> From an advertisement on the dark net’s Silk Road website: Genies, Genetically ENgineered Immersive Exotics, all ages and types available. Both fresh and gently used. https://genies4u.onion/

Yevgeny sneered. The little punk next door had grown into an annoying adult, just like his lawyer father. It was past time to find another place to live. He’d allowed his life to become too comfortable. After he finished this business with Grainer, Yevgeny would look for a new house. Perhaps back in West Virginia? The people there were uneducated boors, but they valued privacy. At his front door, Yevgeny gripped the doorknob and twisted. He’d take Natali and beat the truth out of her. Perhaps he’d spice things up and give her a chance to fuck her way out of the beating? Challenges always spurred his djinn to greater efforts.

The front door swung open and revealed…an empty hallway. “Bozhe moi,” the old Russian curse, “My God,” slipped out. This was impossible; his djinn could not disobey an order. Natalie was the single most reliable thing in his life. She was like gravity.

The thudding of his heart competed with the whisper from the air conditioner. His house was deathly silent. “Bozhe moi,” slipped out again. If Natalie had somehow rescued her daughter, then Grainer was dead. No amount of personal wealth would save him. And Natalie would have made it hurt. Other than what her bond required; his djinn had no sympathy for men.

If Grainer were dead, Yevgeny’s fortunes improved dramatically. He had his day’s pay, but more importantly, his taser with the remaining custom cartridge lay inside his safe. He’d locate Natalie’s daughter and subdue her. With Stephanie under his control, he’d resell her privately and not through the Silk Road. With a bit of luck, this time, Pavlo wouldn’t steal his money.

Ten years earlier, Las Vegas, Nevada:

“Bozhe moi,” Yevgeny Timofeyev cursed after stepping out of the rented box truck. His legs, numb from hours behind the wheel, wouldn’t support his weight. After steadying himself with the door handle, he scanned the area, hoping no one noticed his slip.

Not that speaking Russian was unusual here in America’s “Sin City.” Many of his former compatriots made their homes here decades ago. The Bratva, however, did not play well with others, and it made for exciting times. Within a year, they’d spilled enough blood to impact the tourist trade. United States federal agents descended on the city and declared martial law. The warring organizations took a step back and hammered out an uneasy truce.

No, the problem wasn’t speaking Russian. The problem was the price on his head. If the wrong person recognized him, it would be the end of everything. Pavlo Mogilevich, the Pakhan of the Solntsevskaya Bratva, had sworn a vendetta, a blood feud against the man who’d murdered two of his personal guards. It said much for the culture that the feud was over two dead guards with no mention of the stolen djinn. Not that it mattered, Yevgeny and Pavlo knew the truth.

The tingles in his leg faded, and Yevgeny took a few careful steps. He needed a shower, a good meal, and a proper bed. Finishing this last bit of business came first. In the back of his truck were two catgirls he’d contracted to deliver. The money for their purchase kept in a trusted Silk Road escrow account. Once the customers took delivery, the money, less a small handling fee, would be his.

Silk Road was the premiere darknet marketplace. Named for the ancient trade route connecting Europe and Africa to Asia, the first iteration of Silk Road on the darknet was so successful, the American government tracked down its creator. After the man’s trial, he’d received two life sentences plus forty years! The United States government did NOT want that criminal genius to, ever again, see the light of day.

For the last fifteen years, the Silk Road's current incarnation had proved to be unassailable. Nation-states and potential competitors had tested its defenses and failed. No one knew who operated the site, but everyone believed in its trustworthiness. Silk Road treated each vendor and customer equally. Disputes were handled fairly and with little drama. The Silk Road’s management did it all with a minimal charge of two percent of each transaction.

At the rear of his truck, Yevgeny stopped and checked the area for watchers. Once satisfied, he thumbed the lock and slipped into the back. Both travel crates remained in place. Their contents healthy and kept asleep by the cheap Chinese med patches. Mounted to the forward wall was a pair of wireless internet cameras. With a click, he enabled both. They’d capture a video stream each time the truck’s doors opened. The resulting video was saved to the cloud and would serve as proof of delivery.

If it turned out the purchase was a sting, Yevgeny would be long gone. He’d still receive the money held in escrow.

“Goodbye, little kitties,” Yevgeny chuckled and exited the truck. He secured the doors with a simple combination lock and walked away. He’d parked his own vehicle nearby before renting the box truck under an assumed name. The papers for the false identity were another service purchased through the Silk Road. Once inside his car, Yevgeny activated a burner phone and tapped out a text message with pickup instructions to the customer. He was in a hurry to return home.

An hour past Des Moines, his private phone chirped. Yevgeny hadn’t survived this long by being stupid. His mobile phone looked normal, but he’d paid an extremely talented technician to gut the “smart” components and leave the basic telephone capabilities intact. His phone could not be tracked or controlled by a third party.

“Yes?” Yevgeny said.

The voice that answered had been heavily filtered. Still, there remained a hint of an accent. Not enough to identify Yevgeny’s caller, but enough to flag it as the voice of a non-American. “Only one bidder remains.” The auction for Natalie’s daughter was over.

He’d waited over sixteen years for this moment. “How much?” Even with his iron will power, a tremor of excitement crept into his voice.

The caller quoted an unbelievable figure, then added. “Less our standard two percent, of course.”

Yevgeny’s iron control evaporated. “That much?” he stammered.

“Two percent is the standard fee.” The voice of Silk Road admonished in its unemotional tone.

“No, no,” chuckling, Yevgeny corrected himself and took a deep breath. “My apologies, I referred to the total amount, not to your quite reasonable fee.”

