Sinbad The Sorcress and Djinn Fassad
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The Djinn Game free porn video
The Djinn Game
By Ellie Dauber
(c) 2002
The Beginning
Rob Brewster, Mark Kline, and Emil Walsh were old friends. It was true that
they'd only met one afternoon in Garrison Park about a month or two before.
When you're all in your seventies, you get to say things like that. All
three men were retirees living in a Chicago suburb.
Still, they met there in the park every day, weather permitting, to talk and
play a little three-handed bridge.
Only today, it was different.
"Hey, look what I bought," Mark said. He was carrying a large plastic bag
from Dunham's, a pawnbroker near his apartment.
"What are you doing going into a place like Dunham's?" Emil asked. "You're
only looking for trouble."
"I wouldn't normally," Mark said. "I was walking past on my way over here,
and I just happened to look in the window. "I saw this thing in the window,
and, what is it the kids say, 'it called to me.' So I bought it and brought
it here with me."
"So what is the 'thing', already?" Manny asked.
"Yeah, you just sold houses," Rob said. "I'm the actor. I'm the one who
gets to make a big production out of everything."
"Trust me, Rob," Manny said. "There's a lot of acting in the real estate
business."
"Says, the mailman," Mark laughed. "But you still haven't told us what's in
the damned bag."
Mark opened the bag. "Ta! Da!" He pulled out a metal rod about four feet
long. There was a small box at one end and what looked like a ping pong
paddle at the other.
"A metal detector," Rob said. "What the hell did you get that for?"
Mark shrugged. "Curiosity, I guess. I've seen folks using them down along
the beach. This thing was only five bucks, so I decided to see what it was
all about."
"For five bucks, are you even sure it works?" Emil asked.
"Pretty sure," Mark said. The guy at Durham's let me try it in the alley.
I found a hammer he hid under a bunch of carpet."
"Now, there's a good test," Rob said sarcastically.
"All right, smartass," Mark said. "Let's take this thing down to the Lake
and see if we find anything. Is that a real enough test for you?"
"What the hell," Manny said. "It's a nice day for a walk."
"You're the expert on that," Rob said.
Garrison Park fronted Lake Michigan, and the town fathers had spent a good
bit of money putting in a beach for summer use. They walked for about two
hours. The detector found a key ring with three keys and a child's wind-up
toy dog. "Let's try over by the breaker there, Mark suggested.
After about a half hour, they were ready to give up and get a cup of tea -
or something stronger, in Rob's case. Then the meter on the detector began
to jump back and forth the length of the scale.
"What the hell is it?" Rob asked.
"I don't know," Emil said, "but it's right _here_!" He pressed the detector
plate onto the sand to mark the spot.
"Dig, then," Mark said. The three men knelt in the sand and began to dig.
Emil was the one to find it. His fingers touched something large and
metallic. He brushed sand away until he could get a grasp on it and pulled
out "A lamp! A damned Arabian lamp."
"This is too damned cliched for any movie I was ever in," Rob said.
"When were you ever in an Arabian nights movie?" Mark said.
"Oh, Lord, don't go asking him that." Emil said. "Now he's going to pull
out his clippings again."
"Well, since you asked," Rob said, ignoring his friend's remark. "I was the
steward to the caliph in SON OF GENGHIS KHAN."
"I knew it," Mark said. "Maybe we should wish that you lose those scrap
books of yours."
Rob scowled. "My scrapbooks! You dirty..." Then he realized that Mark was
kidding him. "Okay, I guess I do dwell a bit much on my past."
"If there is a genie in there, maybe he can fix that." Emil rubbed the lamp
three times. There was a low "thrumm" noise and the lamp began to vibrate.
"Wha..." Emil panicked and dropped the lamp.
The "thrumm" grew louder. A thin trail of smoke came out. It grew thicker
and thicker, then gradually took a human shape. The figure looked like an
ordinary man - except for his lime-green skin color. He stepped forward and
bowed. "I am Mustapha, Masters." He was about seven-feet tall with bushy
black hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He wore a pair of gold colored
pantaloons and - believe it or not - long slippers with toes that curled up
and around.
"This can _not_ be real," Rob said.
"But it is, my Masters. As a djinn, I must grant three wishes to whomever
frees me for a time from the Lamp. Since there are three of you, each will
receive one wish. Have a care, Masters, for no wish may be taken back."
