#genie of the lamp | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fredwkong · 10 months

Text

Genie: Marcus’s Wishes

Click here to see the genie’s first master.

Marcus wasn’t your average jockboy. In school, he had been the class queer, marked for bullying because of his femme interests and gay voice. Worse, because he was one of the only Black kids. At university, he’d caught the iron bug and gotten huge, but kept the femininity, too. Nowadays, even with his powerful bod and handsome face, he still got dirty looks for his paisley shirts, peppy attitude, and swishy walk.

It was somewhere around 3 AM, and Marcus was feeling well and truly used. He hadn’t been topped like Mr. Peters had topped him in… he didn’t know how long. The Daddy dom’s husband, Lars, had told Marcus that the couple never double dipped on a guy, which sucked, but Marcus had more than enough wank material from this night alone to get him through.

Lars, still naked, followed the half-dressed Marcus to the living room. Mr. Peters was lounging on the balcony upstairs, smoking. Lars was giving Marcus the instructions for getting to the main street in his thick German accent. The other boys had left a few hours ago to catch the last busses home.

Something caught Marcus’s eye in the dimly lit room. A glint of light off of brass, an old, traditional lamp sitting next to Mr. Peters’ humidor. “What’s that?” Marcus asked.

Lars looked at the lamp like he’d never seen it before. “Some object of Daddy’s,” he grunted. “You like it?”

“It’s beautiful.” Marcus was living in his own place for the first time, and he was starting to decorate. He drifted over and lifted up the lamp. He could base a whole room off of its aesthetics.

“Take it.” Lars waved away Marcus’s half-made protestation. “If Daddy thought it was important he would tell me,” said the German model. “It clashes with our decor.” He moved closer, and growled in Marcus’s ear, “You deserve a present for being such a good slut.”

An hour later, Marcus crashed into bed, not bothering to undress or unpack his bag, leaving the lamp in his gym duffel.

The next morning, he woke up late and made a protein shake for breakfast. As he chugged it, he pulled the lamp out of his bag. Held it up against different spaces in his apartment. It would clash with the Britney poster in the bedroom. Ditto for the Barbie display in his office. He settled on the entryway. He could get a pedestal for it and make an Arabian nook or something.

There was some kind of stain on the side of the lamp. Grabbing a hanky, Marcus started to rub it, but was interrupted as the lamp slid from his grasp and released a cloud of rainbow smoke. When it cleared, a burly Arabian man in a thong and a slutty stringer tank stood in Marcus’s apartment.

“Hey cutie,” said the genie. “Make me some wishes and I’ll get you hot.”

Marcus’s eyes caught on the genie’s ample bulge, and then he processed what he was being offered. In the second before he made his first wish, all he could think was masculinity. There was a corner near his apartment where Hispanic men gathered to shoot the shit in their jeans and tank tops. Their manliness was effortless, totally unstudied, what Marcus had dreamed of being in his childhood.

“I wish I was more manly, like a Latino guy.”

“Got it,” said the genie, with a snap of his fingers. “One Latino meatlover, coming right up.”

Marcus found himself surrounded by a cloud of orange smoke. It smelled like sweat and spices, and Marcus found himself inhaling it deeply. The scent blazed a trail through his mind, and Marcus started to think in Spanish rather than English. His university education vanished, replaced by the foundation of his own landscaping company at 18, and all the hard, manual labour involved in maintaining and building yards for rich, lazy white people.

At the same time, the smoke pumped up Marcus’s big Black muscles further, and lightened them to a sun-kissed tan. His hair straightened and retracted partway into his scalp, leaving him with a simple, masculine haircut. His dick and balls expanded, and the extra testosterone threw his already ripe armpits into overdrive, filling the room with the smell of his sweat. Finally, the last of the smoke thickened into threadbare white briefs, tight jeans, and a tighter tank top, an outfit fit for the masc Latino guy Marcus was becoming.

The genie snapped his fingers once again, and Marcus’s apartment became Marco’s house, a one storey bachelor pad full of thrifted furniture, hand-me-downs, and Marco’s curated selection of Tom of Finland prints hung on the walls.

