Tim O’Hara wandered down the aisles of the bazaar. It was supposed to be a ‘real’ Arabic bazaar and had been put together by the local Muslim community as a way to reach out to the parochial American who remained completely ignorant of the actual Muslim religion and culture, but believed the Hollywood depiction where most Americans learned their ‘facts’ about the world. Tim remembered reading that people thought Oliver Stone’s movies were factual. ‘Oh my people!!!’
Tim had long been interested in Arabic culture because of the influence it had on Europe. Virtually all the writings of the Greeks, the basis of our Western drama, philosophy, and literature, had been lost in Europe and were restored to the Europeans through the Arabs. He stopped at one shop that had all sorts of knickknacks: lamps, hookahs, cymbals, bells, rings; you name it. He picked up several and they were thin and cheap brass. Under and behind several other things, he saw a piece of amber. He had to move several things to get it out. Tim had always loved the rich gold color of amber.
It was a ring. First thing he did was turn it over to look for a manufacturing stamp, any Made in China. Nothing. The back looked hand hammered; that sort of detail surprised him. Tim looked at where the various pieces were joined into an intricate web holding the amber. It was soldered, but in a very old fashioned technique. He was intrigued by the possibilities.
Tim taught art history at the local university and specialized in European art wares, especially medieval hand carvings, mostly ivory, silver and niello. He knew something of jewelry from his work with medieval arts. The amber was set in silver but it was Middle Eastern not central European, his specialty, but he knew enough to recognize that this piece just might be original. If it wasn’t, it was a really clever forgery.
He took it up to the front, “How much?”
The man looked it over as though appraising it for a museum. “Oh, I couldn’t let it go for less than one hundred dollars,” the man said.
Tim recognized the beginning of bargaining, a social event in the Arab world. “One hundred dollars?” he asked. “For this?” He looked at it and held it out for his inspection. “You see, it is old. I will spend days polishing it before it will even be usable.”
“Esteemed Sir, it may be old and therefore in need of polish, but that only makes it all the more valuable,” the seller said.
Tim set it down on the table and made as if to leave.
“But…” the vendor said. Tim stopped. “I see that you are a busy man and I know that your time is valuable so cleaning a piece like this, well, let us just agree on eighty dollars and you can have it now,” he said smiling.
Tim picked it up and examined it again. “The soldering is loose. That will need repair as well or this fake stone will fall out. Twenty dollars.”
“Twenty dollars, for this fine piece of the jeweler’s art. Kind sir, you pull my heart from my breast,” he said. “Look, is this not as fine a piece of true amber as you have ever seen? Sixty dollars and I will bless you as a man of distinction.”
“Fine amber? Look, look at all the discolorations. Forty dollars and I won’t tell the other people that this fine shop tried to rob me,” Tim said.
“Rob you? I am willing to part with this fine piece, and maybe it belongs in a museum. I will take it tomorrow and they will confirm it, I am sure.”
“Forty-five,” Tim countered.
“Ah,” the man sounded pained and grabbed his chest. “Fifty-five and I cannot go one penny under that,” he said.
Tim pulled out his wallet and with great show and deliberateness took two twenties and a ten and put it next to the ring. Tim looked at the shop keeper and waited.
“I can tell you do want this fine piece of the Jeweler’s art and it would be terrible to keep it from you.” He scooped up the money. “Take it. But don’t tell people how I gave it to you like a gift. I will go broke if others find out how easy I am.”
Tim picked up the ring and they shook hands, both smiling.
That night, Tim took the ring into his study and got down several reference works he had on jewelry. Under a magnifying glass he carefully examined how the various parts were put together in an intricate pattern, almost living, that held the stone securely. Using his glass he could see that each part wasn’t machined. It was obvious that they were hand worked, hand molded to cradle the amber, each mark showing slight differences in depth and angle as the smith had used hammer and burin to make the design.
The design work itself looked most like pictures of works in his books of the Abbasid Dynasty which made it quite old or a very good copy. Tim thought about cleaning it up with solvents but if it was original he could damage it and destroy the resale value. He had once owned an eighteenth century print and took it in to have it museum mounted. The shop had a new person who didn’t understand the value of original prints and glued it to a board, standard for posters. The shop’s insurance company wound up owning a worthless print and paying him a chunk. Tim had been very careful with artworks after that.