“Of course,” The voice commiserated. “We here at the Silk Road wish to congratulate you. You hold the record for the largest single transaction.”

No shit! “Thank you.”

Then, the voice firmed. “The winner wishes to receive his property immediately. Do you wish our assistance in the delivery?”

“N-n-now?” He’d expected the auction to continue for another week. “I’m fifteen hours away from home. Tell them I need twenty-four hours minimum.”

“We will pass this on. However, be aware ‘he’ is most insistent.”

“Yeah, yeah, they always are.” Tapping the “off” button, Yevgeny settled back into his seat. While he had the best identification papers available—from the Silk Road, of course—they may not withstand a policeman’s detailed examination. Better to keep his speed five miles below the posted limit and keep out of trouble.

Barely four hours passed before Silk Road called back. “The buyer insists on picking up his property now.”

“Is his payment in escrow yet?” Once in escrow, the buyer couldn’t pull it out without penalties.

“It is. However, the buyer has authorized us to offer a one-hundred bitcoin bonus if he can make the pickup within ten hours.”

This was easily the most expensive pussy in history. Yevgeny checked the autopilot to see if it might be done. “Tell him two-hundred bitcoins, and he has a deal.”

An hour later, after more wrangling, they had a deal. The buyer agreed to a two hundred bitcoin bonus, but only if he could meet at the seller’s home for an immediate pickup. With all the financial arrangements made and assured of their two percent commission, the Silk Road opened a direct communications channel. “Mr. Roger Grainer, meet Gene Timms.”

For once, the highway traffic didn’t fuck him over. Yevgeny arrived at his house an hour before Grainer was due. In a rush to make the preparations, he parked on the street and charged inside. Natalie’s daughter was not there.

“God damn it, Nat. What do you mean, Stephanie’s next door?”

Tiny beads of sweat dotted his djinn’s forehead. He’d long ago learned how Natalie responded when he challenged her decisions. Not that she made many poor decisions. His business kept him on the road for two or three weeks each month. Natalie knew her place and how to ensure her survival. Pavlo, the fool, thought it loyalty. Yevgeny knew better; self-interest was a far better motivator than fickle loyalty.

It took two halting attempts, but Natalie swallowed and spoke. “Stephanie and her friend Jason are playing a video game.”

“Isn’t Jason the little punk who cuts the grass? The kid I caught peeking in the windows?” Gene turned and stomped across the living room. He grumbled. “If he pops her cherry, your daughter’s value is cut in half. The genie market is flooded with used cast-offs.”

“Having a friend is an important part of her emotional development. I had brothers and sisters; she had no one.”

It made a woman’s kind of sense, but he needed to vent. “I’ll kill them both if that little punk bonds her.”

“Yevgeny, please, I followed orders and called just as soon as she ovulated.”

Her call was what prompted him to hold the auction. “How do you know they’re not fucking?”

“Stephanie knows her limits,” His djinn swallowed, “and she knows what would happen to me—if she broke them. They are friends, Yevgeny.”

Mollified by her submissiveness, Yevgeny stopped pacing and strode back to his djinn. He stopped well within her personal space. Like the sun, the heat from her body warmed his skin. With one extended finger, he reached out and traced her lips. Her eyes grew dark, and just like that, the master’s spell was complete.

He needed to settle down. If he knocked on the neighbor’s door in his current agitated state, they’d probably call the police. Natalie’s perfect body offered the ideal outlet.

“Come, Natalie,” he led, and she followed. In the dining room, the table was the right height. As an added benefit, she hated it when they made a mess on the furniture.

After Yevgeny finished, he spun Natalie around and used her mouth to clean himself. Many of the women he’d known wouldn’t perform such a simple act, but his djinn never complained. If he had to bet money, he’d say his djinn enjoyed the additional service. She’d wake soon enough and clean up any remaining mess. He needed to fetch his daughter back home.

Stephanie’s buyer, the American named Roger Grainer, turned out to be an impatient, entitled prick of a short man. When Yevgeny didn’t kiss his ass, Grainer changed to speaking in shorter, simpler words. As if anyone not able to recognize their better, must also be stupid. Yevgeny reminded himself of his imminent wealth. He could endure anything with so much money on the line.

Once Stephanie arrived from her “walk,” Roger produced a medpatch and placed it around the girl's neck. Its medical nanites sedated her within seconds.

They’d transferred the girl and an overnight bag in the garage. Too many neighbors had outdoor security cameras. Of course, Yevgeny live-streamed the hand-off for Silk Road’s verification. Minutes later, he received a text stating the money transfer had begun. Silk Road would send a confirmation when the process was complete. Yevgeny wished every aspect of his life worked as smoothly.

An hour later, he still hadn’t received the confirmation. Yevgeny called the Silk Road.

The phone rang once before it was answered. “Hello, thief.” A long-unheard male voice spoke in fluent Ukrainian.

Yevgeny’s mouth went dry. Pavlo? How could Pavlo Mogilevich answer the Silk Road’s telephone? He checked the handset to see if he’d misdialed. If Pavlo could hack the most secure site on the dark web, what else might the man do? It didn’t matter. Yevgeny’s life was over. The only thing remaining under his control was how well he died.

“Hello, Pavlo,” Yevgeny replied. There wasn’t anything else he could say.

“My congratulations, thief, on the successful conclusion of your auction.”

Thief? Well, it was true enough. “How did you hear of the auction? I specifically asked the auction house to exclude Eastern Europe.”

