As You Wish 2

"What are you, exactly?" Zola asked the sinuous woman sitting on the edge of her bathtub. "Sorry if that's rude."

Samiya smiled, exposing two pointed, fang-like teeth that were somehow cute rather than intimidating. "It's not rude."

Zola was mid-shower, the curtain pulled aside so she could talk to Samiya. She scrubbed her armpits and once again noted how comfortable she'd become with Samiya so quickly. She didn't think it was a problem, but she made an effort to remain aware.

Samiya considered the question. The tall, lithe, hairless, copper-skinned woman lounging on the edge of the tub wore a silky green double-slit dress that revealed almost everything. She watched Zola wash, which somehow didn't bother either of them.

"In this time and place, I suppose you'd call me something like a genie," Samiya said.

"This time and place?"

"I'm from a desert and a culture long since extinct. They called me... the closest in sense is what some call a djinn, which is in some ways similar to what you'd call a genie. You might be more familiar with the ideas of a spirit, demon, or elemental." Samiya leaned against the tiled wall and didn't react to its chill. "None of those are quite right. It doesn't translate directly."

"Uh huh," Zola said.

She was a little concerned at Samiya's use of the word demon, but felt no sense of threat in the... week? since she'd met Samiya. The copper snake amulet on a plain leather cord, which Zola wore even now in the shower, was delivered to her apartment in anonymous packaging. She knew now that the amulet delivered itself under Samiya's guidance. Something about finding her way to those in need.

Samiya said she granted wishes. No limit to the number, so long as the wishes were sexual. Zola hadn't believed her at first because that was ridiculous - until it very suddenly wasn't.

Still, Zola hadn't made much use of Samiya's services yet. She'd tested her capability, and they'd had a painting session that still made Zola's heart race, but she was simply too busy. In fact, if she didn't finish this shower in the next three minutes, she risked missing her bus.

She turned and held out the soap. "Samiya, would you please wash my back?"

"As you wish," Samiya replied in a low, sultry hiss.

Zola hadn't wished - she'd only asked. Still, the moment Samiya's fingertips - warm as if by the desert sun - touched Zola's back, her shoulders twitched up, her breath caught, and a shiver ran down her back in time with Samiya's hands.

What was it about Samiya? Zola thought she wasn't attracted to women, so was it merely that she'd had no time for sex in years? Or something about Samiya's unconventional appearance, her utterly graceful and at-ease presence, the vaguely serpentine sense of quiet, confident sexuality that clung to her?

Samiya's touch was gently firm, and by the time the sinuous motion of warm hands reached the base of Zola's spine, she was wetter than just from the shower, and she ached to feel those hands continue lower.

Instead she stepped away with a sigh. Zola rinsed quick as she could, shut off the water, and tossed away her shower cap. "I wish I had time for this," she grumbled.

"This?"

"You know. Sex."

"As you wish," came Samiya's whisper, but when Zola turned around, the other woman had vanished.

"What does that mean?" Zola asked. Her voice cracked. "Samiya, what does that mean?"

Her phone buzzed from the edge of the sink. Zola leaned out of the shower, stretched her fingers, nearly slipped and fell out. It was an email. From her professor. Class was cancelled today, and the assignment due date extended to Friday morning.

Then a text message. Work cancelled tonight, too. The hotel owner wanted to work night audit, and since notice was so short, they'd pay her for the shift anyway.

Oh no. What had she done? Franca didn't work nights and professor Martin's class was never cancelled. What kind of awful, terrible things would force -

From behind, Samiya's hands and arms twined around Zola, beginning at her belly, one slithering up to her ribs just below her breast, the other snaking down to the top of her thigh. "You have time now," came a whisper in Zola's ear.

Zola grabbed Samiya's hands, stopped them from moving. "What did you do?"

Samiya's body pressed against her back so Zola could feel there was nothing underneath that thin green dress. "Everyone's safe, don't worry. No one is harmed. I'm careful with how I fulfill wishes."

Zola closed her eyes and put words to a thought she'd had once or twice, one she hadn't given any focus until now. "I feel like I can believe that. Trust you. Is that how I really feel or did you do that?"

Samiya's hands withdrew. Somehow, despite the tub being sized for one, Samiya slithered past to stand in front of Zola, and stared at her with vertically slitted eyes. "I have power over only sexual matters, and even in those, I can make you feel but not choose."