He set it down on the table and looked at it, wondering how much it could be worth and how he could get it appraised. Christie’s had a branch in town. Would he be willing to sell it? If it was worth serious money he certainly would. Then he thought about another possibility; he could donate it to the University. Probably get him a Department Chair or at least a full Professorship if it was museum quality. This was almost as good as winning the lottery, if it was real and not a copy.
He went to bed that night and dreamed good dreams.
Tim had a heavy class load the next day and wasn’t home until well after dinner, even skipping a research meeting with two Doctoral candidates he had doing research on Carolingian ivory work, small sculptures and crosses mostly. Neither one was exactly enthralled by the subject, but they were yoked worse than medieval serfs to his pleasure as he held their futures in pawn. If they wanted that PhD they had to make him happy.
He took time to grab a sandwich and a beer, so anxious was he to get a look at the ring. As he sat down in his study and examined the amber of the ring, he thought maybe he would change the students work from ivory to silver and amber jewelry. Maybe they would like it better and maybe they could do his work for him. What if it was valuable?
He picked up the ring and turned it in his hand, trying to dislodge a few spots of corrosion on the back. He still didn’t want to take anything abrasive to it until he knew it wasn’t valuable. He slipped the ring over his finger.
Inside the amber, she felt her ring, her prison in this plane of existence coming into contact with a person. Once it was against flesh, the bond would be formed and once again, she would have a Master. She had long rested in the ring and was eager to be released. She only hoped this one would be a good Master. It was time to see what fate had in store for her.
Tim was staring in the mirror when behind him, something moved. He could see a thin wisp of smoke swirling in the air. Thinking something was burning, he whirled around. The smoke seemed to coalesce right in front of him. Tim felt the hair on his arms rise. The smoke thickened and became opaque. In a flash, the smoke became a girl.
He stared, open mouthed. A girl, an attractive one at that, was standing before him. She was dressed up in a harem costume, blousy leggings, sandals, red velvet bikini bottoms, thin blousy bikini bra, blousy sleeves and flashing jewels. Her skin was creamy and smooth. Tim tried to guess her age, but couldn’t. She was obviously a woman. She was a little fleshier than today’s image of feminine beauty, more like a Grecian ideal of Venus. Except for her glowing blonde hair, almost the color of the amber, and cats eyes, she might have been Venus, but this girl was definitely some sort of Celt, maybe the most beautiful young woman he have ever seen.
“Your wish is my command,” she said. Could it have been any more trite? Tim nearly laughed.
“How old are you?” he asked. Okay, you stand there in your nice studio having just been scared out of your wits and laugh at his stupid question. But you aren’t suddenly faced with a half naked nubile girl in your study and thinking about the Puritans who’d love to put you in jail as a molester.
“I have no age,” she said simply.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“I can be any name you desire. I can look any way you would like. I am the djinn of the stone in the ring,” she said.
“If you’re like the genie of a lamp, how come you are speaking English?” Tim knew he had her on this one.
“I speak all languages. Would you prefer to speak Arabic?”
‘Hell,’ Tim thought. He just barely passed his language exams for his doctorate, and that was Latin and German. “Uh, no. So I can call you anything. How about Jeannie?” Sure, laugh your ass off at the poor boy, but you weren’t there with your brain on overload and the mental circuit breakers popping. It was the best he could come up with at the time.
“I can be whatever you wish,” she said.
“Uh, what’s your real name?” I asked.
“I have been known as Amber,” she said smiling.
He nodded. Then asked, “So, do I get three wishes?”
“How many wishes would you like?” she asked.
This abstruse manner of answering questions was getting to Tim. He would have liked a straight answer just once. “As many as I need,” he said turning the tables.
“You shall have them,” she answered.
“Can I touch you?”
“Of course.”
His hand went out and touched her bare belly. It was solid and warm to the touch, her muscles well defined under her womanly softness. “You’re real.” he said, awed.
“Of course, if you wish me so, or I can be insubstantial if it serves your purpose. I can be whatever you desire,” she said.
