parts unknown! Weighing in at... mystery pounds! Give it up for... THE MYSTERY MAN!"

A figure emerged from the shadows on the other side of the ring. He was tall, powerfully built, with broad shoulders and a confident stride. As he stepped into the light, Stacy's breath hitched. He had brown hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and looked to be middle-aged, maybe in his late forties or early fifties. But there was something else. Something about his eyes, his jawline, the way he carried himself...

Stacy felt a strange, inexplicable pull towards him. He looked so familiar. But from where? She racked her brain, searching her memories. Had she seen him on TV? In a movie? At school? No, that wasn't it. It was something deeper, more personal. A nagging sense of recognition that she couldn't place. The Mystery Man. Why did he look so... like someone she knew?

The opening bell rang, a harsh clang that cut through the arena noise, and the fight began. Carl, surprisingly agile for someone who'd been a slouch just moments ago, lunged forward, throwing a wild punch. The Mystery Man, calm and collected, easily dodged it, his movements fluid and economical. They circled each other, trading blows, the sound of impact echoing through the stadium.

Stacy watched, mesmerized, not just by the **** in the ring, but by the Mystery Man. His every move seemed deliberate, powerful. And the crowd... the crowd was electric, but their cheers weren't for Carl. They were chanting for the champion. "Mystery! Mystery! Mystery!" The sound was deafening.

Carl, hearing the crowd's clear favoritism, glanced over at Stacy, his face contorted in frustration. He jabbed a finger towards the ring apron. "Stacy! Get up there! Get the crowd on my side!" he yelled over the din.

Reluctantly, Stacy climbed onto the edge of the ring, holding her "Go Carl!" sign high above her head. She felt awkward, exposed, under the bright lights and the gaze of thousands. But as she held the sign, a few scattered cheers for Carl broke through the "Mystery!" chants. It was a small effect, but noticeable.

The fight continued. Carl was clearly outmatched. The Mystery Man landed a series of precise strikes, his movements economical and powerful. Stacy couldn't tear her eyes away from him. As he moved, she studied his features. The set of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the way his brown hair fell across his forehead. And his eyes. They were a striking shade of green. Green eyes. She had green eyes. A sudden, unsettling thought flickered through her mind. There was something about his eyes that reminded her... of her own.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the round. Carl stumbled back to his corner, breathing heavily, a bruise already forming on his cheekbone. The Mystery Man, in contrast, looked barely winded.

As the fighters retreated to their corners, Stacy scanned the roaring crowd, a strange impulse guiding her gaze. And then she saw her. Tucked away a few rows back, looking completely out of place in the raucous stadium, was her mother. Becca. She was dressed elegantly, a small, almost imperceptible smile on her face. Stacy stared, dumbfounded. What was she doing here? Was this part of Carl's wish? It didn't feel like it. Becca caught Stacy's eye and gave her a subtle, knowing wink.

"What are you doing, Stacy?!" Carl's voice snapped, pulling her abruptly from her thoughts. He was glaring at her from his corner. "They're still chanting for him! You need to do more!"

Stacy rolled her eyes internally. "What do you have in mind, Master?" she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Carl's eyes narrowed, a familiar, perverted glint returning. "Remember last night? For the guys? The show you put on?"

Stacy's cheeks flushed. She knew exactly what he meant. She sighed, but the genie's compulsion was there, a subtle pressure urging her to obey. She began to move, slowly at first, then with more deliberate sensuality. She gyrated her hips, the short skirt riding higher. She arched her back, pushing her chest out, the cropped tank top offering little concealment. She held the sign aloft, trying to initiate a chant for Carl, but her movements were drawing more attention than her sign.

The crowd noise shifted, a low murmur of appreciation rippling through the stands. Carl watched, a smirk returning to his face. "Yeah, that's better," he muttered. He leaned closer to the ring edge, his voice dropping. "You know, Sparkle-chan, I bet they'd really get into it if you showed them the gift I gave you. The thong. What do you think their reaction would be if you were only wearing that?"

Before Stacy could even formulate a sarcastic reply, Carl's eyes locked onto hers, and he reached for the ring on his finger. "I wish," he said, his audible to her over the distant crowd noise, "that Stacy was only wearing the thong!"

A familiar, intense magical tug seized Stacy. Her clothes shimmered, the cropped tank top, the pleather skirt, the knee-high boots – they all dissolved into thin air in an instant, leaving her standing on the ring apron clad only in the delicate black lace g-string thong with the little red hearts.

Stacy gasped, her hands flying up instinctively to cover herself. She snatched the "Go Carl!" sign from where it had fallen and held it in front of her chest, trying desperately to shield herself from the thousands of eyes now undoubtedly fixed on her. The heat in her cheeks was scorching.

Just then, the bell rang, signaling the start of the next round. Carl, seemingly oblivious to Stacy's mortification, turned back to face the Mystery Man, who was already advancing. "Stacy! Hold the sign up! Cheer me on!" Carl yelled, his voice strained from the previous round.

Stacy, trembling slightly, reluctantly lowered the sign just enough to see over it, still holding it against her chest. She raised it higher, the cardboard now covering her breasts. She opened her mouth to cheer, but only a choked sound came out.