Pavlo chortled. It was the over-the-top belly laugh of a man who’d bested a long-hated foe. “Yevgeny Timofeyev or Gene Timms, if you prefer, know this, I am the Silk Road.”

Yevgeny’s mind froze; If this were true, then Pavlo knew everything!

Inexorably, Pavlo continued. “After you stole Natalie, if she did not kill you first, I suspected you’d overcome her loyalty. Then you would breed her and sell the daughters. The dark web is the obvious place for such transactions. I resurrected Silk Road and made it the most trusted marketplace on the darknet. So trustworthy, you used it for your own business. It has made many people wealthy, although none as wealthy as I. The funds from your auction have been transferred to me. I should congratulate you; the auction alone earned more money than it cost to create Natali.”

“Then we are even,” Yevgeny offered. He might survive with his life.

“Natali’s cost was trivial.” There was a rustle of cloth as Pavlo shrugged. “My honor is worth much, much more.”

“Pavlo, you should consider us even. I stole something of little value from you, and you repaid me by stealing a much larger sum of money.”

“You do not make the rules, thief.” Pavlo chuckled, then coughed. It had a wet, unhealthy sound. “I will consider us even, after I take the proceeds from the sale of Natali’s next daughter.”

This told Yevgeny that Pavlo’s knowledge was limited. He laughed. “Pavlo, old friend, you give away much. There are no other daughters. Natali’s womb dried up after her fourth daughter.”

“Only one daughter? The thief doesn’t know the secret of her fertility. Well, there is time for you to learn, or perhaps I will take your life. Either will make us even.” It is my hope, thief, you never learn the secret.

Present Day:

The upstairs hall lay empty, with no sign of violence. The door to the small bedroom was locked from the inside. Yevgeny used the emergency key kept on the trim above the door.

“Did you catch her?” Red-faced and fuming, Grainer rose from his seat on the bed. “I think she hid behind the door and slipped out behind me.”

Yevgeny scanned the room. The lack of decorations reminded him of the cheaper motel rooms he’d used. “It seems we both have a problem with missing property. Come, we will search the house.”

In the end, after failing to find a trace of either genie, they returned to the small bedroom. There Yevgeny found the unlocked window. If Natalie’s daughter went out the window, then the little punk with the convenient ladder was involved. What had Natalie said back then? “They are friends, Yevgeny.” At no point had his djinn said the boy and her daughter weren’t sexually involved. Nor had she assured him her daughter hadn’t bonded to the boy. She’d carefully answered each of his concerns without a single falsehood. It was a masterful performance, and in his arrogance, he’d fallen for it. How long had his djinn schemed against him? “Bozhe moi,” he swore again. When hadn’t she?

Of course, Grainer heard the expletive. “What did you find?” Roger tried to edge past.

Stepping to the side, Yevgeny pointed at the open latch. “I think your pet went through the window.” He didn’t add anything about the neighbor and the ladder.

“Oh, ho!” Roger brightened. “Well, go out and get her.”

Telling Grainer about the neighbor with the ladder opened another box of worms. Roger had an issue with “used” females. Many of Yevgeny’s catgirl clients insisted on “fresh.” But for them, the reason was the kitty's five to ten-year life spans. Grainer’s issue was far more problematic. If the man learned of his pet’s probable history, all hell would break loose. Yevgeny might as well kill the man now.

Sighing, Yevgeny lifted the sash and peered out. A little roof-top exercise would give him a few minutes. Maybe he’d figure out what to tell Grainer? If nothing else, he could check his own gutters.

The shingles showed faint scuff marks. He followed the marks to the peak and from there to the far edge of the roof. Down below was the spot where the neighbor had stood with his ladder. Damn you, Natali. It was a maskirovka worthy of a Russian. As he turned back, a McCandless police cruiser pulled into the circle and stopped. A uniformed officer climbed from the vehicle and glanced up. Yevgeny waved; he was just a typical homeowner inspecting his gutters. The police officer waved back.

Roger held the curtain to the side while Yevgeny climbed back inside. “She’s not there? How did she—” Grainer’s voice rose with stress.

Yevgeny waved him to silence. “A police officer is headed next door,” While Grainer worked through the change in the situation, Yevgeny latched the window shut.

“But-but where is my pet? What if she runs to the police?”

“Then you and I are fucked, yes? You may call for your limo and leave if you wish. What will you say if the police stop you for questioning?” Something about the window drew his attention. The alarm company had mounted sensors to each window and door, all through the house. Why hadn’t the alarm tripped? The system should have sent a text each time someone opened a window or door. Had his djinn hacked the alarm system as well? What else might she have done?

Turning to the door, Yevgeny said, “There is something else I must check.”

***

Alfred kept watch on the two men via the security cameras. He didn’t like how well they cooperated.

Yevgeny and Roger stomped their way to the garage and flipped open the circuit breaker panel. Every camera, microphone, and sensor went dead.

“This isn’t good,” said Alfred.

***

“Thank you, officer,” Jason smiled and closed the front door. He turned around in time to catch Stephanie peeking around the corner.

“What did she want?” Stephanie asked, just before wrapping him in another bone-cracking hug. The arrival of the police had frightened her and Natalie. They’d hidden downstairs.

Oops! He’d known the police were coming, but with Natalie’s presence and her surprise, it had slipped his mind. “It’s all right; Dad arranged police protection for us. They’ll keep watch all night.”

Natalie followed at a more sedate pace. She stepped into the hall, and his mind took an inappropriate trip to the past. He remembered that little red skirt and Stephanie’s insistence her mother could wear it. Seeing her now, Jason realized there was no doubt Natalie would fit into that skirt.