"But if you only have power over sexual matters than how did you make -"

"I didn't make them cancel or close. I ensured they would want to make these changes."

Samiya tried to move her hands, but Zola held firm. "How is that a sexual matter?"

"It is for you, and it is for them."

Okay. Zola didn't need to know exactly what that meant. But if her wish was granted, everyone was safe and happy, and she had twenty-four entire hours free, that meant...

She'd have time to do errands and a proper grocery run. That would take two, maybe three hours max. Meal prep for the week would be twenty minutes prep and the rest in the slow cooker, then portion out - call it an hour to be safe. While stew was on she could rework the assignment she wasn't happy with. That would take six, maybe eight hours to get it perfect. There might be enough time for a proper night's sleep, of course, maybe even catch up a little on what she'd missed. Oh, and she was almost done that romantasy book with the dragon barista, the one that was overdue by two weeks. If she was really strict and got everything else done, maybe she could finally take the time to curl up with a mug of -

"Why do I get the impression you're not planning to use the time I made for you for sex?" Samiya hissed from behind Zola. Did she feel a tongue flick her ear?

Zola stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a towel, tucked it in under her arms. "It's nice of you, but I'm behind on so many things. This won't be enough to fully catch up, but it's nice. Thanks."

She got dressed and ready to head out, purse and bags in hand. Samiya hovered in the shadows nearby, wearing an annoyed frown.

Zola didn't think to remove the snake amulet before she left home.

---

"This is not what I had in mind when I granted your wish."

Zola stood shivering by the fridge, two containers of greek yogurt in one hand while the other struggled to work the calculator app to determine which was the best value. Samiya sat atop the fridge, bare legs dangling, spread wide apart so she could lean down to watch Zola. If it weren't for the lip of the fridge, Zola would probably see everything.

"I know what you want the wish to have been," Zola said, nodding at one yogurt and putting the other back, "But one extra day isn't enough for me to forget everything and... well, you know."

She'd quickly determined that no one else could see or hear Samiya. The serpentine woman followed Zola around on her errands, lounging suggestively, trying to encourage Zola to go home and have some fun. No one else on the street or in the shops acknowledged in any way the copper-skinned woman in the barely-there dress that threatened to reveal everything at the slightest breeze.

Other people could still see and hear Zola, though. As much as she wanted to ask questions or tell Samiya off, she didn't want to look like a crazy person. She had to keep it subtle, not debate aloud the purpose of the wish.

"You know," said Samiya, leaning against a display of salsa with her chest thrust out, "My magic only works for sexual wishes."

"Uh huh." Zola nodded and reached around Samiya to grab a jar of queso. "And?"

"And if your wish turns out to not have been sexual in nature, it will undo itself."

Zola jolted at the thought. If she was out shopping when the wish undid itself, or working on her assignment, and suddenly class and work were back on and she was missing them...

A man who looked oddly familiar - no, like doctor Genarro from Prairie Hospital - passed Zola and gave her a hesitant smile. Had he heard her talking to Samiya? Did he think she was crazy?

She took a few steps down the aisle and pretended to look at eggs. "I don't know how I can focus on anything sexual when I'm worried that if I stop, I'll suddenly be late for un-canceled work," Zola hissed.

Samiya winked. "Just wish for it."

She frowned. "What?"

"Wish you could have fun being sexual and not worry about anything else for the next twelve hours."

Well, that would work, but she wouldn't get everything done. Still, she had a week now to re-do the assignment, and with what she had in her shopping basket, she wouldn't have to order delivery or takeout for a while even if she didn't do a full cook.

She paused and frowned. "Wait. You can make me not think about things? Didn't you say you can't make me do things? What are the rules about free will or bodily autonomy or whatever?"

Samiya sighed and leaned lightly on Zola's back. "You can wish anything about yourself, since it's your free choice to do so. You could, say, wish to be attracted to someone you aren't, because no one's forcing you to make that wish. It's a bit more complicated with other people. You can wish for people to feel things, but they get to choose what to do about those feelings. Or you can wish to change them in ways they'll enjoy. I don't have defined limits or rules, exactly - I choose not to force things because it's gross and unfun."

"How do you know what they'll enjoy?"