The crowd, however, didn't need her cheer. The moment she held the sign up, revealing her breasts, a fresh wave of noise erupted from the stands. It wasn't a chant for Carl, or even for the Mystery Man. It was a collective roar of surprise, appreciation, and excitement at the near naked ring girl leading the cheer.

The deafening roar of the crowd washed over Stacy as she stood trembling on the ring apron. "Nice rack, ring babe!" someone bellowed from the front row, followed by a chorus of wolf whistles. Her perky breasts jiggled with every panicked breath, the cool arena air crossing over her as she did her best to hold the flimsy cardboard sign. She could feel thousands of eyes tracing the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips barely contained by the scandalous thong.

Carl's sweaty hand suddenly gripped her thigh, yanking her backward against the ropes. "Higher, babe!" he insisted, grabbing the bottom of her sign and forcing it upward. The movement made her back arch instinctively, thrusting her chest forward in a lewd display that sent the crowd into a frenzy. A sea of phone cameras flashed like paparazzi at a red carpet event, each click immortalizing her humiliation.

"Attagirl," Carl chuckled, his calloused palms sliding up her sides. He squeezed both breasts roughly, thumbs flicking over stiffened nipples as the jumbotron magnified every obscene detail. Stacy's choked whimper blended with the crowd's collective gasp, her body betraying sexual desire despite her reservations. When the bell rang again, Carl gave one last cruel pinch of her ass before shoving her toward the edge of the stage. "Keep 'em distracted while I work," he ordered, a noticeable bulge in his shorts emerging. “Get the crowd cheering for the champ!”

Through tear-blurred vision, Stacy spotted her mother's serene smile in the stands. Becca's lips moved silently, forming words that cut through the chaos: "Right of Interpretation." The phrase sparked in Stacy's mind like a struck match. As Carl lunged at his opponent, she let the sign drop completely, embracing the catcalls with a sudden, sultry sway of her hips.

But her movements weren't for Carl. Her eyes were fixed on the Mystery Man. She gyrated her hips, not towards Carl's corner, but towards her intended champion. She arched her back, pushing her bare breasts out, not to encourage Carl, but to draw the attention of the man who looked so strangely familiar. She held the sign up, but now it read not for Carl, but for the Mystery Man, a silent, defiant gesture.

Carl, taking a hard jab to the ribs from the Mystery Man, stumbled back, wheezing. He saw Stacy's movements, her exquisite body, now with her gaze fixed on his opponent, and his face contorted in disbelief and fury. "Stacy! What are you doing?! That's not how this works!" he yelled, dodging another punch. "You're supposed to be cheering me on! I can't lose this fight, right?! You understand?!"

The Mystery Man, mid-fight, caught Stacy's eye. He saw her, nearly naked on the ring apron, her body moving sensually, her gaze locked on him. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face – surprise, then perhaps... approval? He gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod before focusing back on the fight.

Stacy ignored Carl's frantic cries. Her focus was entirely on the Mystery Man. With a slow, deliberate movement, she reached down, her fingers finding the delicate lace strings of the thong at her hips. She tugged gently, teasingly, her eyes never leaving the champion's. A low murmur rippled through the crowd, growing louder as they understood her intention. "Take it off! Take it off! Take it off!" The chant began, a thunderous wave of sound that drowned out everything else.

The chant swelled around her like a living thing, throbbing in time with the pulse between her thighs. Stacy's thumbs hooked under the lace waistband, the delicate fabric catching slightly on her hipbones as she rocked side to side. Each millimeter of revealed skin brought fresh screams from the audience - the sheen of her lower abdomen appearing as she dipped the thong just enough to expose a titillating amount of the bare skin underneath. Her tongue darted out licking her wet glossy lips, and her head suddenly turned, her eyes locked onto the Mystery Man's fluid movements as he ducked under Carl's wild swings.

"Show us your magic, ring babe!" someone shrieked from the front row. What normally would have repulsed her, she now embraced, if it meant getting back at Carl. She shimmied her shoulders, making her breasts bounce in a way that had camera phones trembling in sweaty palms. The thong slid lower still, clinging precariously to the swell of her ass as she bent forward in a deep curtsey toward her intended champion. Her mother's words hummed through her veins. It meant every tease was a clause in their unspoken contract, every sway a renegotiation of power.

Carl's enraged roar cut through the noise as the Mystery Man landed a brutal uppercut. "You're mine!" he spat blood onto the canvas, fumbling for the ring in his back pocket. But Stacy was already spinning, the thong snapping free from one hip to dangle temptingly from her fingertips. The crowd's collective inhale sucked all oxygen from the arena as she arched into a perfect backbend, using her free hand to slowly trace the exposed strip of skin from navel to inside her most private area. She felt the heat of the lights and all eyes, begging her to finish what Carl had make her start. She looked over at the Mystery Man and their eyes locked together for an instant.