If anything, Natalie watched him right back, with even more speculation. “Jason, why don’t you take Stephanie upstairs and see if she needs anything? I’ll make some lunch. Come back down when you’re ready, but don’t rush.”

***

Jason’s bedroom brought back a wealth of memories. Stephanie walked around the room touching familiar objects. When she glanced at the com panel, the display lit with the old selfie of Opportunity, the ancient Mars rover. Jason closed the door.

“Nothing’s changed,” she said.

“Yeah,” Jason plopped onto the bed. “It’s like a time capsule.”

There was a photo album on the corner of his desk. Stephanie opened it and found picture after picture of her and Jason. “Are you still angry with me?” she asked.

“I’m not mad, but we need to talk.”

“Uh, oh,” Stephanie said. “Everyone knows a relationship’s in trouble when the boy say’s ‘We need to talk.’” She smiled and plopped down next to him.

“All it means is we need to talk. I have questions, and you have answers.”

It had been over twenty-four hours since the last time they screwed. The tingles, which had faded after climbing down the ladder, began buzzing again. “What do you want to know?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I gave you your first fix, right here, on this very bed.”

Stephanie nodded. “My first and an hour or so later, my second.”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“So, I’m responsible for you even having an addiction, right? I started it.”

“If Mom hadn’t caught us, it would have started the afternoon I wore that little red skirt.”

“So, there’s no way we could have had sex without you becoming addicted?”

“It’s not a ‘one and done’ kind of thing. Mom thought orgasms during intercourse released more hormones. I think she’s right, but having an emotional attachment helps. It took Roger months. While I started jonesing for you after a week or so.”

“What if you don’t get a fix?”

“According to Mom, we die.”

“What if something happens to me?”

“All the bond does is make us not want sex with anyone were not addicted to. After my father kidnapped Mom, he forced himself on her until she bonded to him.”

“Yevgeny might be the bravest man in the world. I can’t imagine trying anything on your mom.”

“Mom’s loyalty gene is almost gone. Mine will probably fade in another thirty years.”

“Until then, I need to keep your tanks topped off.” His knee rubbed against hers as he rolled her way.

Stephanie stood and pushed Jason onto his back. “You got it all wrong, buster. You’ll be filling my tank a lot longer than that.” She toed her sneakers off while he pulled his shirt over his head. It became a race to see who got naked first. She would have won too, but he remembered how ridiculously ticklish she was. The sneaky rat pulled her down and smooched noisy raspberries across her belly. “Stop!”

Minutes later, deliciously out of breath, she lay on her back while Jason puzzled over removing her skirt.

“Does this pull up or down?” he asked.

“Give me a break, I’m not the first girl you’ve undressed.”

“Actually,” he displayed a big goofy grin, “you were.”

That wasn’t what she’d meant, but if she fussed about it, he’d just raspberry her into submission again. “All right, you win.” Stephanie threw up her arms in surrender. “Just lift my skirt and have at it.”

“I love a girlfriend who has her priorities straight.” He’d found the zipper and moments later tugged her borrowed skirt down.

Stephanie rolled on her side and watched while Jason hung her clothes over the back of his chair. As usual, the monster bobbed and swayed, pointing the way. She said, “I love a well-endowed boyfriend. How does it feel?”

Puzzled at first, Jason grinned when he realized what held her attention. “Packing heat, you mean?”

The things she put up with to get laid.... Steph slid back to make room on his double bed. “When you do it to me, how does it feel?”

Jason pursed his lips. “When it’s hard like now, the skin’s stretched tight, and all the sensations are magnified.” He crawled onto the bed, bent, and gave her coochie a long, slow lick.

She may be wrong about foreplay. True, it wasn’t an absolute requirement, but Jay’s method of warming things up had a certain merit. Stephanie closed her eyes and waited for that second, deeper lick, the one that curled her toes, and it didn’t come.

Jason kissed her, making sure she got a good taste of herself. When he spoke again, his voice was husky. “When I push it in, the first thing I feel is heat, ’cause you’re so hot.” He gave her another kiss. “Then your snugness takes over. You’re so tight and slippery, it’s like you pull me in.” Jason’s actions matched his words, and that blunt, cool mass stretched her open. It filled a void she never noticed until he filled it.

Despite its benign intentions, the monster’s girth still brought a twinge of discomfort. It didn’t last, the tingles washed away any unpleasantness. Jason slipped back out and he adjusted his position. It slipped back inside, but the angle had changed. Each time he thrust, his pelvic bone pressed against her in a very agreeable fashion. She would have told him, but the tingles took away coherent speech. All she had left were sighs, moans, and an occasional “love you.”

The temperature difference between them lessened as their bodies adjusted. Not that it went away entirely. Besides the sheer bulk of the thing stretching her, it drew her warmth into it.

They were kissing again. She wrapped her ankles around the back of his thighs. All she could do was follow his lead. White hot sparks filled her mind. His tempo increased, and she did her best to match his intensity. An orgasm took her. Even before it ended, another took over. Jay told her how much he loved her, but she had no words, and everything went blank.

***

Freshly showered, wearing loose jersey shorts, and carrying a T-shirt, Jason entered the kitchen. On the far side of the breakfast counter, Natalie glanced up from one of Mom’s cookbooks.

She asked, “Do you think Shirley would mind if I programmed a few recipes into the robochef?”

Sometime during his shower, he’d forgotten all about Natalie. Seeing her brought back her need for a new bond. Natalie must have had similar thoughts because her eyes traced his torso with apparent approval. The intensity of her stare was strong enough to intimidate, and he lifted his shirt to put it on.