“Are you a houri?” he asked, his libido at least, overcoming the shock.
She laughed, “Oh no. Houri are only in Heaven. They serve the just.”
“Are you the devil’s servant?” he asked with a hint of unease in his voice. He didn’t really believe in that stuff, but with a genie in your den, it does get difficult to block out those thoughts. After all he immersed himself in medieval thoughts and they definitely believed in the reality of Devils.
She laughed even more gaily. “How could that be? God is everywhere. How could something exist that is opposite of God, when God is all? Nothing is opposite of everything, therefore, the Devil is nothing; he doesn’t exist. I serve at God’s will, as do we all.”
Tim’s hand was still on her delightfully warm belly. It moved over her enjoying the feel of her soft skin. She seemed to notice it and smiled as it moved up close to her breasts, not quite touching.
“Do you wish me to remove the clothes?”
He gulped, caught out in his not so subtle explorations. That smile. She wasn’t angry, so Tim nodded. In a flash her clothes were gone and she stood before him like a Goddess.
“Am I to your liking?” she asked. She said it happily, as if the answer didn’t matter. Tim could like her or not. No woman is so content with her appearance. “I could be brunette,” she said and zap, she was brunette, her eyes suddenly blue. “Or do you like red heads?” and zap she was a red head with flashing green eyes.
“I think I like you the way you were. I mean, you looked like a genie,” he said.
Zap, she was back as a blonde, “And so I am. I think I do know how I could please you. Come,” she said seductively. Tim rose and followed her, and how did she know where, to his bedroom. His clothes seemed magically to throw themselves off.
She pulled him onto his bed and it wasn’t magic or even surprising that he was hard and ready. Amber pulled him over her, her legs wrapping around his ass and pulled him forward. Her hand led his stiff cock straight to her pussy which was wet and hot with arousal. She seemed to read the surprise in his mind, “I don’t need foreplay,” she said smiling. “I am always ready.” Her hips hunched up forcing the head of his cock into her pussy.
Tim was in Paradise even if she wasn’t a houri. Her pussy grabbed his cock and sucked it in. Tim followed. Tim was overjoyed, the feel of her pussy, the way it massaged his cock like a million fingers covered with warm Vaseline, sucking and pulling his cum from his balls. He tried to hold back, a little, but her hand went round and she pressed against him finding his prostate and massaging it and before he could even think about it, his cum was boiling up and splashing into the girl under him.
Tim hadn’t cum like that since the first time he had ever screwed, and he had lasted just about as long. He lay on Amber, she happily under him and not complaining about how heavy he was. Tim however, was aware and rolled to the side. She cuddled up as the lights went out. Tim was too wasted to wonder about how the lights simply went out and fell asleep, a smile on his face and a beautiful woman in his arms.
After Tim had fallen asleep, Amber returned to the stone that was her home, her prison, her sanctuary, her danger. She had to return from time to time to rest and restore her power for her powers were intertwined with the stone that held her.
Overall, she was pleased with her new master. He seemed nice enough, though the loving had been too fast to please her. Like all Djinn, when she was on the fleshly plane she could experience the pleasures of sex as was her duty. Over the centuries, she had few men who could really please her, or were even interested in pleasing her. She hoped this new one would come to like pleasing her. It made the servitude more bearable.
Amber slept but part of her watched her new master, ready at a moment’s notice if she were needed.
Tim woke with a start. He opened his eyes to see Amber sitting, cross-legged, back in her harem outfit watching him. “Good morning. Would you like breakfast?”
He nodded.
“Your wish is my command,” she said and disappeared. Tim stared, for it was not like she-hurried-out-of-the-room-at-a-trot kind of disappeared, but one moment he was looking at a girl and the next moment he was not. And it wasn’t like the movie dissolve where you can see that things have changed, just not there anymore but everything looks unchanged. Weird.
Tim wasn’t sure why, but everything that had happened the night before, and it was wickedly wild and should have prepared him, but it didn’t prepare him for that moment. Girls just don’t disappear. They throw things at a guy and storm out, or they never answer the phone again, or they get a new boyfriend; they don’t just flash out of existence. That was when it really hit him, Amber wasn’t human.