"Are there any limits on what you can or cannot do?" Rob asked.
"Do you wish to know this, Master?" Mustapha asked.
"No!" Mark said. "We are curious, but you don't have to tell us if you
don't want to."
"Well played, Master," Mustapha said. "The mighty King Suilemann, who
imprisoned the djinn in our Lamps commanded that we reveal these things to
each new Master. I cannot kill, though I can cause death indirectly. I
cannot create life, nor can I cause one person to love another. Love is a
magic more powerful than my own."
"No limits beyond that, then," Emil said. "Okay, who starts?"
"Can't we think about it a little?" Mark asked.
"Take as much time as you wish," Mustapha said.
"And if we do ask for time, that will count as a wish," Emil said. "No, I
think we'd better do it now."
"Mine's easy," Rob said. "I want to be a movie star, world famous, top of
the list, and young and sexy enough to enjoy it; yeah, to spend my whole
life in the movie business." Robert Brewster had never been higher than
sixth billing. He was a dependable character actor, and the work was
steady, but that was all. His fame could be measured by the fact that he
was the answer to questions in three separate trivia games.
"I spent my life selling houses that I could never afford to live in," Mark
said. "I'll take the youth, too. I want to live in one of those houses -
and not as some servant. I want the house and whatever goes with it for my
own."
"You two can have your wealth and fame." Emil "Being young again sounds
great, but I... I never had any friends, any family. I was a mailman, about
as invisible as a man can get. I'd like to go back to the beginning. I
don't want anything fancy like you two. I just want to make a little bit of
a difference with my life."
"And these are your wished, Master?" Muspha asked. The three men nodded.
"Then so be it." He made an odd gesture with both hands, and all three men
vanished.
Rob's Wish
Rob's eyes were closed. He felt... alive! And full of more energy than he
had in years. Still something seemed very wrong. He put his fingers to his
eyes and began to rub; it was an old actor's trick.
Someone batted his hands away. "Stop that, Bobbi, you'll ruin your
make-up."
Rob opened his eyes. He saw hands -- they couldn't be his. They were
slender, feminine, with inch-long manicured nails covered in by a light pink
polish. He looked past his hands, down to his chest.
No, _her_ chest. Rob saw what had to be at least 38-DD breasts straining at
a pink halter top. This... this couldn't be happening.
Rob's head began to spin as new memories rushed in to push aside the old.
The identity of Rob Brewster sank under the weight of a new one. The two
merged, and all that was left was Bobbi Boobster, winner of the 1974 "Best
New-Cummer" Award, and one of the country's leading porn stars.
***
Bobbi Boobster lasted in front of the camera until she was in her
mid-forties and beyond the help of even the best plastic surgeons. Wrinkles
can get hidden for a while, but a sagging butt and the effects of gravity on
oversized silicon implants couldn't.
Bobbi hadn't invested her earnings very well. She wound up the owner of a
small string of movie theaters, mostly of the sort that had showed her old
films. She sold off all but one, and ended her days as manager and ticket
seller.
Exactly as Rob had wished, a star in her youth and a lifelong career in the
movie industry.
Mark's Wish
Mark felt unsteady on his feet. He looked around. He was in a bedroom
somewhere. No, he recognized the place. It was the Halburton Mansion.
He'd sold the place about ten years ago to Roy Jeffreys, the founder of
Jeffreys Electronics.
"Are you all right, my dear?" Jeffreys was standing about ten feet away,
hanging tuxedo pants over one of those wooden "valets." Mark stifled a
laugh at Jeffrey's skinny legs and at the man's waist cincher he wore to
help hide a major beer belly. "I say again, 'are you all right?'"
Mark shook his head and felt hair swirl around his neck. He looked down to
see a slender, extremely female body wearing only a thin cotton robe.
"Fine," Jeffreys said, "then let's get to it." He undid the waist cincher
and began pulling at his shorts. They fell to the ground, revealing a
rather small penis barely sticking out of a sparse patch of gray hair.
"No... I..." Mark began. He began to back away.
"Come, come, Marci. You knew what you were getting when you married me.