“Hold on,” Natalie commanded. She twirled her raised index finger in a circle. “Turn around.”

Feeling a bit like a bull at auction, he complied. Her chair scraped on the tile floor, and quiet footsteps padded close. A pair of strong, extra warm hands poked his shoulders and then prodded their way down his back. Natalie murmured, “I’ve never seen a man so well built.”

Those strong fingertips stopped far enough below his waistline to make him sweat. “Mmm, mmm, mmm, my daughter picked a good one.” Did that make him a prize stud? Natalie was a take-charge kind of woman, and she continued her examination. “Make a muscle for me.” He didn’t have the perfect definition of a bodybuilder, but if you hung around a gym long enough, you learned the poses.

Jason took a breath and flexed into the classic rear double biceps pose. “I’d be a lot bigger if I warmed up first,” he added.

Natalie squeezed his biceps and ran her fingers over his lats. “Oh, I don’t know. From all the noise upstairs, I’d think you were big enough.”

Heat suffused his cheeks. A woman’s ribald comment hadn’t made him blush in years. What was it about Stephanie’s mother that turned him into a teenager?

“All right, Romeo, I’ve embarrassed you enough. You can put your shirt on.”

He complied and turned to watch Natalie walk back to the counter. From the rear, he couldn’t tell her and her daughter apart. Her hips even had that same hypnotic sway. Suddenly, his choice of loose shorts became a bad idea. Concerned she’d notice, he hurried to the refrigerator and opened the door. Maybe a blast of cold air would help?

It didn’t, but the handy lemonade pitcher provided some awkwardly carried cover. From the far side of the counter, Natalie watched him navigate with a grin. With all of her experience, she probably knew the effect she had. After closing the distance, the intervening countertop gave him some needed coverage. Jason pulled out a chair and breathed a sigh of relief. “Would you like some unsweetened lemonade? I made it extra tart for Steph.”

“Oh, the famous Thomas lemonade? Sure, I’ll try some.” Natalie plucked two glasses from the cabinet.

He lifted the pitcher and realized he’d forgotten the ice. There was no way he’d make it across the kitchen and back without her noticing. This close, he couldn’t even make an adjustment. Not that the old “tuck it under your waistband” worked all that well. “It’s better without ice,” he said, and she nodded.

Natalie sipped and nodded her approval. “It’s wonderful,” she smiled and set the glass back down. “Tell me, Jason, how is it you’re not bothered by having two non-humans in the house?”

“You and Stephanie are human. If anyone’s inhuman, it’s the assholes who think they own you.”

“But we’re not. Yevgeny has the papers to prove it.”

“Like I told Stephanie, I’ve seen her naked. She’s one hundred percent human.”

“The first time would have been when you two were sixteen, right?”

“Yes.” It wasn’t a secret anymore. They’d both consented and had been the same age.

“Did you two ever go all the way?”

“No, Steph told me she’d promised you she wouldn’t.”

“And you didn’t push? I think Steffi would have done anything for you, regardless of her promises.”

“Maybe, but I loved Stephanie too much to make her break a promise.”

Natalie scrutinized him again. This time, with even more intensity than before. Slowly, unbelievingly, she shook her head. “I’ve known a lot of men…”

Jason’s mouth dried up again—the biblical meaning of “knowing a man” didn’t escape him.

“…and none of them were anything like you. Are you even real?”

He swallowed. “I’m real enough for Stephanie—and for you if necessary.”

Now it was her turn to blush. At this moment, Natalie’s resemblance to Stephanie was so strong, it almost made him jump the counter and hug her.

A rustle of bare feet on the carpeted stairs came from the hall. A second later, Stephanie, her hair in disarray and wearing one of his T-shirts, shuffled into the kitchen. She rubbed her eyes and made a beeline for him. “Scoot back,” she said. He scooted his chair back, and Steph crawled onto his lap.

When he hugged her chest to his, he noticed there wasn’t anything but Stephanie underneath the shirt. His little problem, which hadn’t fully subsided, rose to its former glory.

She’s going to kill me. There wasn’t any way to disguise it.

Stephanie made it worse by wiggling to snuggle in closer. She stopped and leaned back, looking him square in the eyes. “What’s this?” A little hip shimmy made her question clear.

“Ah…I—” What was he supposed to say? Your mom makes me horny?

“Is there a problem?” asked Natalie.

I’m going to die.

Stephanie glanced over her shoulder. “Jason got out of bed too soon, and he’s still…” another shimmy. “I can feel how much he misses me.”

“It must be one of those romantic love things. The only thing men make me feel is disappointment.”

Jason would have been fine, except Stephanie reached down to scratch her leg, but her hand crept elsewhere.

Icebergs, desolate frozen tundra…Oh crap, her fingers are so warm.

“Sweetie,” Natalie asked. “Did you get enough of a nap? You still look out of it.”

As if her mom’s observation flicked a switch, Stephanie yawned and slumped against his chest. “Probably not. I’m still zonked.”

“Does Romeo know what happens when you’re zonked?”

Stephanie shook her head, took a deep satisfied breath, and began to snore.

Chuckling, Natalie carried her lemonade to the freezer and dropped a few ice cubes into the glass. On her way back, she stopped next to Jason and her slumbering daughter. “It warms my old genie heart to see her happy. She’s been through too much.”

Jason’s temper flared, but he kept his voice low. “If you’d have been honest with us from the start, she wouldn’t have had to go through any of it.”

“How could we know? Humans use us, and when there’s nothing left, they throw us away.”

