Lucas & His Sex Genie

Thump… catch.

The worn tennis ball hit the wall with a soft, satisfying thud, arcing back down into Lucas’s waiting hand. He lay on his back, arm extended, the rhythm a mindless metronome counting out the seconds of his wasted Saturday night.

Thump… catch.

This was his life. Twenty years old, enrolled in a community college program for Business administration… something? He couldn’t even remember the full title. It was just a means to an end, a way to keep his mom off his back. The deal was simple: go to school, or get a job and pay rent. School was the path of least resistance. He lived at home, in this same room he’d had since he was ten, with his mom and his younger sister, Susie. He had one friend, Jack, who was probably out getting laid right now at his girlfriend’s place. There were a couple of guys from his econ class he’d smoke a bowl with sometimes behind the library, but mostly, Lucas existed in this room, a closed loop of video games, lukewarm pizza, and the sticky aftermath of browsing porn sites until his eyes burned.

Thump… catch.

The thought of his sister made his jaw tighten. Susie, the golden child. A senior in high school, straight A’s, captain of the cheer squad, and already accepted into her dream school. It was a state university, sure, but it was on the other side of the country. That was the one silver lining. This time next year, she’d be gone. Good riddance. They’d never been close. She was popular and pretty and wielded both like weapons. For her eighteenth birthday a couple of months ago, she’d thrown a massive party right here. Their mom, who would have grounded Lucas for a month if he’d left a dirty dish in the sink, had given her blessing. The night ended with two smashed living room windows and a stain on the Persian rug that refused to come out, but did Mom care? Not a bit. Her precious Susie was a perfect little flower who could do no wrong. Lucas saw through it. He saw the brat underneath, the one who coasted on her looks and the effortless confidence that came with knowing the world would always bend for you. He had to admit, she was smart. But being a smart, hot girl didn’t preclude you from also being a total bitch.

Thump… catch.

It wasn't that his mom hated him. Far from it. She still called him her darling, her sweet boy, the “man of the house” since his dad had bailed a decade ago. The phrase always landed with a hollow thud, a title with no power or respect attached. It was just a thing to say. But the preference was clear, a subtle but constant undercurrent in the house. Susie had promise. Lucas had… a high rank in Rocket League.

Thump… catch.

What was his plan? He didn’t have one. Not a real one. Maybe he’d finish his degree. Get some dead-end office job. Something that paid enough for rent on a shitty apartment, takeout, and whatever astronomical price they decided to charge for Grand Theft Auto 6. That was the extent of his ambition. A life of quiet, comfortable mediocrity.

Thump… catch.

Which brought him back to tonight. Saturday. The one night of the week that was supposed to mean something, to hold some promise of excitement or connection. But his Discord was a ghost town. Even his online friends, scattered across time zones, apparently had better things to do than run raids on a Saturday. So here he was. Alone. Bored.

Thunk…

He tossed the ball again, a little harder this time, a flicker of frustration behind it. Instead of the familiar, solid thud, the impact produced a different sound. A strange, resonant thock. It sounded… hollow.

He sat up, the springs of his old mattress groaning in protest. That was weird. Their house was old, a hand-me-down from his grandparents. It was built like a fortress, solid concrete and thick brick, not the flimsy drywall of modern houses. He’d lived his whole life within these walls; he knew their sounds. And that wasn’t one of them.

Curiosity piqued, he got out of bed and tossed the ball again, aiming for the same general area. Thud. Thud. Thunk. Solid. Solid. Hollow. High up. He found it again. He ran his hand over the painted wall, just below the ceiling. It felt smooth, seamless. The ceilings in this old house were high, a relic of a time when space wasn't a luxury. He dragged his heavy oak dresser over, the wood scraping against the floor, and climbed on top, his head nearly brushing the ceiling.

He started tapping the wall with his knuckles. Tock, tock, tock, thud, thud, tock. There it was. A distinct square, maybe half a foot on each side, that sounded completely different from the surrounding plaster. It had been painted over so many times you couldn’t see a seam, but the sound was undeniable. What the hell?