Half ownership of my fortune, this house, and all made me a lot more
attractive than the average 56-year old, didn't it? Well, you've got to be
with me, and be my wife in _all_ things for 10 years or that pre-nup you
signed says you lose it all." He grinned and took his flaccid penis in his
hand. "Now get over here and use that mouth of yours to get me started."
Mark's head spun. He felt like he was sinking, drowning. He felt himself
fade away as the mass of new memories flowed into him. He -- she -- felt a
false smile form on her face as Mark Kline was absorbed into the identity of
Marci Jeffreys, 24-year old trophy wife and sexual slave to a man who knew
that he was buying a live-in whore when he married her.
And she knew that he knew it. When she married him, it hadn't mattered,
but...
***
Marci lived with Jeffreys for almost 9 years before he died of a heart
attack. In that time, she discovered that he paid every servant in their
house to watch her for any sign of infidelity. She inherited the house, but
she had to fight his family for most of his fortune. She lost more often
than she won.
A final provision of the will required her to live in the Halburton Mansion
if she wanted to keep control of what she did win. The family and the
servants kept watch. She was able to take the occasional lover, though.
They were all paid, paid to praise her fading beauty until she was a
laughing stock. Marci Jeffreys, the crone who kept boys a quarter her age
to lie to her.
Mark had wanted a fine house. He lived in one, suffering the life that went
with it.
Emil's Wish
Emil felt different, very different. His body seemed sluggish, as if he
couldn't really control it. Something soft slipped into his mouth, and he
instinctively began to suck. He tasted a sweet, warm liquid and realized
the truth of what had happened. 'Back to the beginning,' he thought. 'That
genie changed me into a baby.'
"There's our little girl," said a voice. Emil opened his eyes in shock.
He, no, she saw a Black couple, the woman in a waitress uniform, the man in
a workshirt with the words "Sanitation Department" embroidered on it. The
woman was holding Emil as well as the baby's bottle that she was drinking
from.
'A girl, and a Black one at that, what was that idiot genie thinking of.'
It was her last thoughts as Emil Walsh before the new identity of Emma
Johnson overwhelmed her.
Emma grew up to be an outgoing, if not overly attractive young girl. At 17,
she moved out to live with a neighborhood boy, Jack Clark. Jack ran with a
gang, but after Emma gave birth to his son, he married her and took a job at
a garage in the neighborhood. Emma got a part-time job as a file clerk and
helped out at the office of their small church, doing typing and filing for
the pastor.
***
They held Emma's seventieth birthday at the church, Jack, as always, was at
her side. Her three children were there with their wives and children.
Jack, Jr., had taken over the garage when his father had retired. Their son
flew up from Howard Law School for the occasion. The garage was now one of
four Junior owned, all with active teen apprenticeship programs. Kim, Emma's
only daughter, was a nurse, who ran a neighborhood clinic with her doctor
husband. Theo, the baby, was now Rev. Theo, the assistant pastor at Emma's
church, which was now the largest Black church in the city.
Emma's other children were there, too: forty years of graduates of the
"Chance" Scholarship program, she'd started at the church. Winners were
expected to pay the program back, both by matching the scholarship money
they received and by mentoring teens in the city. The program was fully
endowed, much of it from its own graduates, and managed by a partner in one
of the city's leading accountancy companies who was herself a recipient.
The party was catered by "Mama Jo's Kitchen," a catering business run by
three single mothers who'd taken one of Emma's $100 micro-grants, an idea
she got from an article about such a program in Africa. Emma's Girl Scout
troop was the honor guard. At 7 o'clock, they brought in the cake. Only
one voice sang "Happy Birthday." Elysse Freeman had taken a break from
singing second female lead in AIDA at the Met to visit the woman who put her
there with a "Chance" Scholarship to Julliard. Elysse did her mentoring
with the Greater Harlem Girl's Chorus, and she brought along two girls who
were now going to the School of the Arts on Elysse's recommendation.
A small whiff of smoke lingered near a window, close enough to see what was
happening, but far from the detectors in the ceiling. By the edict of
Suliemann, a djinn was free to twist a selfish wish to its own ends, but a
selfless wish could not be touched. Moreover, the djinn was required to
observe the results of such a wish in the hopes that it might learn from the
good works of the wisher.
"Wish granted, Master Emil." Mustapha whispered. "Wish very well granted,
indeed."
The End
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