He saw her point, but he was never going to accept Natalie’s logic. Instead of arguing, he settled for information. “Tell me about ‘zonked.’”

Natalie ruffled Stephanie’s bed head, then pulled out the chair next to Jason’s and sat. “Oxytocin is the main hormone responsible for pair bonding. My designer over-compensated when he made me an oxytocin addict. Sometimes, if my daughters or I experience a strong enough orgasm, we fall into a suggestive state. Like little miss sleepyhead here.”

Little miss sleepyhead began a slow grind against him. “Ahh,” he caught himself and concentrated on Natalie. “Like hypnosis?”

“Exactly like hypnosis. If we’re told something when we’re zonked, it becomes real. Orders are harder to break. If those things are repeated over a few sessions, we’re compelled to follow the new reality.”

“Steph couldn’t leave what’s his name's house on her own.” He wasn’t sure if he could mention Roger or not.

Nodding as if she’d expected it, Natalie asked, “How did you get her out?”

“I picked her up and kissed her until I had her in my truck. She kept her eyes closed until we were miles away.”

“I suspect your presence helps her a great deal.”

“Her presence helps me too, so it’s only fair.”

“You know,” Natalie tilted her head to the side, and Jason felt the intensity of her stare, “you just might make me believe in romantic love.” Then she sobered. “Please remember how vulnerable she is. If you say the wrong thing at the wrong time, it can have an unexpected effect.”

“This isn’t fair. After we…um…finish, one of my favorite parts is snuggling and telling Steph how much I love her. Now you’re saying I can’t.”

“You can’t say anything fake or untrue. Do you genuinely love Stephanie?”

“You know I do.”

“Then it’s real,” she opened her hands, palms up. “Tell her as often as you want, whenever you want.”

Jason whispered into Stephanie’s ear. “I love you, sweetheart.”

Stephanie sighed and squeezed him a little tighter. “love you….”

“Natalie, whatever the future brings us, I hope you and I always stay friends.”

“Hah, there you go with a human’s unreality. Me? Friends with a man? It won’t happen.”

“How about allies?” Jason held out his right hand.

Frowning at first, Natalie shrugged and took his hand. They shook on it.

***

Alfred monitored the security feed from the Timms’ residence. As the man tinkered with his security system, it powered up for a minute or two before going down again. During the few “on” minutes, he’d overheard Timms and Grainer conspiring. They didn’t know what, but it was clear the two were planning something.

***

After a late lunch, a much-relaxed Jason and Stephanie sat on the living room couch. They watched Natalie play a virtual reality role-playing game. Natalie’s barbarian warrior wore a chainmail bikini and wielded a fearsome two-handed sword. In the real world, Natalie carried a bokken, a wooden katana Jason used for exercise.

Natalie faced a pack of undead. The hideous creatures howled their combined hunger and lust. Losing this fight was indeed a fate worse than death. Instead of fleeing, Natalie’s warrior laughed a challenge, “Stinky undead humans, come get some.”

The pack charged.

Natalie and her digital avatar blurred into motion. The bokken flicked and slashed with a precise economy of motion. Within the virtual world, rotted blood sprayed, much of it staining the barbarian’s gleaming chainmail. Heads and limbs rolled. The fight, nay the slaughter, was over in mere moments. The warrior’s impressive chest rose and fell from the exertion.

Natalie flicked the pause button and removed the headset. “Oh, I want one of these.” She studied the headset while balancing the bokken on her shoulder. “A question, Jason, why are the fighter’s tits so huge? They get in the way.”

“Um,” Jason thought fast. “Most of the players are men, so it’s a default setting. We can change it.” Both genies stared at him, and he could imagine their questions.

Natalie, who wore a simple skirt and equally simple sleeveless blouse, said. “Well, my default tits are better.”

Jason opened his mouth to comment, but Alfred interrupted before Jason could dig himself a hole.

“Jason, please pardon the interruption. Our opponents have cast aside their differences and are working together. If I connect you to Roger’s phone, can you stir him up? I’d like to break up their team.”

“I don’t know.” He turned to Stephanie. “Sweetheart, I hate to ask, but is there anything Roger’s sensitive about?”

Natalie burst out laughing. “Tell him of Roger’s little problem.”

Stephanie frowned, but she made a fist with her right hand and extended her thumb. “That’s how big he is.”

It took Jason a second to understand. “You’re kidding?”

Stephanie shook her head. “I measured it.”

The revelation explained a lot. “Is there anything else? ‘Cause I really don’t want to talk about his dick.”

Natalie snickered.

Stephanie rolled her eyes. “He won’t touch any woman or genie who’s been with another man. He thinks sex makes a female dirty.”

“Oh,” Jason grinned, “I can use that. All it requires is a trip back to my high school days,” Boy’s high school locker rooms were roaring seas of nascent teenaged testosterone. Add in the competition for girls, and the aggressive talk skyrocketed. Tearing down a competitor’s relationship became a fine art.

They gathered around the kitchen table. Alfred promised to route the call through an untraceable series of digital relays. Jason sat his phone down and tapped the speaker icon.

Seconds later, a man answered. “Who is this,” the voice demanded.

Stephanie gripped Jason’s hand so hard it hurt. He hadn’t considered how this might affect her. Jason squeezed back, then spoke. “We’ve never met, but I’m Stephanie’s boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend? Ridiculous!”

“Ridiculous or not, I’ve been her boyfriend since high school. She and I dated long before you bought her. Well, we did a lot more than date. Unsupervised teens can get into almost anything. And with a hot girl like Stephanie, I got into everything. I guess that makes us Eskimo Brothers. Us having shared the same ‘igloo’ and all.