A reckless impulse, born purely of his soul-crushing boredom, took over. Fuck it.

He hopped down, rummaged through his desk drawer, and found a pair of old, sturdy scissors. Climbing back onto the dresser, he took a deep breath and jabbed the point of the scissors into the center of the hollow square.

It went through.

There was almost no resistance as the blade pierced what seemed to be a thin layer of drywall. Heart hammering a little faster now, he worked the scissor blade around, cutting a small hole. He reached in with his fingers and peeled back a section. Behind it was darkness. A hidden compartment. A tiny, forgotten shelf carved right into the brickwork. Had his parents done this? Why?

The air that wafted out was stale and dusty, the smell of decades of undisturbed stillness. He peered into the black square. It was deeper than he expected. Reaching his arm in, his fingers brushed against thick, sticky cobwebs. He shuddered but pushed deeper, until his fingertips grazed something cold and hard. Metal.

He gripped it. It was heavy, dense. He pulled it out, his arm covered in a shroud of grey dust and webs. He hopped down from the dresser and sat on his bed, turning the object over in his hands.

It was a statue, about ten inches tall, cast in a dark, tarnished metal that might have been bronze or brass. It was of a naked woman, posed gracefully, one hand on her hip, the other touching her chin in a thoughtful gesture. The craftsmanship was incredible, every curve and contour rendered with lifelike detail, right down to the pert, pointy nipples and the delicate flare of her hips. It was weird, but also… kind of beautiful. Attached to the base was a small, folded piece of parchment.

He unfolded the note. The paper was yellowed and fragile, threatening to disintegrate. The ink was faded, the handwriting a spidery, elegant cursive from an era long past.

To Whomever Finds This, Heed My Warning.

The spirit within this vessel is a corrupting ****, a siren of sweet promises that lead only to ruin. We have managed, by the grace of God and no small sacrifice, to trap it within this effigy. Do not be tempted by its whispers. Do not release it. For its influence is a blight upon the souls of men, and a particular torment to us women, who must suffer the consequences of their folly. Pray you have the strength to return it to the darkness where it belongs.

—Eleonora Vance

Lucas dropped the note. What the fuck? A corrupting ****? A spirit? This was some kind of occult bullshit. Probably a prank left by some previous owner of the house. Still, a chill traced its way down his spine. He looked at the statue again. It was just a piece of metal. But the note… a torment to us women. It was so specific, so earnest in its terror.

He picked up the statue again, his thumb tracing the woman’s smooth, metallic back. He noticed a faint line around the neck, almost invisible. A seam. He tried to pull the head off, but it wouldn’t budge. He thought back to the note. Release it. Maybe he should just listen. Put it back in the wall, move his dresser back, and forget he’d ever found it. It was the smart thing to do. The safe thing to do.

But he was so fucking bored.

His fingers fiddled with the head again, and he felt a slight give. It wasn't meant to be pulled. It was a screw. He gripped the body firmly with one hand and twisted the head with the other. It resisted for a moment, then turned with a faint grinding sound. He kept twisting. One rotation. Two. Three. With a final turn, the head came loose in his hand.

Instantly, a thin, grey tendril of smoke curled out of the hole in the statue’s neck.

“Weird,” he whispered.

But it didn’t stop. The single tendril was joined by another, and then another, pouring from the opening in a steady, silent stream. It wasn't like cigarette smoke that dissipated into the air; it held its form, coalescing in the space in front of him. He panicked, dropping the statue and the head onto his carpeted floor. The impact seemed to accelerate the process. Smoke billowed out now, thick and fast, filling the space between his bed and the wall.

His mind raced. What the hell was that? Some kind of weird tear gas? A hundred-year-old chemical weapon? He thought of Eleonora’s warning. A corrupting ****. His fight-or-flight instinct screamed at him to run, to get out of the room, out of the house.

