A Beautiful Wish Ch. 03

Dawn shrugged, "It is fine George, I still love you."

His stomach did two back flips, "I um...I..." he stammered.

"You were going to give me a present," she said happily.

He smiled, knowing that she let him dodge the bullet. "Yes indeed," he said with enthusiasm, "sorry that it's taking me so long. It's been a while since I've actually used any of them."

She clapped her hands together excitedly, "You mean there is more than one?"

"You'll see," he said slyly.

Finally, he had cleared the debris from around his gift. "Ok Dawn, close your eyes. And no peeking."

She smiled knowingly at him and shut her eyes. George had no idea that the act of closing one's eyes could be so sexy, but then he thought that Dawn could be wearing a haz-mat suit and still look sexy. She reclined on his bed and waited patiently for her next command.

George walked over to her and picked her up carefully. Without any prompting, she leaned her head against his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his neck, her eyes still relaxed and closed. He could almost feel the warmth of her smile.

He carried her over to his closet, set Dawn on her feet, and guided her to her knees in front of a wooden, knobby, waist high bookcase completely filled end to end with small paperback books. Creases along the spines indicated that they had been read several times over.

"Ok, open your eyes," he said quietly.

She did so slowly and examined the bookcase. George stayed quiet as she took in the site before her. "These...these are stories."

"Fantasy stories," corrected George. "This is my collection, all my favorites. Whenever I was feeling down I would lose myself in a book for a while until the feeling passed. I used to imagine myself as the heroes in the stories, slaying dragons and saving maidens and whatnot. It would make me feel better, for a little while at least."

"Why did you stop," her voice was filled with awe.

"Eventually I started to believe that nobody in the real world really thought that way. I would read a story that had inspired me when I was a kid, but when I compared it to my own experience, things just didn't add up. Good and evil are never that absolute. Love stories are never that simple. Friendships never last that long."

He sighed heavily once more, his eyes downcast. "No, that's not true," he said sadly. "I gave up. I just, stopped trying. I guess I thought the maidens would rather date the dragons then be saved by me."

"But now that I have you, I know that I was wrong. A lot of what I am, a lot of what I hoped to be, is in those books. They taught me about myself. It's why I know what friendship is even though I don't have any friends. It's how I know that if you love me like you say you do, then I should try to be worthy of it. It's how I know that I don't want you to be my slave, but my girlfriend. Dawn, you made me realize how important these are to me. And now I want you to have them."

"You mean, you are giving them all, to me?" she asked wide-eyed.

"On one condition. When you read them, I want you to think about what the stories mean to you, not just what it means to me that you are reading them. I want you to enjoy them, or hate them, because it is what you feel."

Dawn wore a look of unabashed wonderment as she ran her index finger along the spines of the books. She stopped at a familiar title and pulled the book free. It was the book version of the movie they had just watched. She stared at the cover lovingly.

He continued, "I know that they are just books, but when I saw how much you liked the movie I thought you might enjoy the real thing. And who knows, maybe you'll find something in those books that will teach you something about yourself, just like they did for me."

She hugged the book tight across her chest and said, "They are not just books. They are you." She looked up at him, her beautiful dawn colored eyes glistened, "I will take very good care of them."

George leaned in and kissed her forehead, "I know you will."

Feeling very good about himself, George thought he should leave her be for the moment so that she could explore her gift more completely. He stood up and surveyed the devastation in his room. Unlike the mess in the kitchen, this one was completely his own doing. Even before he had emptied his closet to clear a path to the bookcase, the place had looked like a war-zone, with old action figures acting like generals directing their armies of books over mountains of dirty clothing. Now it looked like the proverbial bomb had gone off. He had resolved to give the place a thorough scrubbing when he heard Dawn's voice behind him.

"George," she said in her now familiar sultry tone, "I have a gift for you too."