“Y-you had sex with her?”

“Brother, I banged her harder than a screen door in a hurricane.” Choking, Natalie fled the room; muted guffaws came from downstairs. Stephanie kept her seat, but her cheeks flared crimson.

“I-I don’t believe you.”

“Real redheads have freckles all over, right? There’s a little cluster, shaped like a heart, down near Stephanie’s butt—”

Before Jason could finish, Roger screamed. The plaintive wail overwhelmed the tiny speaker before they lost the connection.

Jason waited a moment, then hung up.

“What did he say at the end?” asked Natalie. She walked back into the kitchen, wiping away tears.

Stephanie’s face was redder than that little dress she’d borrowed from her mother.

“Dunno,” Jason said, “all he did was scream and hang up.”

Natalie continued to laugh, “Eskimo brothers and screen doors.” Jason, you were magnificent.”

Stephanie glared. “First, I’m an igloo, then a screen door. You made it all up. We never did anything like that.”

“Not back then.” Jason waggled his eyebrows, Stephanie blushed harder, and Natalie chuckled even more.

“You made me sound like a whore.”

Natalie tsked, “Get over it, daughter, Jason made himself a whore, not you.” When Stephanie didn’t reply, she added, “Maybe I’ll let Romeo give me the screen door treatment.” Natalie turned to Jason and winked.

“Now that’s a great idea,” Jason pushed his chair back and stood. They’d drug this out long enough. “Hurricane Jason is ready to go. One question,” he looked from Natalie to Stephanie. “Are we doing this all together or separate, or what?

***

The scream from upstairs took Yevgeny by surprise. “What is pipsqueak’s problem this time?”

Since realizing the extent of his djinn’s disloyalty, Yevgeny had busied himself preparing his counter strike. He sat at his garage worktable and measured nano-powdered iron oxide and aluminum into cheap neoplas food storage containers. He continued working when his employer burst into the garage. “Do not disturb me with your petty problems, Roger. This step is critical.”

“Petty problem, my ass. I just had a call from my pet’s boyfriend—"

Yevgeny held up a hand and interrupted Roger. “When did you turn your mobile phone on?”

“When I was locked in the room upstairs. What does it matter? According to this boyfriend, he ‘banged her like a screen door’ long before I bought her from you.”

“The boyfriend lied. You should not have turned your phone on. Phones can be tracked.”

“To hell with you and what you want. How did her boyfriend know about the freckles on her ass?”

Instead of answering, Yevgeny finished his task, pouring the mixed metallic powders around the strip of magnesium. He carefully burp-sealed each neoplas bowl while Roger fumed. When his devices were complete, he turned and faced his ally. “Maybe it’s true, and maybe it is not. In any case, you enjoyed your pet’s services for over ten years. After we recover her, you will complete her sale. What does it matter if she ‘knew’ some pimply-faced boy?”

“You don’t get it. She was soiled, you nekulturny baboon. By touching her, I’m unclean as well. I want my money back.”

Calling a Russian nekulʹturnyy, or uncultured, meant the recipient lacked culture. Like a barbarian, the nekulʹturnyy did not belong in civilization. To some, it was a near mortal insult. For Yevgeny, it was like water off a duck. Still, he’d tolerated enough of this half-man’s barbs.

Yevgeny stood; he wasn’t a tall man, but he towered over Roger. He drew his hook knife and pressed the flat of its blade against the smaller man’s cheek. The knife’s razor-sharp tip dug in enough to bring a tiny crimson bead to the surface. “For some men,” Yevgeny crooned, “such an insult requires the shedding of blood.”

When cornered, even a rabbit may fight back. “You lied to me.” The tiny drop of blood quivered with each word.

“Believe me or not. If Stephanie,” the name now had a Slavic pronunciation, ‘Steff-ahh-knee’ “had relations with this ‘boyfriend,’ I had no knowledge of it. For the last time, Roger, I did not lie to you.” Yevgeny withdrew his knife and wiped it on his sleeve.

Roger held his place. Although the strain of doing so showed in his eyes. “None the less, if you have not recovered her in twenty-four hours, I will spread my side of this story. In our world, reputations are everything. Once word of this gets out, how many of your short-lived, North Korean cat-girls will you sell?

***

Stephanie gasped and backed away from the table; she wasn’t smiling. “You disgusting pig!” she hissed and stomped from the kitchen. Footsteps pounded up the stairs, followed by the finality of a slamming door.

Words from a decade ago came unbidden to Jason’s lips. “This was the part where the prettiest girl in the world called him a disgusting jerk.”

Natalie returned to her seat at the table. “Is speaking in the third person some kind of human coping mechanism?”

“Kind of.” Without anything else to do, he plopped back down on his chair. “What about you? Don’t you need to bond to someone?”

Natalie nodded, “I do, and soon. The aches have already started. But, Jason,” Natalie’s peridot eyes glinted. “Even if Stephanie and I could agree to an accommodation, you’re much too young for me.” She reached across the table and patted his hand. “For the first time in my life, I get to choose who owns me! I want someone,” she grinned, “or a pair of someones, closer to my age. Your parents are coming home tonight, aren’t they?”

“My parents?” He had a vision of Mom and Dad and Natalie? Together? Dad wouldn’t, would he? Or Mom, she’d never…. “My parents?” he croaked.