"Magic."

"Hmmm." She put some eggs in her basket. "Well, okay. I wish I could forget about everything else and enjoy being sexual for the rest of the day."

Samiya snorted and chuckled.

"What?"

"Since I'm doing this to help you, I'll give you this one chance to think that wish through before I grant it."

"But it's what you said I should do."

"Right. Where are you?"

Still in the grocery store, basket in hand. Yes, she knew. So what -

Oh.

"Um, okay, thank you, Samiya. I'll, um." How could she make sure the wish and her time were safe without getting into trouble? "I wish to be kind of low-key turned on and excited to get home for more?"

"As you wish."

Zola shuffled to the checkout line, her face flushed hot. She ended up directly behind the older man who looked like the hot doctor. Zola tried not to imagine what she'd be doing right now if she'd wished away all her inhibitions for sex reasons. Instead she shifted from foot to foot and considered what she wanted to do when she got home.

As she checked out, it occurred to her that maybe there was still a way to get done what she needed to do while fulfilling the conditions of her original wish.

---

By the time Zola arrived home, she felt quite a bit more than "low-key" turned on. Her bus ride had been full of ideas.

She touched the amulet hanging just above her breast. "You didn't, um, turn it up or anything, did you?"

Samiya stepped out from behind her, those little fangs visible behind her lips. "No. That's all you."

She was about ready to strip and touch herself right there at the door. Still didn't mind Samiya being nearby for this, somehow, but today Zola wanted something different. "Can you make, um. People?"

Samiya licked her lips with her exceptionally long tongue and smiled. "It wouldn't be a true person, simply a magical construct that behaves the way you wish. But yes, I can do anything you desire."

"It's... kind of embarrassing."

"No, it's not."

Zola paused, her arousal briefly forgotten. "Not sure you get to decide what's embarrassing for me."

Her hands were enveloped in Samiya's warm, dry, smooth touch. "I'm here to grant your every and deepest wish. You do have to speak them aloud, but I will never judge you, the magic knows your intent no matter how you speak it, and you are always safe with me." The snakelike slit eyes should have made Samiya's statement seem not-quite-trustworthy, but they didn't.

"Okay," Zola said. She still had to close her eyes, but with her hands in Samiya's, she could say it. "I wish for Doctor Genarro from Prairie Hospital to cook for me. He wants me - badly - but he needs to get the cooking done first. And he's wearing only an apron. And -" and why was this the difficult part - "and I want to be alone for this."

"As you wish," said Samiya. With another thin-lipped smile and a slow wink, she released Zola's hands, slunk slowly behind her with her fingertips trailing up Zola's arms, and she was gone.

"One creamy chicken stew coming right up."

Zola nearly jumped out of her socks at the over-enunciated masculine voice. Only its familiarity prevented panic.

Doctor Genarro stood before her, that cocky asymmetrical smile on his face, grey streaks shining in his perfectly swept-back hair. As requested, he wore nothing but an apron, striped to emphasize his narrow waist and broad chest and thighs. Genarro reached out thick, hairy arms to accept Zola's shopping bags. His fingers lingered on her arms. When he turned to the kitchen, his shapely bare ass swayed and rolled with his steps.

"I'd much prefer to be over there with you, but I've got a lot of work to do," he said as he put on a pot to boil and tore into the package of chicken. "You relax. I'll join you later. In the meantime, have some fun, if you like." He winked and began breaking down the bird.

Zola's sense of uncanniness began to fade, replaced by a simmering heat. It was a shock to turn around and find a strange man in her apartment - but he wasn't that strange, was he? She'd watched a hundred episodes of Genarro developing from a cocky always-right jerk with a drinking problem to an infuriatingly charming always-right bad boy recovering from a drinking problem. In a way, she felt she knew Genarro better than most of the people in her life.

So as he stood there with his back to her - his strong back, with his ass hanging out and jiggling in time with his knife strokes - Zola soon realized she was entranced.

She felt her lips part as her breath deepened. Her kitchen wasn't much to look at - just the wall of the large area that also served as living room, dining room, office, and painting studio, everything crammed together to optimize for herself alone.

Genarro hummed quietly to himself as he prepped, with brief pauses each time he glanced at Zola longingly over his shoulder. The song was an old showtune he'd admitted a weakness for in season two episode seven. He wasn't great at it, but the low hum filled the apartment so that Zola could almost feel it in her body.

