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The deafening silence of the small room, its walls covered with posters of worn-out heroes from old video games and yellowed quotes from cult comics, was shattered by a sharp click of the door — Chet stormed inside, tossed his backpack against the wall, and yanked off his hoodie in irritation.
— Ugh, this shit pisses me off... — he muttered through clenched teeth, — why is everything like this!
Throwing himself onto the creaky bed, he stared up at the ceiling, the moment from the school hallway still pounding in his head — when Melissa, holding hands with some new guy, didn’t even glance his way.
No, that’s not true — she did look. Just like through glass. Like he wasn’t a person. Not a guy. Just nobody.
— Play... — he whispered to himself, like it could wipe everything away, — just... play. Fuck everyone.
He reached for his backpack to grab the controller, but his eyes caught a strange glint.
Something had slipped out between his books and a crumpled jacket and rolled across the floor with a dull clunk — an old brass lamp, darkened by time, with a pattern that looked Arabic but could’ve just been decorative. He froze.
— Oh, you’re that... — Chet dropped to his knees and picked up the lamp. — Right. I wanted to show Randy. Forgot, as always.
He’d found it last Sunday, when, armed with a trowel and half-dead curiosity, he was digging around the dirt near the old oak tree in the yard.
His mom said that oak was over a hundred years old, and that people used to bury something like "witches’ stashes" under it — a village legend she heard from her grandmother, the same one who wore long skirts even in the summer and yelled at cats.
God knows why he decided to dig there, but the find was genuinely unexpected.
He hadn’t told anyone about it. Not because he was scared — he just didn’t want to look stupid. He planned to show it only to Randy, mostly just for laughs — like, “look, straight out of an Aladdin movie, all that’s missing is smoke and a sexy slave.”
But then he got distracted by Melissa and forgot about it completely.
Now the lamp was in his hands.
The cold metal under his fingers felt almost damp, like it had soaked in the dampness of time.
Chet ran his thumb over the side, where the darkened patterns looked either Arabic or just made up. And before he could even think about what he was doing, he just wiped it a few times with his sleeve — slow, circular motions, three clockwise, three counterclockwise — smiling a little at the dumb action.
Suddenly, the whole room darkened — not all at once, but over a few seconds, during which the lamp began to tremble in his hands, as if something inside it had started to stir — something that hadn’t breathed in a very, very long time.
From the lamp’s spout, a thin, silvery smoke slipped out — but it didn’t rise up, it crawled along the floor, filling the air with a strange, sickly-sweet scent — jasmine, with a sharp metallic hint, like a soldering iron dipped in perfume.
Chet recoiled, but didn’t let go of the lamp — it felt like it was fused to his palm.
And then — a flash.
The moment he blinked, she was standing there in front of him, framed by trembling shadows.
Tall. Too beautiful. Terrifyingly perfect.
— No fucking way — slipped out of him instinctively, his mouth still open as he stared at her absurdly seductive figure.
She stood slightly arched, as if she had just been dancing a belly dance for someone. Her palms were raised — one above her head, the other lightly touching her face with the tips of long nails, hips tilted to one side, her head slightly bowed, as if frozen mid-dance.
Beneath a veil of mystical haze that still shimmered in the air like heat waves over asphalt, her body began to take shape — the kind of body real women simply don’t have. The kind you only see in photoshopped magazines or testosterone-fueled teenage fantasies.
Skin — warm, golden, smooth like a glossy magazine cover.
Hips — round, shamelessly wide.
Waist — tight and narrow.
Breasts — too big to be comfortable, but exactly the kind drawn on gamepads and posters pinned on Chet’s wall.
Her lips were slightly parted — plump, juicy, like they had just wrapped around a glass of wine… or something entirely different.
And then, after a moment that felt like eternity, she opened her eyes.
Slowly, like she wasn’t even sure she could.
Thick, long lashes fluttered. She blinked, once, then again, breathing in — each breath longer than the last — as she looked around Chet’s room, settling into a more natural human pose.
Then, as if realizing something, she slowly lowered her head and...
— What the... fuck... — she whispered.
Her voice was velvety, husky, sultry with a smoky rasp — but there was uncertainty in it, almost panic.
Her breasts — those two massive boulders — heaved under the sheer fabric, and she stared down at them.
It was like her gaze couldn’t register anything else — just the deep cleavage beneath that see-through top in some Eastern style, matching her long, equally sheer harem pants, which ended in two curled-toe shoes she definitely hadn’t noticed yet.
— Wh... what the fuck is this? — she blurted louder.
And that voice again... sexy, breathy.
She raised both hands and touched her tits — gently, with bewildered care, like she was afraid they were foam… or an illusion. But no, it was flesh.
Soft, pliable, heavy.
She gasped — not in pleasure, no — more like horror, from how... real it felt.
— Jesus... — she growled. — These... huge... tits? ON ME?!
Chet’s coughing — he’d choked from the shock of the sight — snapped her attention.
She jerked her head toward him, her long hair sliding across her delicate little shoulders, still cupping her heavy, oversized breasts in her hands, her long nails lightly digging into the tender flesh.
Chet immediately staggered half a step back and, slipping awkwardly, crashed down — thankfully, right onto his bed, so the fall turned out okay.
— Ow... — Chet wheezed, quickly scrambling up and locking eyes with the girl again. — Sorry... You... You’re a genie, right?...
The woman — too real, too outrageously out of place for a cluttered teenage room — flinched at his words.
Her hands were still gripping her tits, as if trying to confirm their existence, and only after a couple seconds did she slowly let go — the heavy flesh swayed, making her visibly shudder from the sensation.Full (All 11 parts (25 thousand characters) + one adult scene) story for subscribers available hereFull (All 11 parts (25 thousand characters) + one adult scene) story for subscribers available here