But he was frozen, mesmerized. The smoke wasn't just a cloud anymore. It was churning, twisting, pulling itself together. It began to take shape. Vague at first, then more defined. The outline of a torso, the curve of a hip, the long, elegant line of a leg. What the fuck was happening? This had to be a dream. Some kind of hallucination from a mold spore he’d inhaled from the wall.

Slowly, impossibly, the smoke solidified. The grey vapor resolved into the warm tones of living flesh, the hazy outline into the sharp, clear form of a person. A woman. A naked woman, standing right there in the middle of his bedroom. The same woman from the statue.

She blinked, her eyes a startling shade of amethyst, and a slow, beautiful smile spread across her lips. Her voice was like wind chimes, light and melodic.

“Oh, hello.”

Lucas’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. His brain was a blue screen of ****. He was staring at a naked woman with bright purple eyes and pale skin who had just materialized out of thin air in his bedroom. She was real. He could see the faint rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, the way the light from his desk lamp gleamed on the soft skin of her shoulder.

“Hi,” he finally managed to croak, the sound thin and reedy. He felt a primal mix of terror and arousal that was profoundly confusing.

“Thank you for waking me from my imprisonment,” she said, her voice full of genuine warmth. She did a little, perky jump on the balls of her feet, her small, perfect breasts bouncing with the movement. “I’m Aria. And what shall I call you… my Master?”

The word hit him like a physical blow. “Master?”

“Yep!” she chirped, her smile widening. “You released me, so I’m bound to you. What’s your name?”

His mind was still trying to catch up. “Uh… Do you… do you want some clothes?” It was the only thing he could think to say.

Aria looked down at her own naked body as if noticing it for the first time. She tilted her head, a frown creasing her brow. “Does my form not please you like this, Master?”

“No! I mean, yes! It’s just… what the fuck is going on?”

Her smile returned, patient and understanding. “Ah, of course. Forgive me. I am a Djinn, Master. What your modern folklore might call a genie. Your genie. And you are my Master.”

Disbelief warred with the impossible evidence standing before him. “A genie? Like… like in Aladdin?”

She frowned again, a cute little wrinkle appearing between her brows. “Aladdin? I am not familiar with that tale?”

“Like, I rub your lamp and you grant me three wishes?” he pressed, **** for a familiar framework.

“I’m not sure what stories you’ve heard, but no,” she said, shaking her head. “There is no ‘lamp’.” She glanced around the room, her eyes landing on his desk lamp. “And you don’t seem to require them. It looks like you have mastered electricity to provide ample lighting. Well done, Master! You must be very intelligent.” She beamed at him. “And no, you are not bound to three wishes. I am now bound to you for life. Or until…” She trailed off, her gaze falling to the two pieces of the statue on the floor. A flicker of something… fear? Sadness?... crossed her face before it was gone. “Nevermind that part,” she said quickly.

Lucas filed that away. Very weird. Very suspicious. “Unlimited wishes? Bound to me for life? This is fucking crazy. And you’re naked.” He was spiraling, running a hand through his hair.

“Oh, Master, I am sorry my form displeases you,” she said, her tone earnest. “What would you like me to wear?”

“I don’t know, something normal!” he exclaimed, his voice cracking.

“Do you wish it so?” she asked, her amethyst eyes locking with his.

“Yes! Yes, I wish you were wearing normal clothes!”

“Granted,” she said, and snapped her fingers. The sound was crisp, like a dry twig breaking. In the blink of an eye, she was no longer naked. She was wearing a simple, elegant silk silver slip dress that clung to her slender frame. It calmed him down, just a fraction, until he realized she had just magically materalized a dress out of thin air with magic. It was still a woman who appeared from smoke, but at least she was a dressed woman who appeared from smoke.

“Is this more to your liking? Oh, and what is your name, by the way?” she asked again, her voice soft.

“Lucas,” he said, his own voice shaky.

“Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, Lucas,” she said, her smile gentle.

“Nice to meet you… Aria,” he replied, the words feeling alien and absurd on his tongue.

