I Dream of Being Spanked by a Genie by Marie Pinkerton
For Kylie Winslow, hunting treasures in thrift stores for her antique shop is an everyday activity until she finds a phallic-shaped oil lamp. Rubbing the lamp summons Zakariya, a nine-hundred-year-old genie trapped in the brass.
Kylie is ready to request her wishes, but there’s a catch: Zack doesn’t grant wishes–he gives spankings.
I Dream of Being Spanked by a Genie is the first episode of the Genie serial, an erotic BBW spanking romance with fantastical situations and magical beings. The story contains strong sexual themes and consensual spankings, and is not intended for readers under the age of 18. About 17,000 words.
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Here is a short sample from the book:
I told myself, and the cashier at the thrift store, that I bought the oil lamp because it looked antique. Of course, I only said that after I checked out, in case she wanted to raise the price on me. I don’t think she believed me, though.
Not on the antique-ness, I mean. I glanced over at the lamp, where I had placed it on the passenger seat of my SUV. That in and of itself was odd behavior — normally I put my found treasures in the back, left in their bags.
The lamp quite certainly was antique, covered in dust and grime from years of being abandoned in a corner of some hoarder’s house before getting donated to the thrift store for rescuing. I was positive it’d clean up nicely, and would net me a great profit if I sold it.
Not that I had any plans on selling the lamp. The design was evocative. It was… oh hell with mincing words, even mentally. It looked like a giant brass penis.
That’s why I thought the cashier was laughing at me. I was a regular at the thrift, buying inventory for my antique store weekly, and got along well with the elderly ladies that worked the registers. After buying such a phallic lamp… I was almost afraid to show my face there again.
I stopped at a red light, and ran a hand over my purchase. Yes, it would clean up nicely. I rubbed at some of the grit, and it came off in my hand.
I imagined getting brass cleaner — a non-toxic type, of course — and massaging it into the metal. My hand went up and down on the pseudo-shaft, mentally covered in cream, and I closed my eyes and breathed deeply.
God, it had been too long since I had been with a man. I was enjoying rubbing off a lamp.
A honk sounded behind me, and my eyes flew open and my foot came off the brake. I gave the fake penis a loving pat and returned my hand to the steering wheel to resume my drive.
“Thank you. You have a wonderful technique.” The voice from my right startled me, and I looked over to see a man, clad only in blue jeans, sitting in my passenger’s seat, my lamp on his lap.
“Eeep!” I screeched, echoing the sound of my tires as I rapidly pulled to the curb and pulled the parking brake. “Who are you? How did you get in here?!”
“You’re the one that summoned me.” A small smile appeared on his face, his eyes giving me a knowing look.
I didn’t know what he was talking about, and didn’t care. I fumbled for my seatbelt, trying to unfasten it, so I could leave the confines of the car. His large presence filled the space, which was saying something for my decent sized SUV, and I felt claustrophobic. And afraid, what with the whole stranger materializing out of thin air and all.
He put a hand on mine, on top of the seatbelt dohickey, and while that should have made me more terrified, his soft touch actually relaxed me. “There’s no need to be scared.”
“Who are you?” Still not being stupid, I leaned back against the driver’s window. “Where did you come from?” I looked behind him, and saw that the doors were still securely locked — not only from the car’s automatic locking mechanism when moving, but because I was safety concerned and locked them when I entered my vehicle (let’s be honest, the best thrift stores weren’t known to be in the safest neighborhoods). If the doors were locked, how did he get in here? He wasn’t in the car when I got in — I had put the rest of my packages in the backend, and would have seen someone (especially one of his bulk) in here.
“You called me.”
Out of habit, I glanced down at my cell phone in the cup carrier. “I didn’t call anyone.”
He lifted the penis lamp off of his lap, sending my gaze down to his jeans. I immediately saw that his pants were tented in front — good lord, he was as well hung as the lamp.
The lamp.
The lamp, which looked like a perverted genie lamp.
“Holy shit, you’re a genie in a bottle!” I bounced in my seat, the car’s suspension moving along with me. “Omigod. Wow. I can’t believe it. You’re a real live genie!”
I looked at him suspiciously, then reached a finger out to poke at the wellmuscled chest. “You are corporeal, aren’t you?”
He smiled, the scruff of his brown beard giving away to gleaming white teeth, and my panties grew wet. A man of this perfection — the close shaven head, the piercing light brown eyes, the chiseled abs — could only come from magic. No way someone like this would exist in the real world, and definitely not be sweeping his gaze lustily down my body.
“I have a physical body, and can interact with the world.”
Oh yeah, he had put his hand on mine. Guess I forgot about that. I squirmed under his intense gaze, dropping my eyes from his chest.
I noticed the jeans again. “Wait, if you’re a genie, where’d you get the jeans?”
He chuckled, and the deep sound sent wonderful shivers down my spine to my panties. “My last master.”
That threw a bucket of cold water on my hormones.
I sat up further in my seat, then realized we should be getting home to finish this discussion — being parked illegally in a fire lane wasn’t the best place to talk to a genie. Not that I really knew of any good places to talk to one, but my hormones were yelling that the bedroom was an appropriate location.
I flipped on my turn signal, and merged back into traffic. “So, your master, huh?” I concentrated on the road, flitting my eyes between the windshield and mirrors, avoiding the sexy man in the seat next to me.
“Ruby was a fair mistress to me for many years,” he told me. “Did she give you my lamp?”
Oh, man. One of the sad things about getting items at thrift stores was realizing that donations often came when the elderly passed with no relatives. Now I had to tell him his master was dead?
“Um, I’m not sure how to tell you this…” I started.
He nodded in immediate understanding. “The last time she brought me out was over five years ago. She was eighty at the time, so I am not surprised.” Huh. I was. She had a genie, and didn’t wish to be young again?
I asked the genie that question as I pulled into the single car garage under my town home, and hit the button to close the garage door behind us. “Oh, I don’t give wishes. I give spankings.”
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