Marco looked around with satisfaction, his big, callused hands on his hips. “Buen, cabron,” he told the genie in his deep, firm voice. “I need to go work now.”

“See you tomorrow, hermoso,” said the genie, vanishing back into the lamp that sat on Marco’s living room dildo shelf.

During the day, Marco drove his pickup truck to the office, maintained the lawns for some clients, and handled everything it took to run his own business. He hadn’t done great at school—too busy working so his mami could rest—but once he’d founded the business he’d discovered a knack for accounting, so he sat in his air conditioned office to do paperwork while his college boy employees worked through the heat of the afternoon.

Well, he finished the work in an hour and spent another two sniffing his spicy pits while he tugged his thick cock.

After work, Marco drove home, checked his immaculate front and back yards for anything that needed maintenance, and fired up the barbecue. He didn’t realise he had cooked for four until he sat down at the table with a mountain of meat and no one to feed.

The next morning, Marco summoned the genie bright and early with his second wish. “I wish I had some amigos to share the evenings with.”

“Aww, you could have just asked,” the genie cooed, and blew Marco a kiss as he vanished, sending a heart-shaped orange smoke ring to hit Marco in the face with the scent of musk and spice. When nothing seemed to change, Marco shrugged and loaded up his truck for work.

At the first client’s house, Marco dealt with the usual white housewife cooing over his big muscles and blue-collar masculinity with a roll of his eyes. But then the woman’s son, a lean twunk home for the summer, stumbled down the stairs for coffee. He glanced at Marco, who was setting up the lawnmower, and saw a flash of orange light as his nostrils filled with the scent of the Latino’s musk, and his mouth with the flavour of unwashed Latin cock.

As Marco packed his truck back up, the twunk stepped shyly up next to him. At first, he asked the usual questions about Marco’s gym routine, but then Marco raised his arms, showing his hairy pits and releasing a cloud of fresh, sweaty musk, and the white boy seemed to swallow his tongue. He handed Marco a paper with his number on it and fled.

It was the same with every client that day. At some point while he worked at each house, a cute young white boy would walk up and hand Marco his number. Some were little femme twinks, others buff jocks, and a couple were cute hairy cubs. All were shy, pretty, and lived in the rich neighbourhoods Marco worked in. While he was in the office that afternoon, Marco was so busy talking to all his new boys that he fell behind on the accounting.

That evening, Marco’s house was full of the voices of hot young guys. They filled the dining table, the couches, and the patio Marco had built with his own hands. Marco barbecued to his heart’s content and wandered among the boys with his own plate. As he greeted each new boy, Marco instinctively pulled them in for a firm kiss and grope, then said “Hola, mi chiquita.”

As the night went on, the boys got rowdier and hornier. The rich, potent smell of Marco’s musk and the genie’s magic filled the rapidly heating space, and Marco found himself on his bed in a happy pile of rich white boys desperate to sniff and lick him all over. Just at the stroke of midnight, the genie heard Marco, facefucking a little twink while some jocks and cubs worshipped him, mutter, “I wish I could see myself fuck this little gringo.”

A blast of magic suffused every corner of the house with musky orange smoke. When it cleared, Marco’s bed was surrounded by film cameras, taking different angles as he shoved his thick Latin dick into the white twink’s throat. In the spare room, two of the nerdier boys sat naked at monitors and called shots for the stream. Each room had a camera setup, including a hidden corner on the patio and a secluded bower in the garden.

Once he was done with the twink and a sweaty musk worship session with a couple of jock boys, Marco got dressed for bed in a pair of stained white briefs and turned to camera one. “That’s all for tonight, gringos,” he told his viewers in an playfully thick Spanish accent. “Come back tomorrow once I’m done working hard on your lawns.” He fondled his pouch, and the stream cut.

As Marco stood by the door, kissing his boys goodbye, one young lad caught sight of a weird lamp sitting next to Papi Marco’s dildo collection.

Idea with inspiration from a chatbot of my own creation.

Click here to see the genie’s next master.

Click here to see all the genie’s adventures.

