“Go Aggies!” the cheerleaders shouted as their blue-and-gold pompoms shook over their heads, the foil strips reflecting the California sun. The UC Davis cheerleaders were practicing for the homecoming game tomorrow night against the Stanford Cardinals. They pranced and shook their gorgeous asses on the football field. Classes were over for the day, and I loved their enthusiasm as they high-kicked and jumped, the more endowed girls’ tits bouncing beneath their sleeveless, blue tops.
I loved the sight. I couldn’t help lurking at the side of the bleachers and watching their youthful bodies contort and shake as they practiced their cheers. It was such a naughty thrill as I spied on their youthful bodies heaving.
I especially loved watching my step-sister Brooke practice. She was two years younger than me, just turned eighteen and starting her first year at UC Davis. Right now, she was bent over, her gold skirt sliding up to reveal the blue bloomers covering her tight ass as she shook it at the stands.
“Damn,” I groaned, my cock swelling in my pants.
I knew it was wrong to lust after her. We were raised together. My mom died in child birth, and my dad remarried Brooke’s mother when I was two years old and Brooke’s mom was pregnant with her. My earliest memory was Brooke coming home from the hospital. Tragedy had robbed Brooke of her mother—she died only a month later in a traffic accident. My dad’s third wife, our step-mother, had far more luck. She was still alive, outlasting my dad who had passed away three years ago of cancer.
Still, even though we weren’t related, it was wrong to lust after Brooke. She was my sister. I grew up with her. I should know better, but my cock just didn’t want to listen. I licked my lips and tried to pry my eyes off her shaking ass. There were other girls on the cheer squad I could ogle.
Like Brooke’s new BFF Madison. They had met at freshman orientation last month and hit it off. The chocolate-skinned, half-Black cheerleader shook her ass next to my sister, her gorgeous thighs leading up to a great rear. She was an eighteen-year-old I could ogle.
Maybe I should ask Brooke to set us up. Every freshman girl wanted to date an older guy. I was a junior and almost twenty-one.
Or maybe I should ogle the gorgeous Esmeralda. The Latina hottie was the cheer captain. She stood out front working that tight ass beneath her flashing skirt. Her hips moved in ways my sister and her friend Madison just hadn’t learned yet.
What would Esmeralda feel like riding my cock?
I needed to get laid. I hadn’t had a girlfriend in months. It was hard finding a girl when my best friend was the school’s heartthrob. Every girl on campus melted in her panties whenever Jarret was around. I had seen the guy walk off with three girls at once, and heard the noises they made…
“Damn,” I groaned as Esmeralda spun around, her hips rolling as the cheer progressed. “She would feel amazing riding my cock. She would know how to work her snatch.”
I pulled out my phone and snapped pics of her and Madison. And Brooke. I couldn’t help it. My redheaded step-sister looked so damned sexy as she did a high kick, flashing those tight bloomers hugging her pussy.
Esmeralda’s eyes locked on me. I froze, my phone clutched in my hand. I flushed and shoved it in my back pocket. Trying to act casual, I turned and walked slowly away. I didn’t run. I’m not even sure why I was leaving. Plenty of guys hung out at the bleachers to watch the cheerleaders practice.
Hell, they would be making those same moves in front of the crowd at tomorrow night’s game.
But Esmeralda had caught me snapping pictures of Brooke. I doubt Esmeralda would have known who I was photographing there at the end. But my cheeks burned with taboo shame. I really needed to find a girlfriend, but it was so hard when I shared a roof with Brooke. Ever since she turned eighteen, I couldn’t get her out of my mind.
She was gorgeous.
“Did you enjoy the show?” a purring voice asked behind me.
I froze and turned.
Esmeralda strolled towards me, her golden-brown, gorgeous face framed by her wavy-dark hair. It had a natural bounce about her shoulders as she walked. I froze. My dick was so hard in my pants. Her eyes flicked down and smiled at me.