He stumbled into his bathroom and threw water on his face and looked in the mirror. He looked the same. He didn’t look crazy, or any crazier than he usually did certainly. He scratched his head and looked again... nope, the same. Tim jumped in the shower and quickly washed up, dressed for class, and wandered to the kitchen.
As he walked in the door, Amber was setting out a banquet on the table. The table was covered with eggs and bacon, waffles, pancakes, toast, juice, milk, coffee, and preserves. It was more food than Tim could have eaten in a week. “Sit,” she said holding up a napkin until he sat, then putting it in his lap.
“Amber, I can’t eat all of this,” he told her.
“Do not worry, Master. Nothing will go to waste,” she assured him.
Tim shrugged and dove in. They chatted as he ate, Amber ever attentive. He surprised himself with how much food he managed to plow through. Tim thought, ‘I guess I can blame it on the calories I burned the night before, can’t I?’
Amber kissed him at the door wishing him a good day. Mostly, Tim floated during the morning. His class in Renaissance art that morning discussed Palladio and his influence on architecture in Europe. It isn’t permissible to say something like influence on architecture anymore; that’s too Euro-centric. It must always be clarified with, in Europe or European influenced cultures. ‘Boy, isn’t that just a handy phrase,’ Tim thought. ‘I’m just waiting until I have to say, by men or male influenced culture so the femi-nazis will be satisfied.’
He was sitting in his office that he shared with another assistant professor as lunch time rolled around and he found himself wishing for something to eat. He looked up and Amber was standing in his office. Tim nearly had a heart attack from surprise. “What?” was all he could muster as he considered what the staff or a student would say finding a beautiful scantily clad girl in his office. Here come da police.
She pulled her hands from behind her back and she was holding two silver trays piled high with fruits, cheese, bread, and a bottle of wine. All Tim needed was a song. “Do you wish me to sing, Master?” she asked.
“Uh, no. No thank you,” he mumbled. Amber set the trays on his desk. “Will you join me?”
Amber laughed. “Master, I have no need to eat.” She poured him a glass of wine and waited.
Tim couldn’t think of what else to do, so he started eating. Before he knew it, he had made a large dent in the repast. Is there anything better than wine, bread, cheese, and fruit shared with a beautiful woman, even if she isn’t eating? It occurred to Tim as they talked and he ate that he knew little of her and her abilities.
“Do you read my mind?” he asked, having the distinct impression that she did.
“No, Master. But if you wish for something, I hear it. You don’t need to wish out loud and I can hear it. So, in that way I suppose you could say I read your mind. But only in that way,” she explained.
“So, when I thought about lunch?”
“I heard it, and I came,” she said smiling.
“Does distance matter?” he asked.
“No. You might think of me as a quantum state. I can be here, or there, and I do not need to travel from here to there,” she said.
He put his chin on his hand. How in the world would a genie, locked in a stone for who knows how long, know about quantum? She simply smiled. “Um Amber, what is quantum?” he askd.
She started into an explanation, “Quantum is the fundamental notion that a physical property may be "quantized", referred to as "quantization." This means that the magnitude can take on only certain numerical values, rather than any value, at least within a range. For example, the energy of an electron bound to an atom (at rest) is quantized. This accounts for the stability of atoms, and matter in general.”
Tim threw up his hands, “Whoa. Where the hell did you learn that?”
She laughed, “Master, I know many things. That is from the encyclopedia. In performance of my duties, I may draw on anything I need.”
“So, if I needed an anti-gravity device, you could make it?” he asked.
She paused, “No, such a device does not exist.”
“But it might in the future,” he said hopefully. Imagine inventing an anti-gravity machine.
“The future is not yet, Master. How can I know what is not?” she said.
Tim couldn’t answer that, since he didn’t really understand what the hell she was saying, let alone what she could do. So he nodded thoughtfully as if he did. He was also full by then and a little worried a secretary could walk in and discover this little tryst. “Okay, I’m done. Thank you for lunch. Now scoot,” he said. She smiled, and was gone along with the remains of lunch.