She was certainly feeling something in her body. She kicked off her shoes and took a few steps to the only place to sit: a big, beat-up old armchair. It shifted and creaked as she sat down, drawing Genarro's focus. He looked over his shoulder, traced the curves of her body with his eyes lingering here and there, then smiled with that one slightly-crooked tooth. He flexed his butt and returned to humming.

Half-aware of her hand drifting toward her lower belly, Zola watched. A few vague musings about this Genarro not being real drifted away as she watched his arms and the dimples above his ass.

This was like... a dream she could control. This was her wish. No judgment, and the wish would follow her meaning and desire rather than only her spoken words. Genarro would know what she wanted and act accordingly. And what she wanted...

Okay. She'd put her wish to the test.

She shifted, let her butt slide to the front of the chair, slouched down. Zola hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her tights, hesitated a few moments while she watched Genarro cut and hum and sway. She closed her eyes for another moment, took a breath, and pulled her tights and underwear down her thighs.

She opened her eyes to find Genarro paused, looking over his shoulder with that crooked-toothed smile. "Wow," he said under his breath, eyes wide. "Fuck I wish I could join you." He struggled to pull his eyes back to the cutting board. "Have fun, but don't wear yourself out."

Wow was right. The way he looked at her with deep craving and awe, but the self-control and restraint to keep cooking for her... wow. Samiya spoke the truth: the magic knew what she wanted.

Zola touched the copper snake amulet hanging around her neck. "Now I wish I could forget about my responsibilities for the day." The amulet pulsed, almost like flesh.

She could feel her inhibitions melting off her, like shedding a skin that was tighter than she'd realized. One hand drifted across her thigh, the other to the side of her neck. She watched Genarro, the motion of his knife work in his shoulder blades, his ass, the flex of his calves. Instead of worrying about whether the stew would take too much time away from rewriting her assignment, she thought of how his hands would feel in place of hers. Larger, warmer, smooth and firm.

Her fingers brushed aside a bit of hair she hadn't had time to care about shaving, but she knew he wouldn't mind, and - Christ, she was wet. Zola slid two fingers down her lips, shivered and sucked in a breath.

"God, that's hot," Genarro muttered.

She opened her eyes, and - yes, he was sneaking glimpses, and yes he was talking about her. Heat rushed through her body, settled in her cheeks and between her legs.

Zola slid a finger into herself briefly, gasped again. She withdrew, shifted again to kick off her tights and spread her legs. Him watching her only turned her on more. The way she could tease him while he worked for her. She rubbed her neck and her jaw, imagining his touch. She stroked her clit with the lightest touch of her slick finger, tilted her head back, and groaned.

She could tell she wouldn't last long, but given how pent up she'd been for so long, Zola had no desire to draw this out. Her clit was so sensitive that the light circling of her middle finger might as well have been her vibe on its highest setting.

She felt herself plant her feet and arch her back. One hand on her cheek, the other flicking back and forth, she watched the front of Genarro's apron begin to rise, occasionally twitching. He dumped bones into the pot, listened, washed his hands, snuck glances, and had to take a small step back from the counter as the bulge in his apron grew. She couldn't quite see his erection, hidden by striped fabric, but that only made it more tantalizing.

The pressure built. Her clit throbbed beneath her finger. She clenched her teeth and her legs but she couldn't hold back any longer. An explosive wave of heat burst through her. The tension broken, her legs felt weak. She quivered and slid to the edge of the armchair.

She lay there, breathing hard, eyes closed, butt hanging off the edge of her seat. Her hand was still on her cheek, and now she felt someone else's hand on her other cheek, cupping her gently, large and warm and soft. She opened her eyes to find Genarro standing beside her chair, leaning in. His cheeks were flushed red and his smile was wide. The bulge from his apron rested near her elbow on the arm of the chair.

"Good girl," he said, and kissed her forehead.

Zola bit her lip and nearly came again.

He turned away and stepped back to the kitchen. "I wish the stock had more time to develop, but it'll thicken up nicely when everything else goes in and simmers for a while." His voice cracked a bit on 'thicken up'. He started washing and peeling the carrots, potatoes, onions, and greens.