George turned around and almost choked on his tongue at what he saw. Dawn was at the entrance to his closet dressed in an almost perfect recreation of a Hogwart's uniform. Actually it was even more perfect thanks to the alterations she made. Rather than looking frumpy, the costume was cut to hug every inch of her perfect body. Her long shapely legs were made even more so thanks to a pair of black pumps and white knee high stockings. The skirt was definitely much shorter than any respectable witch would have worn, stopping just before her lightly tanned mid thigh. Her blouse acted more like a corset than a blouse and pushed her large perky breasts up higher then usual. With the top few buttons undone the view was mesmerizing. Rather than a cloak, she wore a long silk scarf that blended blue, red, and gold in horizontal bands up its length. It flowed in two long tendrils down her back. Her skirt and tie matched the scarf's colors, although the tie looked quite comical nestled uselessly in her cleavage. All told, George thought she looked dazzling and his throbbing cock poked noticeably against his sweat pants in response. He stood their dazed with his mouth open.

"You like?" Dawn asked as she pranced around in a tight circle to give him all the best views. Her scarf twirled around her in graceful swirls. Her pleated skirt flared up and George caught sight of her little white panties.

George tried to say, "Ohmyfuckingodyes!" But what he actually said came out even less coherent than that.

Dawn gave him a heavenly laugh and said, "I will assume that was an affirmative."

George nodded dumbly.

"But this is not the complete extent of my gift. How would you like to go there?"

"Where? Too Hogwart's?"

She nodded.

"You can do that?"

"With a wish, Yes. I said before that I could create fantasies for you without limit. The only stipulation would be that there would have to be sex involved."

"Oh, darn," he said jokingly.

She laughed again. "I have to warn you though, while you are in the fantasy, time will pass in the real world. An hour in a fantasy would amount to roughly and hour in our world. Of course, as your mastery of my powers grows, and your confidence in yourself grows, that ratio would change in your favor. Also, there is a limit on the amount of time you can spend in a fantasy. You opened my vessel just under 18 hours ago, so you have accrued 18 hours of fantasy time."

"Ok, I don't want to stay there for a full 18 hours. Maybe an hour or two would suffice."

"That should be fine. Right now you can experience a fantasy up to six hours long, but again, that should get longer as we spend more time together and the more confidant you become. Oh, and you cannot experience more than one fantasy in any 24 hour period, to prevent you from spending too much time in a fantasy world."

"This is one of those wierd Genie rules isn't it?"

"Yes, sorry George. It is something I do not have a control over."

Despite his limitations, George was very excited about the prospect of living out the fantasies from his books, "So, if I wished to fight some Orcs and then make love to you dressed up like an Elf for six hours, you could do that?"

Tingle. She smiled happily and said, "Yes, that would be fine. That sounds like a lot of fun actually. And I wouldn't really be dressed up like an elf, I would be an elf. However, for any fantasy I would need to have a basic script of events and any other details you feel are important."

"Well right now I am feeling inspired by your 'uniform'. What do I need to do?"

She leaned in and rubbed his erection lightly through his pants. She bit her lip as she said softly, "Why don't you get comfortable, and then you can tell me what you dream about. Then, I will make your dream come true." She had that look in her eye that George had come to recognize as her unbridled affection.

George felt a little weak-kneed as she pulled him down low enough so that she could kiss him deeply as she continued to caress his member. She pushed him backwards lightly until he hit the bed and fell backwards, pulling her on top of him. His stomach did three back flips.

She straddled him, "So George, are you comfortable yet?" she asked.

"I don't think I've ever felt so comfortable being so uncomfortable in my entire life," he said breathlessly in between kisses.

"Then would Master like to be less comfortable?"

He just grunted in confirmation.

Without her moving from their kiss, George felt his pants slide down and his hard cock enter her slick warm tunnel. She didn't ride him so much as milk him. He could feel her walls pulse and pull and tighten around him slowly. The thought occurred to him that her panties should have been in the way, but quickly dismissed it when he remembered she was Genie. He thought she could probably still be wearing her panties and just make them immaterial or something. He swooned as he imagined the lengths that Dawn could and probably would go just to fuck him.