Dinner was ready when he arrived home, lamb chops, roasted potatoes, haricort vert, and wine, a dusky pinot noir. Tim recognized the wine label, but he knew it wasn’t something he would have purchased, not because of quality, but price. “Amber, where did the wine come from?”
She peered at the bottle, “The central coast of California.”
“I knew that,” he said flustered.
“Then why did you ask, Master?”
Having been married once, he knew when he had lost an argument and when to rein in the horses. “Never mind.” Dinner was incredible, but it was disconcerting to eat like a king while she simply sat and watched. Tim found himself mentally wishing she would eat too.
“I can, Master, but it is a waste,” she said.
Tim shook his head, then remembered, she could hear his mental wishes as well. ‘I hope that was all of my mental garbage she could hear,’ he thought. “It would make me more comfortable,” he said.
A plate appeared before her. She filled it and happily began eating as if it was what she did every night. They talked about his day, the classes and the frustrations of teaching students who really weren’t interested, and wouldn’t apply themselves.
"Amber," Tim started. She looked up, attentive. Tim had been thinking about this all day. His last checkup hadn't been great. He spent too much time sitting anymore. His cholesterol was high. His LDLs were down. He didn't have as much energy these days. The BP was elevated. His knees hurt from college football. His back bothered him... Basically, it was a bitch getting old.
"I wish you would fix everything wrong with my body and give me back the energy I had when I was twenty-five."
She paused for a second, then smiled. "I understand, Master."
Suddenly, Tim felt his whole body like static electricity was coursing through it. He felt lighter, the aches he no longer even noticed because they were constant went away. He was hungry like he hadn't been in years. He piled on some more food on his plate and set to. By time he felt replete, Tim had pretty much demolished the food on the table.
He pushed away from the table, not stuffed but full.
After dinner, Amber cleaned up by the expedient of making everything disappear, whoosh, gone. She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the bedroom, her clothes disappeared as she did.
“Amber, I didn’t wish this,” he said.
“Master, you’re a man. You did wish it and I heard it,” she said simply.
Tim couldn’t argue with that because he had been thinking exactly that throughout dinner. She lay back on his bed, looking ravishing. Something about the way she looked up at him, with desire, or lust, something just drove him crazy. Tim tore off his clothes and jumped on the bed with her his cock swelling hard like it had when he was twenty.
He had been a bit hurried the first time, what with thinking this was all going to go away. This time, he took his time making love to her. Her body was luscious, just at the point of becoming a woman, yet without flaws. Her breasts were full, bigger than a mouthful or handful as the occasion warranted. Her nipples were delightfully hard and pointed. Her belly was flat and firm, and led to a small triangle of blonde hair covering her pussy but not hiding it. Her legs were shapely and firm. In short, she was perfection.
Tim plunged into her and once again was caught into her warmth as her pussy massaged his cock. It didn’t take long as he quickly built to a climax and exploded into her.
After, they lay together, he completely sated. His mind wandered and he was thinking it would have been nice to be Amber’s first lover.
“I could be a virgin,” she said.
“What?”
“I could be a virgin, if you wish. Or I could make a new body that is virgin if that is your wish,” she said.
This mental telepathy stuff was getting a bit worrisome to Tim. He really needed to rein in his thoughts. “No, it wouldn’t be the same. Even if you could make the body virgin, I’d know you had sex before. When I wish for a virgin, I mean a girl who hasn’t had sex before, physically or mentally, like some of the girls in class.”
She smiled, “I understand, Master.”
‘Hey, I finally won an argument,’ he thought. That had to be a first. Happily, Tim rolled over and was asleep.
His dreams were filed with visions of girls, girls he had known. He thought of Chrissie, the cheerleader who had snubbed him. All he had to do was wish for Amber to become Chrissie and he could make his high school dreams come true. And Kathleen in graduate school, the buxom blonde. One wish and Amber could come to his bed as Kathleen. All the girls he had lusted for in life, he could have now.
The next day went much as the previous day. Amber awoke before Tim, and when he did, she had breakfast ready. “Yes, Master, I must sleep,” she said to his unasked question.
“Jesus,” he responded. “You sleep?”
“Yes, I must return to the jewel from time to time to regain my strength. I am a prisoner of the jewel,” she said.