Zola lounged in her seat, still fully exposed, appreciating this whole situation. How lucky was she to have Samiya providing this for her, giving her the time to let go and enjoy herself while a hot, literal fantasy man cooked for her? The pot of stew would take a few hours, but it would be ready for her to take to class and work with her the next -

No. She shouldn't think about that. Not the point of this.

Zola let those thoughts slide away, lubricated by her wish. Instead she focused on the time the stew would take to simmer. That time could be a lot of fun. And maybe she could have some fun before that, too.

She let herself slide out of the chair and pushed herself to her feet. She stepped slowly toward Genarro, still wearing only her long-sleeved top. She let her hips sway, bottomless, doing her best to distract him.

He glanced once, then did a double-take back, raised an eyebrow and gave her a grin. But he went back to chopping.

Zola stood behind him. She put her hands on his shoulders. He felt real. The small hairs on his back, the muscles shifting beneath his skin. She ran her palms down his spine, slid her arms around his waist, under the apron where it was warm. She held herself against his bare back and legs and butt, felt him flex and press into her.

She considered letting her hands fall further, to investigate what he had beneath the apron, now growing stiff again.

"Not just yet," he said, voice catching just slightly. "As much as I want to, I need to get this done for you."

She rested her cheek against his back for a moment and felt a smile on her lips. Zola wished she could have this in her life all the time. She didn't wish it aloud, though. It was more of a thrilled craving - Genarro was fun to fantasize about, not a long-term thing.

She withdrew, stepped aside, pulled herself up to sit on the counter next to him. It was cool on her ass, and the cabinets above were a little too low to sit comfortably, but she leaned forward on the edge and watched Genarro work.

He eyed the curve of her butt, her bare legs pressed together to hide what lay between them. "Careful," she teased, "You're still cutting."

"Right," he said. "Wouldn't want to lose a finger."

Zola shifted a little closer, let her legs part for just a moment so he could see, briefly. "You could lose one inside me later. Or two."

The knife hit the board hard, cleaving a carrot in two. "I'm not sure I'll have the patience, if you know what I mean."

She inched closer, peered down to see if - yes, she was having an effect on him. Genarro leaned against the counter, but she could see his apron pitched out. From this angle beside him, she could again almost see underneath, but the fabric and shadow clung infuriatingly. Zola wondered if he was the way she imagined when she watched his steamy scenes.

Well. She could find out.

She eased off the counter and didn't hit her head on the cabinets. She put her hands on his hips and moved behind him again, pressed her waist to his ass, their curves fitting perfectly together. This time she did slide her hands under his apron, felt his hip bones and the tops of his thighs.

"Don't want this stew done?" he asked.

"Teasing," she replied. "Keep going. Just a little distraction."

She reached lower and... Christ, it was as big as she imagined. She heard Genarro inhale sharp through his nose as her fingertips explored the base of his shaft, alighted on his balls. He twitched in her hand, pulsed with need under her touch.

For a moment Zola worried he wouldn't fit inside her, then recalled once again that the wish would conform to her intent. No matter his size, he would fit, and she would enjoy it.

With that in mind, she grinned and teased him slowly, working her hand up and down his shaft with her lightest touch, cupped and cradled his balls in her other hand.

She felt his every response. Through her palms she felt his pulse accelerate. Her hips felt him pull forward and away to meet her hands. Her fingertips felt him throb in time with her strokes.

His knife strokes slowed and his breath quickened. Zola grinned to herself at how quickly she'd got him to this point. As he throbbed in her hands, she imagined how it would feel inside her.

"I'm close," he whispered.

"The stew?" she asked as her hands worked. "Or the other thing?"

"Both," he moaned.

He tightened, stiffened, and burst against the apron. Zola felt every pulse and twitch and throb as she cradled him, rubbed softly, teased out every last drop. "I wish there was nothing to clean up," she whispered to the amulet on her chest, and it became true. Clean. Dry. No sticky mess.

Genarro slumped a bit, leaned on the counter. "I think I'm in love with your hands," he breathed over his shoulder.

"That's not even my best part," she replied. Nearly laughed at herself, but the way he looked at her, like he needed her to prove it... If she wasn't wet again already, she'd be well on her way.

"I'd love to find out," he said, "as soon as I get everything in the pot."