Over the next half-hour, George relayed to Dawn a fantasy that been swimming in his head for a while. Dawn continued her slow milking, increasing her intensity as George relayed some of the more lurid details. He had been resisting the urge to reach up and play with his most favorite pair of breasts in the whole world because he didn't want to mess up her uniform. But he couldn't hold back as their mutual orgasm approached. She feigned indignation as her tie and blouse were hopelessly disheveled by George's large hands, but the sensations quickly melted her coherence. Even as big as George's hands were, the flesh of her breasts overflowed and spilled out between his thick fingers. Minutes later, they both finished riding out the crests of their equally earth-shattering orgasms.

The script was eventually decided upon. But then George realized that quite a bit of the tension would require him not realizing it was a fantasy. He related his fears to Dawn. "If you would prefer George, I can make you believe the fantasy completely as long as you are inside it. Once you return you will have all of your memories intact."

"Problem solved. So what do I do now?"

"Just lay back and close your eyes. I will do the rest. I will see you again in one and one half hours, as we agreed."

"Wait. Aren't you coming with?" he asked.

"I can observe if you wish."

"Can't you, ya know, participate?"

"Of course George."

"Well, do you want to go?"

"If Master wishes it."

"No, no. I mean, does Dawn want to go, the person, not the Genie?"

"More than anything," she replied wistfully.

"So why didn't you just say so?"

"I did not want to presume you wanted me thus."

"I do, thus. Besides the fact that I want you around me all the time, this is as much your idea as it is mine. You have to be there."

She brightened, "Okay, do you wish me to observe, or would you like me involved more...intimately?"

"Well since you are the girl of dreams, why don't you be the girl in the fantasy. Can you alter your memories like you can mine, so that you believe it too?"

"Yes and no, I cannot make the Genie side of me believe it, because it needs to monitor and guide the fantasy. But the Dawn part of me can believe it if you would like her too."

"What would you like?"

She looked into his eyes and replied, still wistful, "I would like to be where my master is so that he may continue to see me as the girl of his dreams."

"Is that the Genie talking, or Dawn?"

"Both," she whispered.

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Prof. Malak Graves rushed briskly through the grounds of Goose Pimple's University in a desperate attempt to get to his next appointment on time. He had only been teaching advanced dueling for a semester and already the complaints of his sour attitude and perpetual lateness was putting him on cold terms with the Headmistress. He nodded curtly as he passed several students and rounded a corridor towards his office.

Prof. Graves was very young to be teaching such an advanced course at one of the oldest and most prestigious wizarding universities in America, but his talent and style were undeniable. He had never had any formal education himself, growing up on the magical streets, picking up whatever bit of magic he could use to help him survive. But after helping the authorities break up several groups dedicated to the dark arts by working undercover, he had proved to all that he was both powerful and trustworthy, if a little eccentric. However, he was having trouble keeping to his schedule while following the Headmistress' incessant demands.

He had gained a reputation as something of a maverick on campus. He was not much older than most of the students attending the school, and he tended to have more in common with them then the stuffy old witches and wizards who taught the other classes. He had a prickly exterior persona most of the time, but those who got to know him found him dedicated and very protective of his students. While most wizarding folk were either skinny or portly, Malak was thick and hard thanks to his less cushy upbringing.

Most of his students greatly enjoyed his classes because Malak had a complete aversion to books and lectures. Rather than a black board, Prof. Graves had an arena filled will all sorts of devious surprises. And instead of theorys and proofs, he focused on the practical aspects of casting spells and the subtle tricks that could keep one alive in a desperate situation. His favorite trick, and specialty, was silent spells. He could cast most spells without any words or flourishes so long as he had his wand somewhere on his person. It was a talent he had not shared with his superiors or his students out of the habit of wanting an ace up this sleeve. Most times, this is where he kept his wand, hidden away for times of crisis.

He reached his office on the 852nd floor of the northwest tower just in time to hear the clock tower boom four times. He was relieved to see that his appointment was running slightly late. He couldn't afford any more lapses in professionalism that semester. He was to meet with a young exchange student from across the pond who was having trouble with a certain jinx that she just couldn't seem to defend herself against no matter how hard she tried. He had put this meeting off several times, dismissing it as trivial. How could a student at one of the best wizarding schools in the world be having trouble with such a ridiculously simple spell? But his department head had explained to him in no uncertain terms that his job depended on this meeting.

