The Djinn’s Wish Waylon #5
I doubled my efforts, hollowing my cheeks and working my tongue along the underside of his cock.
The half-orc, too, was approaching his peak, his internal muscles clenching around me in irregular spasms. I was caught between them, giving and receiving pleasure from both ends, my own orgasm building steadily in my core.
The sprite came first, a flood of cool, slightly sweet liquid filling my mouth. I swallowed reflexively, surprised by the pleasant taste, like honeyed water. His body shimmered more intensely as he climaxed, tiny droplets of water forming on his skin like morning dew.
The half-orc followed soon after, his cock pulsing in my hand as he painted my chest with thick ropes of cum.
The sight and sensation of him clenching around my cock pushed me over the edge.
I thrust upward, burying myself as deep as possible inside him as my own orgasm crashed through me.
Wave after wave of intense pleasure radiated outward, making my toes curl and my vision blur momentarily.
For several heartbeats, we remained frozen in our tableau of satisfaction, connected and panting. Then slowly, the half-orc lifted himself off me, my softening cock slipping free with a wet sound. The sprite collapsed beside me on the bench, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“That’s a good cock,” the half-orc said, giving me a wink. “I’ll want to ride that again some day.”
“You’re welcome to it,” I nodded, relishing the thought.
A small round of applause broke out among our audience, followed by laughter and calls for an encore.
I grinned, giving a mock bow from my reclined position.
The sprite and half-orc exchanged a look, then both leaned in to plant kisses on my cheeks simultaneously before disappearing back into the crowd.
I lay there for a moment, catching my breath, cum cooling on my chest. Someone handed me a warm, damp towel. It was a small courtesy that was part of what made this place special. I cleaned myself off, then stood on slightly shaky legs.
I hadn’t even made it to the glory holes yet.
But right now, I was feeling like I needed a little break.
The orgasm was so good that it felt like it had sapped my strength for the moment.
Grabbing my towel, I headed toward the stairs, ready to find out what was in that private room Brad had set up for me.
The stairwell leading down to the private rooms was dimly lit, the red glow casting everything in an ethereal light.
My skin was still tingling from the encounter upstairs, my body relaxed but my mind buzzing with curiosity.
What kind of surprise would be waiting for me?
And why had Brad arranged it? Getting tips from clients was typically rare, but a surprise?
I felt like a kid heading downstairs for Christmas.
The lower level corridor stretched before me, numbered doors lining both sides.
Unlike the main bathhouse area, it was quiet down here, the thick walls designed to give privacy to whatever happened behind those doors.
I glanced around, realizing that Brad hadn’t told me which room number was mine.
But he said it would only open for me… so maybe I should just try them all?
As I walked down the hall, I noticed something strange. At the very end, past where Brad and I had worked earlier, was another door I hadn’t seen before. It was unmarked, with no number, just a simple wooden door that seemed out of place among the modern design of the rest of the bathhouse.
Something pulled me toward it, an inexplicable magnetism or curiosity, I wasn’t sure which. As I approached, I could feel a warmth emanating from it, like standing near a fire. My skin prickled with goosebumps despite the heat.
“This has to be it,” I muttered to myself, reaching for the handle.
The moment my fingers touched the warm metal handle, there was a soft click and the door swung inward on silent hinges. Brad had said the door would only open for me, and apparently he wasn’t kidding.
Steam billowed out, carrying with it a scent I couldn’t quite place—something ancient and exotic, like incense and spices I’d never encountered before. The room beyond was filled with a soft, blue-green light that seemed to pulse gently, as if alive.
I stepped inside, and the door closed behind me with a muffled thud. The room was larger than I expected, with a sunken pool in the center that seemed to be the source of the light. The water bubbled gently, steam rising in lazy curls that danced in the air.
Unlike the other pools I’d seen in the bathhouse, this one wasn’t lined with tile.
Instead, it appeared to be carved from a single piece of dark stone, smooth and polished like obsidian.
The walls of the room were painted with strange golden symbols I didn’t recognize.
They looked like some sort of language, but not one I’d ever laid eyes on.
In the center of the pool, rising from the water like some ancient monument, was a stone pedestal.