Tim didn’t quite know what to make of this. He glanced at the clock in the kitchen and knew he didn’t have time to explore all of this. Thursday was a class heavy day so he had to leave home early to prepare. At 10:00 he had an art history survey course for non-majors. Tim hated non-major courses since most students didn’t really like the subject and just wanted to get through with the minimum effort. Despite his fervent wish to find out about this prison stuff, he left.
In class he handed back the mid-term tests. They were pretty usual, some A’s, some F’s and most somewhere in between. He went over them pretty quickly and directed the students with questions to see him after class for specific problems. He had found out early that many students would willingly burn up an entire class period arguing about a test, but they would never stay after for even one minute of their own time.
Surprisingly, there was only one student who stayed late. Everyone else quickly filed out as soon as the class ended. “Professor,” she said. Tim looked her over quickly. She was a pretty young woman, brunette, brown-eyed and shapely, wearing typical tight top and short skirt, with a few tattoos and piercings. She was holding her exam and he could see the red F on it.
“Yes, Miss…”
“Walker, Sir. Candace Walker,” she said.
“Miss Walker. I suspect it is about your grade,” he said.
“I’ve never flunked a test before in my entire life,” she said as the tears almost started.
In his career, Tim had heard every excuse that exists. This one wasn’t unique, but it wasn’t usual either. "Well, there is a first time for everything." Not very compassionate he realized but in the age of sex harassment a male professor can't be 'compassionate' or it gets turned into sexual harassment.
"But I've never flunked anything," she said really astonished.
“Did you do the readings I assigned?” She nodded. “I’ve seen you in class…” She nodded again. “Do you understand the subject?” She nodded. Something just didn’t seem right to Tim. She had all the earmarks of a successful student.
“Let me see your exam,” he said. She handed it to him. He read her first answer to a question about Hellenistic versus Classical art. She hit the main points, not creatively but at least she got them. He thought, ‘I’d have said B for that question.’ The next an A. The next maybe a B+. The last an A. Overall, this paper should have been an A- or an A.’ Tim looked at the front page again. A large red F slashed in his writing.
Then he heard a voice whispering in his ear, “Master, say you do not normally change a grade once given.”
Shaken by having a voice whispering in his ear and worried that the girl had heard, he followed directions, “Miss Walker, I don’t normally change a grade once given.”
“But Professor, I’ll do anything,” she said.
He’d only had a few other girls try that line. Lots of little cuties tried to flirt their way to a grade, but it was unusual for one to be willing to back up the flirting. He remembered one girl he was sure meant it, but he was happily married at the time and passed on the opportunity. He heard the voice again. “Master, she is a virgin.” It all became clear. Tim looked in his grade register and the grade he had recorded was an A-.
He picked up the red pencil and slashed through the F and wrote in A-. “Miss Walker I must apologize but somehow between the paper and my head I messed up somehow. Your paper deserved the grade. Please accept my apology for making you worried for no reason.”
“Oh my, God. Thank you, Professor,” she burbled.
“Miss Walker, it obviously was my error. I guess I’m getting old timer’s disease or something. I’m not changing your grade. I’m just putting on it the correct grade,” he said.
She thanked him some more and hurried out of class.
“Amber,” he grimaced.
She coalesced in front of him. “Yes, Master?”
“You can’t go changing grades in my classes. Shit, I could get fired for that,” he said.
“Master, I would insure that no one discovered the change,” she said.
“Okay, I’ll give you a better reason. It was wrong. Students deserve the grade they earn,” he said.
“You wish to do what is right?” she asked.
“I try,” he said.
“Your will is my command,” she said bowing. There was a subtle smile on her face and Tim wasn’t quite sure what it meant.
“Shoo,” he said thinking about his afternoon classes.
Amber went back to her jewel and lay back on the pillows. 'He wants to do what is right.' She smiled openly. To have a master who wants to do what is right. Perhaps, just perhaps, doing what was right might free her from her bondage. Freedom... what would it be like to be free of her eternal servitude? It was more than could be dreamed of… but she could not help but dream.
Copyright Rod O'Steele © 2009, 2011