#genie #wish #reality change #male transformation #daddification #blue collar tf #latino tf #muscle tf #musk tf #dumber tf #race change #genie of the lamp #male tf #all fwkong

780 notes · View notes

fredwkong · 10 months

Text

Genie: Pete’s Wishes

Pete was a little 20-year-old nerd who had just started interning for a big securities firm. He didn’t top 5’4”, even the extra-small button-up shirts looked baggy on his skinny body, and he seemed even smaller because of his habitual slouching posture. At his first day at work, his new boss yelled at him, causing him to have a panic attack in the bathroom.

That evening, he walked by a thrift store and decided to go in. He wasn’t making much money as an intern, but he wanted to buy something small to cheer himself up. He spotted a traditional brass lamp on the shelf, the kind that genies sometimes come out of. At $20, it was a bit pricey for a thrift store, but Pete grabbed it anyway. It would make a cool conversation piece, if nothing else.

Once he got home, Pete started trying to clean the lamp, which caused it to begin glowing and convulsing until a cloud of smoke billowed out. As the smoke dissipated, it revealed an absolute muscle man of a genie. He wore tiny daisy dukes on his striated thighs, along with a top cropped just above his big, dark nipples. The genie stroked his finely cropped beard as he looked down at Pete.

“So, babe, here’s the deal,” said the genie. “You make the wishes, and I’ll turn them up to eleven.” He looked over Pete’s tiny body and cringing posture again, and curled his lip. “And girl, let’s make those wishes count. We have a lot of work to do here.”

“Um, uh.” The only thing in Pete’s head was the moment earlier that day when his boss had yelled at him. “I… wish I was more assertive?”

The genie smirked. “Good idea.” With a snap of his fingers, the genie filled the room with purple smoke. As Pete inhaled it, he felt like it shot right up into his brain, filling in spaces he hadn’t known were there. He suddenly realised that the way to get ahead in life was to be decisive and commanding. His posture uncurled, and his gaze became sharper. No one was ever going to overlook him or yell at him again.

The smoke also embedded itself in his throat, and he coughed, letting out a much deeper, more resonant sound than he had been capable of before. He now had a thunderous bass voice, a sound that was impossible for anyone to ignore.

Pete met the genie’s eyes for the first time. “Thanks,” he thundered, his new voice incapable of whispering.

The genie gave him an ironic salute. “Come back tomorrow for another wish, babe.”

The next day, no one was able to ignore Pete. He walked with power in spite of his tiny body, and nobody could ignore him when he spoke up to his boss in a meeting in his booming new voice. However, with his tiny stature and ill-fitting suit, they laughed off his advice. When he got home, Pete summoned the genie again, filled with righteous rage.

“Genie,” he roared, “I wish I had the cash to really show up my coworkers.”

“On it, babe,” said the genie, and snapped his fingers. It seemed for an instant as if nothing had changed. Then Pete got a notification on his phone. “You should check that.”

Pete had received an email from someone who said they were his secretary, informing him that his company had closed a deal to trade stocks for a multibillionaire client. Pete was a high-powered stockbroker. As he saw the number of zeroes on his contract, he felt another rush of knowledge into his mind. He knew exactly how to play the market, buying and selling to make sure that he and his clients ended every day with more money than they started with. He wrote a terse reply to his secretary:

“Understood. See you tomorrow. Peters.”

For a moment, he wondered why he had written that name. His name was… Peters, of course. Just like the exclusive boarding school where he’d first started day trading, he still preferred to go by his surname, but kept it casual by dropping any honourific.

“Enjoy those millions, darling,” said the genie, vanishing back into his lamp.

The next day was an exhausting one for Peters. He had the money, he was the boss, and he had an assertive attitude and booming voice, but he was still a shrimpy kid in his early 20s. Clients raised their eyebrows when a short young guy walked into the boardroom to present, and the secretaries, most of whom were older than him, seemed to resent Peters’ success and advantages.

When he summoned the genie, Peters was ready with the wish he had been thinking about all day. “I wish I was truly impressive.”

The genie grinned wide. “Absolutely, master,” he said, and snapped his fingers again. Another thick cloud of purple smoke emerged from the lamp, and this time it cocooned Peters’ entire body. He felt his clothes dissolve, leaving him naked. As he inhaled the smoke, Peters felt years of experience fill his mind. His already deep and assertive voice dropped a few more steps, gaining an imposing rasp.

