He had toiled and troubled for months, searching the old texts, assembling the old magics, working alone and in secret until John had done it. John had made a magic lamp, the kind like one would see in any number of Genie stories. Drab and bronze, it’s handle was simple, and its spout was bent and almost looked like a cheap toy. But then, it wasn't what was on the outside that mattered, but what was inside that counts. That's what the movies said, anyway. There was one last ingredient that was missing: the Genie herself. According to the ancient scrolls, though, the lamp would take care of that itself. All John had to do was get someone to rub the vessel and they would become the Genie, bound forever to the lamp, forced forever to serve and obey the lamp's owner, which John intended to be himself.
John carefully put on a pair of gloves and grabbed the lamp. Then he stepped outside and went looking for his new Genie. He trekked down the steps of his apartment building, careful to keep the lamp close to him. It was precious to him.
But the universe is a place full of irony, and then the thing John was trying to avoid happened. After tripping over something, one of his gloves fell off and as an involuntary gesture, he grabbed the lamp, not realizing that his glove had fallen off.
A few seconds later, he realized his mistake, but it was too late to do anything about it. He was the one who rubbed the lamp, and so he would be the lamp's Genie. It was of no use to cry or shout. He could not be helped. The only possible hope for John was to run, and he turned back to his apartment. But the magic of the lamp was already too overbearing. He could not make it more than a step before he felt an invisible force reach out and grab John. An invisible force that stopped him in midstep. An invisible force that began to wrap around John and change his body.
The first change to John were the golden bracelets/shackles that clasped around his wrists. The golden jewelry was inscribed by strange, swirling script. Script that proclaimed that he was a Genie; a slave to magic. A being that was bound to serve and obey any that held the lamp. John had never experience dread like this before in his life. For he realized his life was over. Genies could not be freed; once enslaved, they would serve forever. His friends, his family, even his name, were to be nothing but memories to him.
His shirt then shriveled up into a sleeveless green vest, short and lined by gold tassels. His jeans blossomed into translucent pantaloons. Golden slippers wrapped around his feet. And for a moment, John was calm. If this was . . .
A pang struck him, radiating from his chest.
No, no, no, please, no, he thought. But when he looked down, a bra had appeared across his chest, binding and containing newly developed, luscious breasts. Hair receded across his body, leaving his arms, chest, legs, and other places bare, while his blonde hair darkened to a chestnut brown and grew long and curled. His hands and shoulders pulled inward and thinned, his waist transforming to give John a nearly impossible hourglass figure. And then his manhood melted away, sucked into his body like water down a drain.
A veil crossed his face and makeup marked his eyes, giving John a sultry, exotic gaze. How his Masters would lust for him.
And then everything was done. There was stillness. John's body, John's clothes had completed their metamorphosis. He, or she, was bound to a lamp of her own creation. She was a Genie now, and for all time. She looked down at her lamp. It had fallen during the change. It seemed brighter now, as if it cast its own light.
Maybe, maybe if Genie could hide her lamp, she could live a normal life. Right? Genie's only served those who held their lamp, and if no one held her lamp, she would be free. That made sense. John reached down to grab the lamp, but the moment that her now-delicate hand touched it, it felt like touching hot coals. Apparently, Genies were not allowed to hold or even touch their own lamps. "Then how am I going to get free?" John whined aloud.
"Is someone back there?" Someone asked.
John looked around for a place to hide, desperate not to be seen in wanting to be seen and mistaken for a Genie. Perhaps it was her desire to hide that triggered the lamp, or perhaps it was simply not done with its new Genie, for the invisible force that had held John from running now pulled her toward it. It made her burst into blue and purple dust, and it made her swirl into the lamp to be trapped by it. But there would be no respite for John. No rest, for she had intended to be wicked.
"Hey, what's this?" The same voice asked from outside the lamp. There were no shadows, just a vague sense that a Master was nearby. Master . . . the word came to John involuntarily and sent a chill along her spine. The feeling, though, was to be short lived. The lamp rocked, and John rocked with it. A compulsion now welled inside it her. Her Master was calling, and it was her duty to obey.
Once again, she was smoke, and once again that sucking feeling, and once again John was outside. And there it was that someone stood in front of her, holding her lamp. Her new master was . . .