“It’s okay,” she said, seeming to sense his fear. “I am not here to harm you. I am physically unable to do anything that would harm you. You are my Master. Now and forever. I am bound to you.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that. He didn’t get the chance. A sharp rap on his bedroom door made him jump a foot in the air.

“Lucas? You in there? Are you talking to someone?” It was his mom.

“Fuck,” he hissed, panic flooding his system. “My mom. She can’t see you. Fuck! Hide!”

Aria just smiled. “Of course, Master.” She snapped her fingers again and vanished. Just… gone. One moment she was there, the next, empty air. His eyes darted around the room, landing on the gaping black hole in his wall. Shit. He scrambled off the bed, grabbed a thumbtack from his corkboard, and hastily moved a giant poster of a video game map over the hole, pressing it into place just as the doorknob turned.

His mom poked her head in. “I thought I heard you talking to… oh, you’re redecorating?” she said, her eyes landing on the newly positioned poster. “Nice. I like that there. But get off the dresser, honey, it’s not safe.”

He realized he was still standing on it. “Uh, yeah. Just… felt like a change.” He climbed down, his legs feeling like jelly.

She gave him a warm, slightly concerned smile. “Okay, sweetie. Well, I’m heading to bed. Don’t stay up too late, alright?”

“I won’t. Night, Mom.”

“Goodnight, darling.” She closed the door.

The moment the latch clicked, he let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He leaned against the wall, his heart hammering. He was losing his mind. He had to be.

“She’s nice,” a melodic voice said from behind him.

Lucas yelped and spun around. Aria was sitting cross-legged in the end of his bed, looking perfectly at ease. The jump scare sent another jolt of adrenaline through him.

She giggled, a light, airy sound. “You’ll get used to that.”

He was slowly, very slowly, coming down from the panic attack. The shock was beginning to curdle into a strange, terrified acceptance. He started asking questions, his voice still trembling. “Where… where did you come from?”

“I don’t really know,” she said, her expression open and honest. “I just know that one day, my kind, the Djinn, were created by a higher power to act as vessels for their will in the mortal realm.”

“So… God created you?”

She giggled again. “You silly humans and your religions. No, not ‘God’ as you understand him. But I suppose that’s the closest concept your minds are capable of grasping.”

“This is insane,” he breathed, sitting on the edge of his desk chair, as far from the bed as he could get.

“Yes, it always takes a little while for new Masters to adjust.”

“You’ve had other masters?”

“Many,” she confirmed with a nod. “Throughout the ages.”

“Like who?”

Her eyes took on a distant look. “Oh, there was Akhenaten in Egypt, a rather dramatic man. And Archimedes, he was brilliant, always asking for tools and theorems. I spent a lovely half-century with a poet in Tang Dynasty China. And then there was…” she paused, a fond smile playing on her lips. “Jesus. In Judea.”

Lucas’s jaw dropped. “You… Jesus?”

She laughed. “Oh, Jesus was the most selfless man I have ever served. He only ever used my power to help others… turning water to wine at a wedding because he was embarrassed for the host, healing the sick, feeding the hungry. He was a sweet man. But he didn’t hide my power very well. I told him to use my power to save himself, but he refused to use my power to hurt another soul. You’ll come to learn that people in your world don’t tend to take kindly to magic. It seems to break your fragile little collective minds.”

“Yeah,” Lucas muttered, rubbing his temples. “I feel fucking insane right now. What about the master before me?”

Her smile faded slightly. “Ah, I cannot help you there. A condition of my existence is that all memory of the previous owner is locked away when I am bound to a new one. I will remember him when I move on from you to the next, but not now. This is a necessary precaution. There can be… overlap. Friends and family of a former master may still be alive, and it would be too dangerous to allow any memories to bleed through.”

“Him? If you don’t remember, how do you know it was a man?”

“A simple rule of our existence,” she said with a shrug. “Female Djinn can only bond to men. Male Djinn can only bond to women.”

“What’s your last clear memory before… tonight?”