And on that pedestal sat a single object.
It was an ornate oil lamp that looked like it had been plucked straight from the pages of Arabian Nights.
It was golden, with intricate engravings covering every inch, and a small flame flickered at its spout, casting a dancing warm glow in the steam.
“What the hell?” I whispered, letting my towel drop to the floor as I approached the edge of the pool.
The water was perfectly clear despite its luminescence, and I could see that it wasn’t very deep. Maybe three feet at most, making it a soaking pool. The temperature seemed perfect as I dipped my toe in, warm enough to be inviting but not hot enough to scald.
I stepped into the pool, the water embracing my legs like silk.
It felt different from regular water somehow.
It was thicker, more substantial, as if it had weight and presence beyond what water should have.
As I waded toward the pedestal, ripples spread outward, catching the light and creating patterns of gold and blue across the surface.
The lamp seemed to grow more captivating with each step I took toward it. The flame burned steadily despite the water and steam surrounding it, defying all logic. Something about it called to me, an irresistible urge to touch it, to hold it in my hands.
When I reached the pedestal, I paused, suddenly uncertain. This was strange, even for a supernatural bathhouse. Part of me wondered if this was some elaborate prank, or maybe a test of some kind. Brad didn’t seem the type to trick me and in the end, curiosity won out.
I reached out and wrapped my fingers around the lamp. It was warm to the touch, vibrating slightly as if something inside was stirring. The engravings seemed to shift under my fingertips, rearranging themselves into patterns I couldn’t follow.
The moment my skin made full contact with the metal, the flame at the spout flared dramatically, shooting upward in a column of blue fire that reached the ceiling. I stumbled backward, nearly falling into the water, but I couldn’t let go of the lamp. It was as if my hand was fused to its surface.
The pillar of flame began to twist and contort, taking shape before my eyes.
First a torso emerged, broad-shouldered and powerful.
Then arms, legs, and finally a head with features that were both beautiful and terrible in their perfection.
The blue flame solidified, becoming blue skin that gleamed like polished sapphire in the golden light.
Before me floated a being unlike any I’d ever seen.
He, for it was definitely male, was at least seven feet tall, with a physique that would make Greek statues weep with inadequacy.
His skin was a deep cerulean blue that shifted in tone like the surface of the ocean.
Golden jewelry adorned his wrists, neck, and ears, each piece inlaid with gems that caught the light.
His face was striking. He had angular features, high cheekbones, and eyes that glowed with an inner fire.
His dark hair was surrounded by an elaborate golden headdress that curled away from his temples like horns.
And his cock. Holy fuck… It was thick, veined, uncut, and absolutely stunning with a thick gold ring pierced through the tip.
“Holy shit,” I breathed, unable to form a more coherent thought.
The being smiled, revealing teeth that were just a shade too white and perhaps a bit too sharp. “Not quite,” he said, his voice resonating with power that I could feel in my bones. “Though I have been called many things over the centuries.”
I stood frozen, lamp still clutched in my hand, water lapping at my thighs. This was no shifter or vampire or any other supernatural being I’d encountered in my work. This was something else entirely.
“You may call me Azir,” he announced, his voice echoing despite the small space. “Djinn of the Seventh Realm, Keeper of Forgotten Pleasures, and now...” he bowed deeply, one arm sweeping across his bare chest, “temporarily your humble servant.”
I swallowed hard, my mind racing to catch up with what my eyes were seeing.
A djinn. An actual fucking djinn had just materialized from this lamp.
I’d heard stories about them, of course.
Who hadn’t? But they were supposed to be incredibly rare, almost extinct in the modern world and mostly lost to the sands of time.
“My... servant?” I finally managed, my voice embarrassingly weak.
Azir floated closer, his feet never touching the water. He circled me slowly, his eyes traveling over my naked body with unabashed appreciation.
“Indeed,” he purred. “You have awakened me from my slumber by touching my vessel. As is the ancient covenant, I am bound to grant you a single wish.” His lips curled into a smile that was both inviting and dangerous. “Anything your heart desires, anything your soul craves... it shall be yours.”