Prof. Graves hung up his formal black school cloak, revealing a white, partially unbuttoned business shirt. He was trying to organize his stacks of parchment lying haphazardly about his desk when he heard a tiny knock at the door to his office. "It's open," he said shortly.

He heard someone enter, but did not look up. He heard a young woman's voice say, "H, hello Professor." She spoke with a very sweet and sexy British accent.

"Yes, Yes. Sit down, sit down. You must be miss Honeywell. I underst..." he stopped as he caught sight of the honey haired goddess. She was dressed in the standard GPU uniform, though it seemed much too small for her and her bountiful curves, which pushed the blouse of her uniform to its limits in terms of both decorum and functionality. Her skirt was entirely too short to cover her toned dancer's legs and he could clearly see her white panties as she struggled in vain to cover herself while she sat cross-legged in the chair opposite from him.

He caught himself gawking, though she didn't seem to notice as she fumbled about her uniform, trying to make it fit properly. He continued, "...understand that you have been having trouble with a clotho reducto jinx."

"Yes professor," she said shyly.

"You do know there is a counter jinx to this spell, yes?"

"Yes professor, but every time I try to cast it, the jinx just intensifies. I've ruined three uniforms already, and whenever I try to put on something different it changes to look like this." she said, her voice filled with exasperation.

"Interesting," said Malak intrigued, "well stand up, I had better be sure that you haven't just been casting the spell incorrectly. These things do happen sometimes." He rose, and motioned with his wand for her to stand next to his desk.

She moved with seemingly unconscious grace to stand before him. She had a delicate a sultry way of moving, but Malak was fairly certain by her square framed glasses and nervous attempts to cover her legs that she was not comfortable walking around in such a revealing state. He couldn't help remarking to himself how cute and sexy she was, her not realizing it was just adding another level to his arousal.

"Clotho Enlargum," said Malak firmly with a simple flourish from his wand. True to her word, the uniform shrunk and tightened even more until the buttons from her blouse burst and shot across the room, revealing her unbelievably gorgeous melons lifted and restrained unnecessarily in a white seamless bra. Her skirt was just an inch long.

"You see Professor?" she cried as she tried to cover herself with too few appendages. She unconsciously palmed her right breast.

Malak could clearly see her hard nipples poking through the undergarment. Her cheeks appeared rosy and flushed. "Hmmm," he thought out loud. "I don't mean to alarm you, but this could be very serious Ms. Honeywell."

"Oh no! I'm cursed aren't I?" she asked nearly in tears.

"I need to try a few things to be sure. I am going to cast another spell. This one is a counter hex, if I'm correct then your clothes shall reduce even further. If that's the case, I'll then try a counter curse. I want you to be prepared Ms. Honeywell, if I'm right, you may very well be completely naked by the time I'm done."

Her face scrunched up in anguish, "Are you sure we need to do this Professor? I mean...if my dad found out that I've been cursed, he would ship me back home faster then you could say unforgivable."

"The alternative is that your clothing will continue to reduce until anything you wear will appear as nothing at all. I'm sure you don't want that."

"Well...no."

"Then this must be done. It is the only way I can know for sure."

She didn't look happy about her options and hesitated while she worked through any possible way out she may have overlooked. All the while she rubbed her thighs together and continued to fondle herself. Malak truly felt bad for her. If he was right, then she had been afflicted with a very old and difficult to break curse. It had gone by many names over the centuries, but the current street name for it was "the heat".

"Listen, Ms. Honeywell, I know that you must be slightly mortified at the moment. You have not been in any of my classes so you may not know this, but my students come first. If you would prefer me to keep your condition a secret, I will make an unbreakable vow to do so. But you must understand that this isn't going to wear off on its own. It must be dealt with."

Y, yes Professor," she said, her eyes downcast in resignation of her fate. "And Professor, thank you for...for your help."