“I’m sorry, Jason,” he got another hand pat. “I had the impression you were quick-witted.” Natalie shook her head, “You humans always manage to surprise me. Besides,” Natalie said before following her daughter’s footsteps, “if you and I ever hooked up, you’d be the screen door.” With that, the older woman strode from the room, her hips swaying in that same hypnotic rhythm. She looked back, just once, before taking the stairs.

That one glance told him she didn’t need to be a mind reader either.

***

The cul-de-sac Yevgeny shared with his annoying neighbors wasn’t far from the main road. Route 19 was old. It stretched from Pennsylvania’s southern border, all the way north to Lake Erie. For its age, it was still heavily traveled. The smooth flow of traffic relied on its series of intelligent traffic lights. One of the significant intersections lay at the entrance to this very neighborhood. An hour after sunset, Yevgeny crept up to the traffic light control box and placed one of his thermite bombs. As he’d expected, the box was heavy steel. When melted by the thermite, droplets of molten metal would shower onto the delicate circuit boards within.

Back inside the upscale housing development, Yevgeny visited the five other critical infrastructure items. He placed a bomb atop the neighborhood fiber optic cabinet, which functioned as the internet’s distribution point. Then he did the same at all four residential transformers.

Just because Yevgeny didn’t trust modern electronics, it didn’t mean he lacked knowledge of its weaknesses.

***

The police officer looked as apologetic as anyone Jason had ever seen. “I’m sorry, Mr. Thomas, but there’s an incident, and I need to direct traffic until another officer can relieve me.”

“I understand,” but he didn’t understand, not really. More importantly, he didn’t know what he should do. “Should we go somewhere else until you’re back?”

The police officer pursed her lips. “I won’t be far. Just call if there’s a problem.”

After the policewoman turned back to her cruiser, Jason closed and locked the door. “Alfred, watch my back. I’m going upstairs to talk to the ladies.”

“And I thought it was Daniel who entered the lion’s den,” Alfred quipped.

***

Shirley Thomas stretched as far as the passenger seat in Robbie’s little sports car allowed. However luxurious an antique BMW Roadster might be, the interior was still cramped. Robbie loved his old car and only drove it on special occasions. Like this trip, their final, youth-restoring gene treatment.

Robert ducked to avoid his wife’s flailing arm. “It’s about time you woke, sleepyhead.” His hand slipped from the steering wheel and onto her thigh. Along with a reduction in age-related aches and pains, they’d also experienced a rekindled interest in…other things.

Lights from a familiar shopping mall illuminated the night. Shirley mused, “It looks like we're almost home.”

A minivan pulled onto the road without signaling. Robert reclaimed his hand and steered around the thoughtless driver. “Yep, home and all of Jason’s problems.”

“If you’re going to start that again, you can just drop me off and find someplace else to sleep.”

“You know this is going to be a mess.”

“That’s why I keep a lawyer on retainer.”

“Ha, it’d be nice if I got paid.”

“You got paid last night. Twice, if I remember correctly.”

Robbie grinned, and with his stubby growth of dark hair, it made her husband look like he had back in college. “It was twice, wasn’t it,” The grin widened. “Talk about a nice surprise.”

“I think you have more energy this time around. By the way, your hair’s growing back.”

“Is that why my head itches?”

“Your head itches because you’re too full of yourself.” The jibe came automatically, but Shirley regretted it almost as it left her lips. To show she didn’t mean anything, she reached across and squeezed Robbie’s thigh. He had managed to go twice, hadn’t he?

Up ahead was the huge four-way intersection with the turn into their neighborhood. But red lights flashed alongside the road, and the traffic signals were blank. Police officers in reflective vests directed traffic with their flashlights. At the intersection, Robbie pulled into the left turn lane and waited for his turn.

Off to the left, sparks rose from the remains of a metal cabinet. “What do you think happened?” Shirley asked. Robbie didn’t answer; a frantic policewoman had waved them on.

***

Jason found Stephanie and her mother in his parent’s bathroom. It made sense; his parents’ tub was huge, and Natalie had wanted a bath. At the doorway, Jason tapped on the frame and glanced inside. Stephanie and her mother studied the control panel for the whirlpool tub. Dad had gone overboard and bought the most complicated spa tub available. At least both women were still dressed.

“Hey,” he called out. Until he and Stephanie came to an understanding, he was going to keep his distance.

Stephanie spun towards him, but her mother laid a restraining hand on her arm.

Glancing back, Stephanie snapped. “I’m fine, mother.”

Jason cleared his throat. “Steph, we’ll talk later. But there’s an emergency, and we’ve lost our police protection for a while.”

Natalie’s shoulders slumped. “Well, that’s it then. You two get out of here. I’ll try and delay Yevgeny.”

Surprised, Jason followed Natalie’s train of thought. “You think Gene did something?”

“Do not underestimate Yevgeny’s cunning. He has murdered many for fewer reasons than we have given him. Take Stephanie and run. I will remain here as he commanded.” She sobered further, “When he reclaims me, I may delay him further.”

Left unsaid was what Yevgeny would do to her during the delay. “No.” Jason shook his head. He had never been so sure of anything in his life. “We’re all going together.”

“Why? When I am under his control again, he may be satisfied.”

The grim determination in Natalie’s voice told Jason she didn’t expect to survive. “Because my great-grandfather, Grainger Thomas, set the standard. We protect our family, whatever it takes.”

“What does your great-grandfather have to do with this?”

Jason considered Natalie’s question. When your family didn’t stretch back for generations, traditions may be difficult to understand. He shrugged and said, “It’s a human thing.”

Natalie clucked and shook her head. “It’s a stupid human thing,”

Then, the lights went out.