As the smoke sank into Peters’ skin, he transformed. His black hair went grey, styling itself into a precise, stylish look. His face aged until he looked like a handsome man in his late 40s, with piercing eyes and a stylish grey beard. His whole body filled out as his height shot past 6 feet, bulked up with perfectly maintained muscle. His little cock thickened and lengthened as his pubes lightened to grey, becoming an impressive third leg with churning balls to match. Finally, the last of the smoke coalesced into a scattering of grey hair over his chest, back, and legs, and an immaculate blue suit.

Mr. Peters, the 49-year-old stockbroker, nodded to the genie. “Good work,” he rumbled, testing out the sound of his new, even more thunderous voice.

“Oh, I’m not done yet, master,” the genie purred, and clapped. The hotel room Mr. Peters had moved to with his newfound millions the previous night was immediately replaced with a huge, well-appointed penthouse. Instinctively, Mr. Peters moved to the humidor he kept next to the genie’s lamp. He expertly trimmed and lit a cigar, enjoying the luxurious flavour.

The genie looked him and the penthouse over one more time, and nodded. “See you tomorrow, sir,” he cooed, and blew a kiss to Mr. Peters as he vanished.

The next day, Mr. Peters was on fire. He closed several deals for his company, making himself and his clients even more money, and got taken out for dinner by the director of a competing corporation attempting to headhunt him. The power got him hard, and he was pent-up with a raging boner by the time he got home to make his wish.

“I don’t have time for any dating,” he told the genie brusquely. “I wish for a husband to fuck right now.”

“Order up,” the genie said, laughing, and snapped his fingers.

On the street outside, Larsen was looking for his friend Pete. They had been good school friends, both being little nerds, but Pete had suddenly stopped answering his messages a few days ago, and then seemed to have been scrubbed from existence. No one else remembered him, and people kept mentioning someone named Mr. Peters instead!

Just as Larsen was about to ask one of the building’s valet parking attendants if she knew a Pete living at this address, he felt a tug, as if someone had grabbed him around his belly, and he was suddenly in a dimly lit room. Outside the window was an exquisite view of the city, while inside of the room was a stern-looking man in a suit alongside a dark-skinned man dressed like a slutty himbo.

As the genie continued his work, Larsen became surrounded by a cloud of pink smoke. His muscles grew, his skin became porcelain smooth, and everything about him became classically handsome, like a perfect statue of a man. He grew to a respectable height, still shorter than Mr. Peters, and his dick swelled up, but not quite as large either. Instead, his ass grew into a pair of fuckable, jiggly globes that would be visible no matter what he wore.

The last of the pink smoke shot up Larsen’s nose and into his brain, rewiring him into a dumb himbo slut. Lars had been a German model until Mr. Peters had approached him after a show and offered to give him a luxurious life as his arm candy husband. They had a good enough relationship, and Mr. Peters—Sir—was a good, dominant Daddy, which Lars liked. What made their marriage really special, though, was that while Sir was at work, Lars went and picked up boys for the two of them to share. It was the only way he could get enough fucking during the day to keep up with his unbelievable sex drive.

“Guten Abend, Daddy,” Lars said, as the genie released him. “The boys are waiting in the second bedroom for us.” He stepped up in front of Mr. Peters and undid his tie and top button before Mr. Peters grabbed him by the back of his head and kissed him forcefully. A moment later, Lars led Mr. Peters out of the room and to the designated sex den, his bared dick leading the way.

The genie watched them leave. If he stayed any longer, the former Pete was likely to ask for something boring and unsexy like world domination, so it was probably time for him to put his lamp in the gym bag of one of the horny himbos Lars and Mr. Peters were fucking.

Idea with assistance from a bot of my creation.

Click here to see the genie’s next master.

Click here to see all the genie’s adventures.

#male transformation #wish #genie #muscle tf #reality change #daddy tf #daddification #himbofication #age progression #genie of the lamp #male tf #all fwkong

363 notes · View notes