slip out of the room. Then she comes over to me. Her eyes are full of unassuaged lasciviousness. Oftentimes, my brother djinn have taken mortal women as concubines. Their own men, it is said, are unable to satisfy their great appetites, which is why they cannot remain faithful to their lawful husbands. Bilqis, I think, is one of those women.
She puts her hand upon the bar of my engorged member. With a grin I make myself naked once more, so that there is nothing between her skin and mine. She glances down, admiring, as she strokes my shaft, and my chest swells with triumph as my cock-slit weeps with joy.
‘Djinni,’ says she, ‘I want a cock.’
I am taken aback. I laugh to cover my dismay. ‘Would you be a man, then?’ I mock her. ‘Is it not enough to be queen, that you must be king?’
She steps back, eyeing my frustration with undisguised amusement. ‘Why would I want to be a man?’ she asks, running her hands over her own body, caressing the rich curves of hip and waist, hefting and cupping and squeezing her breasts until my eyes feel like they will burst from my head. ‘A man spends his pleasure once, and then is done. I may take mine over and over, with every woman in my harem. But …’ She licks her lips. ‘I want to be able to feel it when I enter my favourite’s tight hole. I want to be a woman, yet with a cock of flesh. I want one like yours.’
I don’t know what to say. It appals me, and it excites me in ways I cannot describe.
‘I command it, djinni,’ she says, looking in my eyes.
So I give her a cock. And, as an afterthought, a pouch of balls, because I think it looks better that way, and they will suit her. She steps back with a gasp, touching herself, her fingers like fluttering butterflies. Her member is already half-hard; it becomes harder as she grasps and strokes it, harder in great surges. She casts me a look of disbelief, which I do not understand because this is what she asked for. Then she checks between her legs to make sure I have not robbed her of her woman’s parts.
‘You have both, mistress,’ I say through gritted teeth. ‘As you desired. Though you will not sow any seed with that thing.’
‘Then it is for pleasure only,’ she says, and there is a fire in her eyes when she looks upon me that seems to belong to the Flameborn, not the Children of Dust. ‘Lie upon the bed, djinni.’
‘Me?’ I stutter. Outrage flares through my soul.
‘You, djinni.’ She smirks. ‘I command it.’
‘No!’ I bark, but I must go, and I am already going. I am her slave, no less than the women of her bedchamber. And to much the same end, it appears. She requires me to lie back upon the cushions, and she goes to dip both of her hands in the bowl of oil. I look up at her, at the luscious womanly curves I desire so much – and at the monster, standing erect from the juncture of her thighs, that she is slicking with one lazy hand. I cannot help wishing I had made it a little smaller.
‘Lift your legs,’ she tells me, grinning with anticipation.
I raise and open them, exposing the tight whorl of my sphincter. My cock lies across my belly like the trunk of a fallen cedar. ‘This is wrong!’ I snarl. ‘Man was made greater and stronger than Woman, to have the mastery!’
‘As were the Djinn made greater and stronger than us,’ she says, running one slippery hand up my shaft, while probing for entry below with her cunning and well-lubricated fingers. ‘And yet, who has the mastery there?’
I would argue, but I cannot speak. She is stroking my cock and the pleasure is exquisite, enough to transmute all the terror and shame of her other invasion to a delight almost its equal. I feel myself opening to her. She encompasses me at the same time as she enters me. The contradiction is acute, the confusion of my feelings unbearable – to be taken this way by a mortal, and a woman! – yet she is squeezing and pulling my limb in exactly the way I have needed for so long – oh, I do not understand this!
She leans over me and her bounteous breasts hang down like ripe and tantalising fruit. Her hands move with sureness and strength, and now my hole puts up no more resistance. Not even when her fingers make way for that unwomanly member and it pushes into me, as the footsoldiers of an army stand aside for the triumphal entry of their general into the conquered city.
‘Oh,’ she says in awe. ‘That feels wonderful!’
I expect her to ravish me cruelly, but she does not lose control. Her conquest of my ass is thorough and measured. She leaves no inch unplundered, yet she is merciful. Though beads of sweat spring out upon her breastbone, she keeps kneading my cock in her strong fingers, forcing me to own my pleasure. Her hand and her cock move in unison, until a groan is wrenched from my chest: a groan so deep that a roof-joist overhead cracks. I grab my knees with my hands and spread wider for her. Her face blurs over mine. I am losing the will to deny her. I am forgetting to hate. I want her cock inside me, deeper and deeper. I want her hands mastering my cock, forcing me to the bright and glorious moment of surrender.
That is when I come, spurting my quicksilver seed the whole length of my torso, roaring my release. The metallic liquid runs across my ribs and belly, evaporating in the desert air almost instantly. By the time I catch my breath there is nothing left. Only my ass carries on clenching rhythmically around her shaft.
Bilqis licks her lips. ‘Most impressive,’ she says huskily. Her face is flushed and her eyes bright, and I realise that she has not yet reached her own climax, even as she adds, ‘But I fear that a woman’s body is more to my taste.’
For a moment I misconstrue her meaning. ‘Shall I change you back, mistress?’
‘I mean, a woman’s body beneath mine. Change, djinni.’
My eyes widen. ‘Impossible!’ I rasp.
‘Nonsense. If you can get that big, brawny body down inside a lamp, you can change its shape in lesser ways. Do it.’
So I do. Burning with shame, I do. I become female, my bones and flesh flowing into new shapes; my waist narrowing, my hips flaring, breasts swelling to cushiony softness upon my chest. My cock vanishes. I lie before her as the most beautiful of djinniyahs, the colour of sky. Sensation chases over my whole body, every inch of my new skin thrilling with strangeness. My heart is pounding. No one has ever done this to me. No one has ever made me feel like this.
And all the time she stays balls-deep in my ass.
‘Oh,’ says she. ‘Yes.’ To my amazement, that cock of hers – which I had already thought so hard and big – swells even further inside me. She stoops with a groan to mouth at my breasts; I discover that they are exquisitely sensitive. I have no length of my own any more, but she manages to get her hand into my open sex, caressing its slipperiness even as she starts to ram me deep and fast.
I realise quite suddenly that that part of me is teardrop-shaped – just like a lamp; with a deep well of oil and a burning flame at the tip.
My mistress rubs it, and I come at her command.
Katie
Angela Caperton
Katie bit Lionel’s shoulder through the tweed jacket, his hand under her petticoat, on her thigh, igniting new sensations. Mary never told her about the tiny bubbles that filled her blood and muscles wherever he touched her. She pressed her hips