The Mystery Man chose that moment to flip Carl over his shoulder with a thunderous slam. At the exact same moment, with a final, defiant flourish, Stacy pulled the thong down her hips, letting it fall to the canvas at her feet. She stood completely nude on the ring apron, bathed in the blinding spotlights, her body a defiant silhouette against the roaring crowd.

The arena lights glazed Stacy's nude form in a golden halo, every curve shimmering with sweat and defiance. She twirled slowly, arms raised like a victorious gladiator, her pert breasts bouncing with each rotation as the crowd's adoration washed over her. She didn’t care who saw her now… in fact, she wanted them to see her completely, baring it all.

"You like that, don't you?" she purred into the microphone suddenly materializing in her hand, her voice dripping with honeyed mischief. "But don't get too excited, boys—this magic show's just getting started!"

The referee's whistle pierced through the chaos as the Mystery Man pinned Carl's limp form with one booted foot.

"Winner by knockout!"

The official grabbed Stacy's wrist, his firm but gentle fingers warm against her skin as he dragged her into the ring. Her bare feet squeaked against the canvas when he thrust her hand skyward alongside the champion's, their intertwined fingers glistening under the spotlights. Their eyes met—emerald meeting emerald—and Stacy's breath hitched at the electric tingle racing up her spine.

The Mystery Man's thumb stroked her knuckles in a secret caress, his chiseled lips quirking into a smile that somehow promised more. "Nice distraction technique," he murmured, his voice like velvet-wrapped thunder that made her toes curl against the blood-splattered mat. His gaze lingered on Stacy longer than she expected. When their eyes met again, Stacy did not want to look away — he was beautiful. Then she noticed the glint of something on one of his fingers… a silver ring?!

Carl's groan shattered the moment as he crawled towards the ropes, his nose dripping crimson onto the canvas.

"You... you can't do this!" he sputtered, fumbling for the genie ring in his sweat-drenched shorts. Stacy suppressed a giggle as she sauntered over, her hips swaying hypnotically with each step. "Oh sweetie," she cooed, crouching down until her nipples brushed his bruised cheek, "didn't your mother teach you?"

Her finger tapped the ring with a crystalline *ping* that echoed through the suddenly silent arena. “You can’t rely on beginner’s luck!”

The crowd erupted, a deafening roar of victory and... something else. Appreciation for the fight, certainly, but also for the spectacle Stacy had created.

In the stands, Stacy saw her mother. Becca stood, applauding, a proud, knowing smile on her face. She gave Stacy one last wink before turning and melting back into the crowd, gone as quickly as she had appeared.

Carl stirred on the canvas, groaning. He looked up, saw the Mystery Man standing tall and ignoring him, saw the cheering crowd, and then his eyes landed on Stacy, standing naked at the center of the ring, victorious. Disappointment and bewilderment flooded his face. He reached for the gold ring on his finger, his voice weak but clear. "I wish... I wish I was back home... in my bed..."

Stacy felt the familiar tug of the wish, the magical compulsion. But this time, it felt different. Empowering. With a shimmer, the stadium, the crowd, the knocked-out Carl, and the triumphant Mystery Man dissolved.

Stacy found herself standing in her own bedroom, the soft carpet cool beneath her bare feet. She looked down. She was wearing her comfortable nightgown. Carl was nowhere to be seen. She had fulfilled his wish, sent him back to his bed, but she had also brought herself back, clothed and safe.

She sank onto her bed, her body still tingling from the magical exertion and the lingering echoes of the crowd's roar. She had humiliated Carl, turned his own fantasy against him. But how? How had the magic seemed to work for her, against Carl's explicit wishes? She thought about the Mystery Man, his familiar green eyes, and the strange pull she'd felt. She thought about her mother, appearing in the crowd, her knowing wink, the whispered words "Right of Interpretation."

Maybe her mother's presence, another genie, had somehow amplified Stacy's own ability to bend the rules, to turn Carl's perverted desires into a spectacle that served her own ends. Or maybe it was something else… maybe something to do with the silver ring the champion was wearing. She had a feeling this was only the beginning, though. From here on out, she had a fighting chance.

Stacy's fingers trailed absently over the lace hem of her nightgown, the memory of the Mystery Man's gaze igniting a warm feeling between her thighs. She let her head fall back against the pillows, imagining those battle-calloused hands mapping her curves with the same intensity he'd shown in the ring. Would he pin her wrists above her head while his teeth grazed her neck? Or perhaps make her beg as he discovered how responsive she was to every clever flick of his tongue?

A mischievous sigh escaped her lips as she conjured a phantom version of him leaning against her dresser - all sculpted shoulders and dangerous smile. Her magic responded instinctively, the air shimmering as an illusionary Mystery Man prowled toward her bed. "Such a naughty genie," the figment purred, his voice layered with midnight promises as he dragged a thumb across her parted lips. "And I like them naughty..." The spectral hands felt deliciously real when they slipped under her nightgown, thumbs circling her nipples while his knee nudged her legs apart.

Downstairs, the grandfather clock chimed midnight, startling her and scattering the daydream like smoke. Stacy lay panting, her body thrumming with unmet need and the sweetest frustration. Whoever he was, she hoped his identity wouldn’t stay a mystery forever…