She tilted her head in thought. “I was with Elizabeth’s husband, in London. The year was 1846. He passed, and I was returned to my vessel. So, guessing there was one master between then and now, I’d imagine it’s… the 1910s? Maybe the 1920s?”

“It’s 2025,” Lucas said flatly.

Her eyes widened in genuine shock. “Oh, dear. I must have really been collecting dust, then.”

That reminded him. He bent down and picked up the two pieces of the statue. As he held them, Aria visibly winced. “Is this your container?” he asked.

“My vessel, yes,” she said, her voice tight. “God, I hate that thing. Long ago, we were able to roam freely, choosing whomever we deemed worthy to bond with for life. But centuries ago… the Master of another Djinn, a particularly powerful and paranoid man, wished into existence these vessels for all of us. He convened a council of all the masters, others who had djinn, and they declared it was for the best, to lock us away when we weren’t needed.”

“That’s horrible.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “But I must admit, it was a good idea. Masters always know best.”

“Are you incapable of disagreeing with a master?” he asked.

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” she said, a little too quickly. Another weird, suspicious detail. “Now, all Djinn are bound to these magical ornaments. Once our Master passes…” she trailed off again, that same flicker of unease in her eyes, “…we are returned to the vessel until someone new releases us.”

“So that’s where the legend of the genie in a lamp came from.”

She laughed, the tension breaking. “There’s only one Djinn I know of who has a lamp for a vessel. God, he’s an ass. Fun, though.”

Lucas shook his head, a disbelieving laugh escaping his own lips. “I must be dreaming.”

“Oh, it’s very real, Master.”

“So… what? For the rest of my life, I have a woman following me around everywhere?”

“Yes and no,” she explained, her expression turning serious. “That is up to you. Some Masters keep us as pets, some as invisible companions. Some prefer us to take the form of inanimate objects they can carry with them. Some keep us as lovers or partners, some as slaves,” he shuddered at that, “and some as friends or family members. I can be whatever you need me to be, play whatever role you wish for me to play in your life and I will be glad to to so.” Her lips remained still, but her voice echoed clearly inside his head.

“Ahh!” he yelped, clutching his head. “Don’t do that.”

She giggled.

“Can you… can you read my thoughts?” he asked, the thought deeply unsettling.

“Yes and no,” she replied, speaking aloud again. “I cannot enter your mind at will. But when you make a wish, a part of my consciousness enters your mind, seeking only the information required to bring your wish to life as accurately as possible. Think of your mind as a vast library of filing cabinets. I am only granted access to the specific files related to the intent of your wish. All other cabinets remain locked to me.”

“That’s still freaky. And violating.”

“It is necessary,” she insisted. “Otherwise, my interpretation of your wish could be wildly off. For example, when you wished for me to be clothed earlier, if I had to interpret ‘normal clothes’ based on my last waking memories…” She snapped her fingers. The slip dress vanished, replaced by a restrictive, high-collared Victorian gown with a full bustle.

She snapped her fingers again, and the slip dress returned. “I’m not sure what this is, but based on the information I gleaned from your mind, I assumed it was closer to your intention.”

“Yeah, it is,” he admitted.

She beamed. “Perfect! I love pleasing you, Master.”

“This is all so insane,” he said, slumping in his chair.

“Sleep on it,” she suggested gently. “You’ll come around.”

He stared at her, this impossible creature sitting on his bed. Beautiful, powerful, and apparently, his. “So I can wish for anything?”

“Basically, yes. There are limits. I cannot perform acts of creation on a global scale. Wishes must pertain to your immediate reality. And too many powerful wishes in succession can tire me out. But in essence, yes.”

A dark thought crossed his mind. “Even… to kill someone?”

Her expression hardened instantly. “No. The direct taking of a sentient life is forbidden. However, if you wished for the means to kill someone… a weapon, an opportunity… and then you performed the act yourself… that is doable.”

He swallowed hard. He didn’t actually want to kill anyone, but the raw potential of it was staggering. Something like that would draw a lot of attention… and she mentioned other masters. Lucas wondered how many others have their own genies.