“You’re Brooke’s step-brother, right? Steven?”
“Steve,” I corrected with a shrug, my hand tightening on the phone. My palm grew sweaty.
“So, did you enjoy the show?” she asked, her voice a sensuous purr.
I swallowed. What was going on? Esmeralda was one of the hottest girls in school. She also dated the quarterback. Yet here she was, in the shadows of the bleachers, marching up to me, her dark eyes burning. If a guy stepped up that close I would say we were about to fight.
“I asked you a question.” Her voice was firm.
“Yes,” I answered.
She reached out and took my phone from my grasp. I tried to hold on, but my phone slipped out of my sweaty grip. “Let’s see what great pics you took.”
I opened my mouth to object, but her hard stare silenced me.
“Mmm, I like a boy that knows when to keep his mouth shut.” She flicked through the pictures. “You have a great one of me. Did you get any of my ass?”
I shook my head, my fist clenching. I didn’t have to take shit from this girl.
“Good. It’s my best feature. You have to earn those pics.” She played with the phone. “There. All mine are gone. But I left all those pics of your sister.”
“I…” I swallowed, not sure what to say. She knew I was perving on my step-sister. What if she told everyone? What if she told Brooke? I couldn’t be confrontational.
“Yes, you could be a nice diversion. How good at eating pussy are you?”
My eyes bugged. “What?”
Her hand shout out and grasped my cock through my jeans. She squeezed. Hard. I groaned, my dick throbbing in her grip despite the pain. My knees buckled. She kept squeezing until I fell to my knees. Which, thankfully, moved my hard-on out of her grip.
“Mmm, that’s much better.” She seized my short, dark hair, tilting up my head. “Now, I asked you a question. How good are you at eating pussy?”
“Okay,” I answered. “I haven’t done it a lot.”
“Maybe we should change that,” she purred. “Then you might earn having a few pics of me on your phone to jerk off to.” She lifted her foot, covered by her tennis shoe, and pushed it between my thighs. She rubbed my cock through my jeans with her foot. “Mmm, I bet I could make you cum right here and now with my foot. You’re that kind of pathetic guy.”
What was going on?
“But I have better things to do. If you were a little cuter…” She pulled harder on my hair. “I better not see you out here watching me or my girls again, even if one of those silly cunts is your sister. You have to earn that privilege.”
“Sorry,” I said, balling up my fist. I wanted to hit the bitch, but that would be wrong. It was never right to hit a girl. That was what my dad always said.
With a laugh, Esmeralda strolled off, her ass shaking beneath her golden, pleated skirt. She moved to join the other cheerleaders heading to their locker room. One paused and looked at me. Brooke. My cheeks grew even warmer.
She shook her head and followed her friends inside the locker room.
“What the fuck just happened?” I muttered as I stood up.
* * *
The fog rolled off the Thames and billowed about my feet. It was thick tonight. My Gucci double monk-strap leather shoes were completely swallowed by the murk. It wasn’t natural. Giles Steed had thickened it to hide from me.
A futile ploy.
Fifteen years of hunting the man ended where it began—on a foggy, London street. My shoes rang through the thick murk as I strolled through the fog in my Brioni tailored suit, purchased only yesterday on Saville Row.
The fog swirled and then a woman appeared in a puff of dark-red smoke. Her face was reddish-brown and her hair long, black, and straight. She had the features of a Native American, but her eyes were ancient. Shahira was my first Djinn. She had served me for centuries on my quest to possess all the Djinn shackled in this world. She dressed stylishly, tight skinny jeans clinging to her curves, platform heels giving her a few extra inches of height, a low-cut top that displayed her swarthy cleavage.
“Master,” Shahira said with a bow. After centuries of being at my side, Shahira’s genuflect was reflexive. She knew how I liked to be served. “He lies wounded in the alley ahead. His strength has finally given out.”
