Inheriting a Genie (A Tale of Magic and Sex)

By John Rookwood

Liam was an ordinary guy with an ordinary life. That is, until his great grandfather died and left him a glass bottle. The bottle contained a gorgeous genie which Liam set free and now she wants to grant him three wishes. Wishes that have some limitations but will still change his life forever if he uses them right. But what should he wish for? What did his great grandfather wish for? Who else knows about the bottle? Can you have sex with a genie? Liam will learn the answers to all these questions and more, although not all of the answers are good ones...

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Rookwood
• Release date: May 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005023447

John Rookwood

'John' is a longtime fan of comic books and damsels in distress who has finally sat down and begun to pen his own stories with his 'Mastermind' series.

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Inheriting a Genie

Book 1: All That Jazz

by John Rookwood

Copyright © 2021 by John Rookwood

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to [e-mail]

Chapter One

I stared at the buxom woman in the skimpy harem-girl costume who had just appeared before me.

Say that again? I asked.

I am at your command, master, and will serve you until you have made your third wish. the woman repeated. Until my service is complete, you may ask me any questions and I will respond truthfully. Once the third wish is granted, my service will end and you can never again open my receptacle to summon me forth.

I glanced over at the bottle in question; I had thought it was a fancy decanter for booze that my great-grandfather had left me. It had arrived via courier service this morning in a straw-lined box that held both it and a tiny urn that was labeled with a small copper plaque that read; ‘partial remains of Eugene Michael Saunders’ along with his dates of birth and death. There had been a note that said simply: ‘To my favorite great-grandchild. Opening this bottle will give you the answers I never could.’

My great-Grandpa Eugene Saunders had died a few months before, having outlived great-Grandma May by well over a dozen years. He had made it to his one hundredth birthday before passing away in his sleep a little over three months later. It came as no shock to the family because of his age, but he hadn’t had any of the common ailments or conditions associated with a man of his very advanced years. One day he was fine, the next he was gone.

I had always been fond of him and called him ‘Grampy Gene’ as a kid, then again everyone seemed to call him that. I’d loved the old guy, and he had often told me stories about his years in the military during World War Two or about the weird customers who brought him cars to fix at the repair shop he opened after the war.

Grampy Gene hadn’t been a wealthy man, but he’d been comfortable and had left a will to divide up his estate between his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

Grampy Gene and May had two kids, eight grand kids and nearly two dozen great grandchildren, so I hadn’t expected much when a lawyer’s assistant called to confirm my address and informed me I had some inheritance coming to me. I received a check for a small sum, enough to cover my bills for a few months, and one of great-Grampa’s personal items. I thought he might have left me his pocket watch, the one he’d taken off a Nazi officer when Nuremberg fell to the Allies, or maybe some of his old coins.

Instead, when I opened the well-padded box today, I found a small urn the size of a baby food jar, and a large blue bottle. The glass decanter, as I thought of it, had a wide globular base with the glass shaped into a twisted fiery design, a short, wide neck and was topped with a tall cap in the shape of a blue flame.

I had seen the item in Grampy Gene’s liquor cabinet many times over the years and had thought it was just a bottle. Then I had opened it and the dark blue color faded to a lighter tone as azure smoke that smelled faintly of cinnamon swirled up from the opening and formed into the woman who stood before me now.

She was almost as tall as me, and I was six foot-one, with dark brown hair that hung down to her shoulders. Her face was attractive, even if her nose was a little large. The nose and her coppery skin tone made her look like she was of middle-eastern descent. It was obvious that she was well endowed under the gauzy light blue material that covered her upper torso, but her breasts were firm and hung well on her chest without the need of a bra. Her belly narrowed under her ribs and then her waist flared out, giving her a wonderful hour-glass figure.

There was a string of sparkling gems over her navel, and below that she wore sheer blue pants with gold trim. The legs of which were split down the sides and only barely concealed a gold-colored thong covering her intimate parts. On her feet were a pair of golden high-heeled shoes encircled by what looked like strings of small pearls.

Despite the absurdity of the situation, and my firm belief in science, her nature seemed clear.

You’re a genie… I half asked, half stated.

Indeed. she said with a wide smile.

A real genie? The kind who grants wishes… I continued.

Correct. she confirmed.

And I get three of them. I said, still dazed.

Yes. she said, seeming to be amused by my confusion, but trying to humor me nonetheless.

So… I can wish for anything? I asked, incredulous.

You may indeed wish for anything, master, however some things are beyond my power. she informed me, and I noticed her voice had an almost song-like quality to it.

What kind of limitations are we talking about? I asked, Is it like in the kid’s movie with the talking parrot?

Her brow knitted as she answered, "I know not of such a movie, but then I have not been out of my bottle in many decades. Regardless of