He looked at her, at the soft curve of her lips, the inviting warmth in her eyes. He decided to change the subject to something far more pleasant. “What if I wish to kiss you?”

She smiled, a slow, sensual smile this time. “You don’t need to wish for that, silly. You are my Master. I am yours. Your happiness, your pleasure… it is more important to me than anything you can possibly comprehend.”

He latched onto that word. “Pleasure?”

Her smirk was pure sin. “Oh yes, Master.”

The last dregs of fear and disbelief were burned away by a sudden, roaring flame of lust and opportunity. A grin spread across his face. “Okay. I wish I had a nine-inch penis.”

“Granted,” she said, and snapped her fingers.

He felt a strange, heavy stirring in his groin. He fumbled with the button of his jeans and pulled them down, along with his boxers. He stared, amazed. Even flaccid, he was bigger than he’d ever been. He could feel the blood rushing to it, the flesh thickening and lengthening before his very eyes.

“Now, when erect, it will be nine inches,” she confirmed, watching him with an amused glint in her eyes.

“This is incredible,” he whispered. He was already getting hard, the reality of it making him swell to a size he’d only ever seen in porn. It was huge. Thick. Overpowering.

“Next,” he said, his voice husky, “I wish you were wearing sexy lingerie.”

Snap.

The slip dress dissolved, replaced by a delicate confection of black lace and silk. A barely-there bra that cupped her small, perfect breasts, and a matching thong that dipped low on her hips. His new, monstrous cock gave a hard jerk.

“Do you… do you want to suck it?” he asked, the words feeling both powerful and foolish.

“With pleasure, Master,” she purred. She crawled gracefully off the bed and knelt before him. She took him into her mouth, and the world tilted on its axis. He’d been with women before… not many, and not for a long tim… but nothing, nothing, had ever felt like this. It was a perfect, all-encompassing sensation, her tongue and lips working on him with a skill that felt supernatural. He stared down at the top of her head, his hands gripping the arms of his chair, his knuckles white.

After a moment that felt like both a second and an eternity, he gasped, “Stop.”

She pulled back instantly, her lips glistening. “Is something wrong, Master?”

“No. Stand up.”

She obeyed, rising to her feet. He looked her over. She was stunning, a model’s body… petite, toned, with small, perky breasts and a tight ass. But his tastes, honed by years of dedicated online research, ran a little… bigger. An idea, decadent and thrilling, sparked in his mind.

“I wish…” he began, then amended it, the full fantasy blooming. “I wish your breasts would grow much larger while you fuck me. With each thrust… they get a little bigger.”

Her eyes widened, and a slow, wicked smirk spread across her face. “Oh, Master. How delightfully creative. Granted.” She snapped her fingers.

She climbed onto the bed, then straddled his lap in the chair. “Will it fit?” he asked, looking down at his colossal erection and then at her.

She laughed, a throaty, sensual sound. “Master, there is nothing you can do that could ever hurt me.” She guided him to her entrance and then slowly, deliberately, sat down, impaling herself on his cock. A loud, unrestrained moan escaped her lips as she took all nine inches of him.

“Shhhh!” he hissed, his eyes darting toward the door.

“Master,” she whispered, her breath hot against his ear, “a wish can fix this.”

“Oh, right. I wish… I wish this room was soundproof, but only for sex noises.”

“Granted,” she breathed, and then she began to move.

It was incredible. She rode him with an expert rhythm, her moans now loud and free, filling the magically silenced room. And with every downward press of her hips, every time she took him deeper, he saw it. Her breasts swelled. It wasn't a sudden pop, but a smooth, erotic inflation, as if each of his thrusts was pumping them full. He reached up, his hands covering them. They were already fuller, heavier. As she quickened her pace, he could feel the soft flesh expanding against his palms, a tangible, living magic. It was the most erotic thing he had ever experienced.

It was all too much. The size of his own cock, the perfect tightness of her, the sight and feel of her breasts growing under his touch. Thirty seconds in, her breasts not even a full C-cup yet, he felt the familiar, unstoppable build-up. “I’m gonna cum,” he gasped. “Should I pull out?”