“Very good,” I said. My voice had no hint of the accent of a peasant from Champagne. I had long shed the rough voice of a farmer’s son when I had finally washed the scent of pig shit from my body. Now I favored the cultured cosmopolitan accent. It sounded old-fashioned to a modern Parisian, but that suited me. These modern times were so crass, even if technology had brought about so many conveniences. “Lead on and let’s claim your last sister.”
“Of course, Master.”
Her heels clicked as she walked beside me. She didn’t have to walk. She could transform herself into smoke and zip ahead, or even return to her bottle carried in the inside pocket of my expensive jacket. There she could wait safe and secure until I summoned her.
The alley materialized out of the fog. It ran between two old brick buildings on the waterfront, the thick mist billowing before it. A man’s labored words drifted out of the alleyway, muffled by the fog. Excitement beat in my heart.
Finally, the last Djinn would be mine.
I kept my excitement under control as I rounded the corner into the alley. Giles Steed lay on his side, his clothing shredded. Blood flowed from the many wounds inflicted by my servants. The crimson formed a sticky puddle around the old man. He clutched a pink bottle wrapped in the fine gold wire. The bottle was ancient, forged in Mesopotamia millennia ago to be a vessel to hold the Djinn. I had six like it, one on me, and the other five safely stored in my mansion.
With my six Djinn, I had used eighteen major wishes. I was practically immortal, invulnerable to weapons, and the owner of one of the world’s largest business ventures. I owned it these days through various shell corporations set up to mask that I had been alive since the fourteenth century. That had grown harder to accomplish in these modern times.
Cameras and facial recognition software made it far too easy to uncover my secret. But once I had Aisha, the final Djinn, none of that would matter.
I stared at my fallen enemy. Steed had defied me so many times. He had grown skilled at avoiding me. He had used his three wishes wisely. They had gifted him with the skill and knowledge to battle my servants. But he had not wished for youth like I had.
Age had finally caught up to him.
I savored this moment and smiled. “Surrender Aisha and I will spare—”
My words ended when the bottle transformed into pink smoke and rose in a column before dissipating. Anger boiled through me. He still defied me. Even dying. I marched towards the old man as the last of the Djinn’s smoke vanished. I slammed my $2000 shoe on his chest, heedless of the blood that would ruin the leather.
“Where did you send her?” I growled.
“I don’t know,” Steed groaned. A smile crossed his wrinkled face. “I made my last wish. I sent Aisha where she would be happy. She will have a new master to serve.”
I ground my foot into his wounds. He let out a loud moan of pain. His eyes rolled back in his head. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know,” he gasped. And then a pain-filled laugh racked his body. “There’s only 7 billion people on the planet. One of them has her. She could be with any of them. On any continent. Good luck finding her.”
Defiance burned in Steed’s eyes. He gathered himself up and spat. The bloody spittle struck my expensive pants. Then he collapsed back and let out a gurgling sigh as his life departed his body.
Rage filled me. My hand struck Shahira hard. The Djinn didn’t cry out as she fell to the ground. I kicked her hard in the stomach. She rolled over and curled into a ball, her face filled with pain. I let out a roar into the foggy, London night, the mist swallowing my anger.
I had to master myself. This task had already taken centuries. I could find Aisha’s new master. He would reveal himself. A new master with a Djinn would stand out. And this was the twenty-first century. Any strange events would go viral. It wasn’t like the past where I had to hunt rumors and travel the world, taking months to reach a possible sighting.
“Come, Shahira,” I growled. “We’re going home.”
“Yes, Master,” she groaned as she forced herself to stand.
“You may heal your bruises.” I took another breath. “I should not have hit you. It was not your fault. Who would have thought he held off using his final wish for so long?”
“Thank you, Master.” The pain had vanished from her voice. Her eyes lowered.
I strolled back to my waiting town car. Shahira trailed behind me, quiet, demure, obedient. I would find Aisha and claim the final Djinn.
By Reed James on Twitter @NLPublications
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