“Be careful what you wish for!”

I’ve noted that the above phrase (followed closely by “enjoy the ride!”) is very commonly used in this forum. However, I wonder how many contributors have, like me, had the experience of finding a real life magic lamp complete with Genie, and used this in an ill-considered attempt to top the Universe itself from the bottom so as to achieve the realisation of their sexual fantasies?
The lamp in question was quite an ordinary sort of oil lamp such as used to supply domestic lighting when I was a boy growing up in 1950s Yorkshire. I came across it at a car boot sale for the modest sum of £6 and purchased it mainly for the nostalgia value, as it was very like the one I used under my blankets to read the latest copy of Sadie Sterne’s Monthly without my mother knowing (this was before the days of such things as the internet and duvets). It was somewhat the worse for wear so when I got it home I decided to give it a jolly good rub with Brasso and newspaper. Imagine my surprise when a huge racist stereotype of a Turkish waiter burst forth from the lamp and offered me three wishes! Well I have always had a thing about chastity but my Better Half is not the slightest bit interested in what she referred to as “that sort of absurd nonsense”, so my first wish was to be locked in an ornate titanium cock cage and the second one was for my Better Half to be transformed into an enthusiastic key holder and female supremacist a bit like a character from the sitcom Allo Allo. For a few months thereafter I lived most contentedly as an orgasm-denied French Maid, whilst my Better Half enjoyed noisy sex with the Genie.
However… be careful what you wish for! After 150 days of chastity I began too long for sexual release - but my Better Half would have none of it! “You bent my ear about this shenanigans for the best part of twelve years” she retorted in a ludicrous Germanic accent as the Genie relentlessly pounded her from behind; “now enjoy ze ride, Englisher Schweinhund!”. Since the cage was secured by means of a PA and very sturdy padlock there was nothing I could do about it… or was there?
I still had one wish left, so during one of the rare interludes when the Genie was not pounding my Better Half relentlessly from behind, I sidled up to him and asked if he was familiar with Nikolai Gogol’s famous short story, “The Nose”. He was not - so I explained that it told of a middle-raking Russian civil servant whose nose somehow becomes detached from his face and enjoys an autonomous existence as a civil servant of rank senior to that of the narrator. I further explained that my third and final wish was for a modern day reworking of this classic absurdist short story in which my “wedding tackle” would somehow become detached from my body and enjoy an autonomous existence as an overzealous traffic warden down our street. This would, I reasoned, be a kind of Hegelian synthesis to resolve the dialectic between my desire for chastity and humiliation on one hand, and my obsessive need for masturbatory gratification on the other: I would remain cockless (now, literally), suffer the humiliation of having my car repeatedly clamped by my own penis, yet at the same time my penis could grow to enormous size and enjoy itself as the fancy took it on days off from patrolling the streets. Well, no sooner had the Genie proclaimed “alakazam alakazaa”, than it was so - and having performed his last wish, the Genie was freed from his obligation to me and was able to stop relentlessly pounding my Better Half from behind and disappear in a puff of purple smoke to open a kebab shop about 400 yards from our home, where to this day my Better Half and I are given 20% discount as well as extra pickled chillies and garlic mayo.
However…. be careful what you wish for! Having by now grown accustomed to being pounded relentlessly from behind by supernatural entities, my Better Half quickly drew my penis-turned-traffic-warden into a torrid affair so that I became literally cuckolded by my own “wedding tackle”. Imagine my humiliation when my Better Half and my penis then arranged a renewal of vows service at the local church, attended by the entire local community, where I served as bridesmaid whilst dressed in a sort of Little Bo Peep costume (I should add that I am a burly 72 year old clinically obese man with a bushy beard, ill-suited to the role of nursery rhyme shepherdess). “Enjoy ze ride, Tommy Atkins!” shrieked my Better Half as we processed to the church in our recently unclamped Fiat Uno, festooned for the occasion in rainbow bunting.
I did not enjoy the ride, largely due to the butt plug I was forced to wear, with a handle in the shape of a shepherd’s crook. Most uncomfortable! To make matters worse, my mother in law and my Better Half’s attractive younger sister both pelted me with wedding cake throughout the reception. I am allergic to marzipan.
Doubtless there will, as always, be certain frequent posters on this forum quick to cast aspersions on the veracity of this account. All I can say is, believe what you like! And of course….
BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR!

 

Needless to say, we were not popular with some of our neighbours, who objected to the fact that by virtue of my “wedding tackle” becoming the local traffic warden we were “imposing our kink on others”…

 

Do I detect a note of doubt?
Why are there so many cynics on this forum?

 

It springs from having to keep their feelings bottled up

 

Come to think of it, the genie in “I Dream of Jeannie” was a classic example of “topping from the bottom”….

 

Actually I never liked Sadie Stern’s Monthly because the women in it were always portrayed as snarly types whereas my notion of a dominatrix is coolly detached and amused.
I wrote my own erotica from about the age of twelve and throughout my life. Pretty much the only thing I’ve read that appealed to me was the fake Victorian novel “Harriet Marwood, Governess” (the version that doesn’t have ridiculous interludes with the father and his “throbbing pego”)