Zola groaned and withdrew her hands. "You're really making me wait for this."

"You want the stew, don't you?" he said with another smile, emphasizing the grey streaks in his beard.

She leaned against his back, watching around his shoulder as he tossed chicken in flour, measured additional spices, and carefully dumped everything into the pot.

"There," he said, "Simmer for minimum two hours - at least six is best - and you have your meals for the week."

She nodded and looked up into his eyes. "Thank you. Now do me."

"As you wish."

He turned, bent down, and grabbed her ass with flour-covered hands, sure to leave white marks on her skin. He lifted her off her feet and rested her on his hip. Zola laughed and kicked her legs.

Genarro buried his face in her shoulder. Thick, soft lips kissed their way up her neck, along her jaw, her ear. She could feel the bulge in his apron under her ass, so thick and firm it might be doing half the work of holding her up.

"Can you reach the tie behind my neck?" he asked her.

"Mhm." She tugged at the apron's strings.

"And down my back?"

That was tougher, but she could reach under his arms and tug those away, too. The front of the apron fell, exposing his chest streaked with greying hair. She placed her hands there, felt the rise and fall of his breath. For a moment she wondered how to get the rest of the apron out from underneath her, then remembered and touched the amulet. "I wish the apron was gone."

And it was. She could feel the heat of his erection twitching under her, begging for her to let him in, desperate for her permission. Zola pitched her hips back and forth, intending to tease him for a while - but as she rubbed his head against her lips and clenched it with her ass, she realized she couldn't wait.

With one hand she held his neck, and with the other she reached down to guide him. He was long, and thick, but she was soaked and she trusted the wish. With a deep breath, she let herself down, supported by his hips and hands.

She took him in far more easily than she expected. A moan ripped its way out of her chest, deep and almost animalistic. She couldn't imagine a better feeling, a more perfect fit, churning inside her like it was - well, it was made for her.

Zola stopped, full exactly to her limit. She trembled and gripped Genarro tight with both her legs and her arms, pressed herself against him as he held her up. She felt that if she moved, it would be over, and she wasn't ready for that.

Genarro waited patiently and whispered half-heard sweetness about how well she was doing, how good she was. Each breath Zola took moved him inside her just a little, and soon enough, her legs were shaking and she could barely hold on.

She quivered and clenched involuntarily and she felt him with a whole new level of detail as she came in his arms. He held her and stroked her head and told her he was proud of her.

Zola stayed there in a contented haze, still full with him. Genarro never tired of holding her, never grew impatient, never asked or begged her to let him finish. She wasn't sure why he praised her, or why she responded this way, especially when she hadn't wished for it - but it made her feel warm and safe and good. Must be the magic of the wish knowing what she meant, even when she didn't.

At some point the words "I wish I could stay like this for hours" may have escaped her lips, because the kitchen timer went off. Zola blinked and realized it was getting dark. And the quietly simmering pot smelled heavenly.

For a short moment she forgot where she was and tried to stand, then was very quickly reminded he was still inside her. Still erect, still filling her to the limit. She gasped, anticipating aches or pains, but instead shivered with thrill and pressed her hips into him, pulling him just a little bit deeper.

"Are you ready for me to move?" Genarro asked.

"Yes," Zola nearly screamed.

He lifted her up, then lowered her back down. That single motion made her moan uncontrollably. Genarro kissed her deep, his lips containing the moan inside her, letting it build. He thrust slowly, gently, each movement impossibly filling her ever more, until she threw her head back and her vision went dark at the edges and she clenched him so hard she was sure he'd scream and he did but not that way. He burst inside her and she felt every drop gush and fill and drip but never hit the floor.

He held Zola for a long while.

At some point he carried her to the armchair and tucked her in under a blanket. She felt pleasantly buzzed, dazed, unable but unwilling to think of anything beyond this perfect evening.

By the time her stomach rumbled and the scent of stew roused her, Genarro was gone. Zola reached below the blanket; as she'd wished earlier, there was nothing to clean up, neither on her body nor in the kitchen. Before the wish expired, Genarro had cleaned and lined up containers for her to pack the stew. And one dinner setting.

Stew could wait a little longer. Zola closed her eyes, snuggled into the blanket, and held the body-warm amulet above her breast.

She could get used to this.