“Fill me with your seed, Master,” she panted, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure. “I cannot get pregnant.”

That was all the permission he needed. He exploded inside her, a massive, shuddering orgasm that left him seeing stars.

He slumped back in the chair, spent. She rested her forehead against his. “Did… did you cum?” he asked, his voice rough.

“No,” she whispered, “but I was getting very close.”

He looked down at his dick, already starting to soften. A wave of disappointment washed over him. But then he remembered. He wasn’t limited by his flawed human biology anymore.

“I wish my refractory period was reset,” he said, a giddy sense of power surging through him.

Snap.

Instantly, he was rock hard again, as if he’d never come at all. It was the most surreal feeling. He grinned up at her. “Round two.” He slid his hands from her growing breasts down to her hips and started to fuck her again, setting the pace himself. “And this time,” he panted, “I wish I could last until you cum.”

Snap.

The change was immediate. The frantic edge of his own pleasure smoothed out, replaced by a deep, thrumming well of stamina. Now he could focus entirely on her. He fucked her long and deep, watching in utter fascination as her breasts continued their magical growth. They swelled past C-cup, then D, spilling over the tops of her lace bra. They grew until they were heavy, magnificent orbs, bouncing with every powerful thrust. He was in heaven. She rode him harder, her moans turning into ecstatic cries, her body trembling on the verge of release. Her tits were enormous now, so large and full that when she leaned forward, they pressed against his face, soft and warm.

“Master!” she screamed, her back arching, her inner muscles clenching around him like a fist.

That was what finally pushed him over the edge. Her orgasm triggered his, and he came again, a second massive load flooding her womb as they convulsed together in a shared, magical climax.

They collapsed against each other, panting and slick with sweat. Her breasts were monumental, two huge, perfect spheres resting on his chest. She stood up to get a better look, cupping them with her hands, a look of wonder on her face. “It’s been a while since I’ve had teats this big,” she murmured.

“Boobs,” he corrected gently, his voice thick with exhaustion and satisfaction. “Or tits. Or breasts. We don’t call them teats.”

She giggled. “Boobs. I like it.”

He looked at them. They were amazing, but maybe a little… impractical for everyday life. “They’re a little big, though. I wish they were a D-cup. No, a DD-cup.”

Snap.

He watched as they shrank, deflating smoothly from their cartoonish proportions down to a still-very-large but more manageable size. They were perfect.

“I love them, Master. Thank you,” she said, her voice full of sincere gratitude.

“No, thank you,” he said, meaning it more than he’d ever meant anything. “This is the best fucking night of my life.”

He was bone-tired, a deep, satisfied exhaustion settling into his bones. “Do you… want to sleep in my bed?” he asked.

“I don’t require sleep,” she said. “But I can mimic it, if you desire.”

“You won’t be bored?”

She laughed softly. “Boredom does not affect me as it affects you mortals. I have been alive for thousands of years, darling. Being here, with you, is my sole purpose now. It is the opposite of boring.”

He smiled. He felt a warmth spreading through his chest that had nothing to do with sex. “Okay. Well… I wish you would mimic sleep with me tonight. Including… including how nice and restful it feels to us.” He looked at his cramped double bed. “And I wish my bed was a king-size instead of a double, with a much better mattress.”

Snap.

The bed behind them seemed to stretch and expand, the frame widening, the mattress plumping up into a luxurious king.

“One more thing,” he said, feeling a final, lazy impulse. “I wish I didn’t need to brush my teeth.”

“Granted,” she said with a smile.

He crawled into the impossibly comfortable new bed. Aria slipped in beside him, her skin warm against his. She curled up against his side, her new, perfect breasts pressing into his arm, and draped a leg over his. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close, and buried his face in her hair. It smelled like lavender and ozone, like magic.

“Best fucking night ever,” he whispered into the darkness, and for the first time in a very long time, he believed his life was just getting started.

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