Sorry for the long delay! This week (hell, this whole month) has been a shit show for me, and I haven’t had much time to get any writing done in the meantime. If you want more details, I posted a bit about it over on my Patreon.
What Timothy tried to say, was, “All I wish for is some time to relax.”
What came out of his mouth instead, though, was, “All I wish for is some big cigars to smoke.”
Sure, the grammar wasn’t perfect, but the genie was plenty happy with the notion to get things rolling. Timothy was much too buttoned up for his liking, and a nice smoke had a way of helping even the most stuck-in-the-mud fellows loosen up a little bit. Timothy, on the other hand, was looking a bit confused, running the words back in his mind, trying to connect the dots on why in the world he had just said that. Before he could think too hard though, the genie snapped his fingers, and several cigars appeared on Timothy’s desk in front of him.
“No, wait…I didn’t really mean that, I don’t want those,” Timothy said, you can…”I wish those cigars weren’t there anymore.”
He tried at least. “I wish those cigars were irresistible,” Timothy said, and before he could do anything about it, he picked one up, smelled it, and gave a little excited sigh. Something…about a cigar just always made him so happy, he just couldn’t seem to resist them, no matter how hard he tried.
He stood up from the desk with a cigar in hand, and the genie looked at him funny. “Where are you going Master?”
“Oh, I can’t smoke these in here, especially not as an RA!”
“Of course you can, Master, all it takes is a little wish,” the genie said with a wink, and Timothy smiled at him.
“I wish I could smoke these cigars in my room without getting in trouble,” he meant to say, looking a bit smug–but the genie slipped in a few extra words without him noticing:
“I wish I could smoke these cigars and jack off in my room without getting in trouble,” he said, sat back down in his chair, opened up the fly of his pants, grabbed the cigar cutter and lighter that had appeared on his desk without him noticing. He prepped the cigar while the genie just watched, and smiled. He lit it, taking his time like he had done it hundreds of times before, with just a little knowledge planted in his mind by the genie, lit up, and then sat back with a sigh. He reached into his underwear and hauled out his cock, stroking it slowly and smoking like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Curious, you do seem to be enjoying that quite a bit, Master,” the genie said, and drifted a bit closer, “Alas, I never quite understood the appeal of them myself. You certainly seem to be enjoying those cigars quite a lot, however,” he added, indicating Timothy’s hard cock.
“Yeah, I…I don’t really know why,” Timothy said, “Smoking a cigar has just…just always gotten me hard I suppose…”
“That’s very interesting,” the genie said, drifting a bit closer. He could sense that Timothy was a bit…nervous, jacking off in front of him, but with a little magic, he helped set Timothy’s mind at ease, and he sped up a bit, moaning, a thick plume of smoke escaping his mouth as he did. “It is a rather…masculine activity, don’t you think?”
“Fuck, yeah, I guess that’s part of it,” Timothy said.
“Something associated with masculinity, yes,” the genie said, “I can see why you would want to feel that way, Master.”
“What do you mean?” Timothy said, and the genie just smiled.
“Well, you are certainly a man, don’t get me wrong, but you are also, well…I don’t wish to insult you Master, is all, but you aren’t…”
“Are you saying I smoke cigars because I’m not a real man?”
“Of course not Sir.”
The thought had been planted though, and when Timothy looked in the mirror, he had to admit it was a bit comical. He wasn’t the sort of guy who he imagined smoked cigars after all, especially not ones this size. It was too big for his face, almost…or it would look fine, if the rest of him was bigger. He wasn’t…scrawny exactly, but certianly thin. Lean, was the kind term, but for the first time in his life, he found himself questioning whether he…liked his body, really. What if he was more muscular? What if he was hairier? What if he was just…bigger, somehow? A big man, someone who he imagined would be smoking cigars like this?
The genie could feel the thought forming, and knew he didn’t have to do anything more. Timothy kept stroking, kept thinking, kept imaging, getting closer and closer to cumming as he smoked, and finally, he said, “Fuck it, I wish I was a big man.”
The genie grinned–such a vague wish! So many directions he could take that one, with a few twists.
Here’s your poll for the next chunk of Timothy’s story! You can find the bonus poll for Patrons over here as well.
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