Neil's Discipline

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic

A quick riff on C.D. Rudd's webcomic, I Dream of a Jeanie Bottle. As is often the case, I find myself frustrated by some aspect of a work I otherwise enjoy, and had to get it out where I could see it. It's rather unpolished.
Yeah, I know what everyone's thinking from that title. A little bit--but not really, no.
And no, again: this is not erotica, at least not for me.

Don't hesitate to tell me what I did wrong. I crave negative feedback as well as positive, so I can get better.

"Stop! I am her Master!"

The whip, wielded by no visible hand, froze in midair.

Jeanie, bare from the waist up, arms manacled around a pillar of rough black granite, eyes shut against the anticipated pain, squealed in delight.

"You tell 'em, Neil!"

"Jeanie, hush."

"Buncha medieval thugs...."

"Jeanie! Quiet!"

"It's not like he wasn't askin' for..."

"Jeanie! Shut! Your! Mouth!" Neil bellowed.

Her lips clamped shut. She made noises in her throat, as if trying to speak, but that was all. Her chains rattled as she twisted in fury.

He turned towards Haji. Haji was mildly surprised to see that this mortal did not burst into flame at the sight of him. Hm. What did this portend?

"Lord Haji, I beg to intercede."

Neil bowed as low as he could.

"Well. Some courtesy at least. But there will be no mercy. The young genie must learn obedience!"

Neil bowed a half inch lower.

"Pardon, Lord Haji. She must learn obedience, yes, she must, but from and to her Master. I have been remiss."

"Remiss? YOU?"

The Genie Lord sat back in his throne, stroking his chin.

"Not many Masters understand this."

"I have been reading the manual."

"The Manual." Haji did not quite ask.

"Instructions? The, uh, Care and Feeding of Genies? Teaching Masters how, how to be Masters?"

Haji glanced behind himself at an owl-headed woman cloaked in gray smoke issuing from an ornate censer tended by an alert boy, and motioned her over. She whispered in his ear. Tendrils of smoke made Neil want to sneeze.


He held out his hand, and behold, a huge scroll of gold foil, on rods of solid diamond, appeared before him. It crinkled as it unrolled.

"Ah. Copies of this were all to have been destroyed, yes?"

Again the Smoke Oracle whispered. She glanced at Neil, a glance that made Neil drop another millimeter or two.

Haji waved her away, his hand passing through her very much as if she were indeed smoke. She bowed and withdrew.

"Wished for it, eh? Did you also 'wish' to be here?"

"No, Lord Haji. I, uh, I followed the link between my Genie and myself. I don't know how, exactly...."

"Very, very strange. You call yourself a Master do you? Yet you are soft, like a eunuch."

Neil dropped to one knee and braced himself with one hand.

"Lord Haji, I have only just begun to learn what being a Master means."

"And what is that, young master?" Haji's disdain echoed that for the "young genie".

Neil swallowed.

"I thought...Lord Haji, I thought it meant that I could make her s-serve me." It almost gagged him to say it.  "But--"

Haji leaned forward on his throne.

"Yes, that is what most masters believe. But?"

Neil swallowed again.

"But...It means...Lord Haji, it means I am responsible for her. For her well being, and her um..." He swallowed. "...misbehavior?"

He pressed his forehead to the floor.

"I beg, Lord Haji, to be whipped in her place."

That stilled even the eddies of the Smoke Oracle. Her attendant gaped.

"Young Master," the disdain was entirely gone, "your genie's misdeeds are her own. She must be punished. But your punishment will be worse. You, yourself, must wield the whip."

Neil found himself in an executioner's pose, gripping the leather handle, arm cocked back for the blow. He could not move. He was stripped to the waist. His bare feet rested on cold, sweating stone.

The whip changed from stained brown to a dull neutral gray.

"Have you ever, Young Master, whipped anyone?"

"No, Lord Haji."

"You have three strokes to learn."

The whip went limp. Neil staggered.

"The sentence is ten strokes. Thirteen in all. Do not disappoint me, Young Master."

Neil stared at the whip, then looked to Jeanie. Her eyes were wild, and she shook her head, making "O! O! O!" noises through lips that would not open. Haji was expressionless.

Neil closed his eyes, steadied himself, and swung the whip against a pillar, getting a feel for it, feeling silly, a total fool.

But let's face it, folks. Basic whip wielding does not take that much skill. Even his clumsy stroke slapped through the room.

Haji was not impressed.

"The stone feels nothing, young master. If you would be your genie's Master, master her!"

Neil raised his arm. "I'm sorry, Jeanie. I--"

"Do not apologize to the miscreant for the discipline she has earned! Strike! Or I return the whip to one who knows how to wield it, and will not hesitate! Strike!"

He lifted the whip, and swung--but at the last moment held back. The whip barely reached Jeanie's skin, but she screamed and writhed. A red welt appeared.

The aborted blow wrenched his back, and he rolled his shoulders trying to ease the ache.

"I am losing patience. Again. Lay the whip's full length across her skin. Do not attempt to pull back. Strike!"

Haji's angry voice cracked like a whip itself against Neil's mind. Neil lifted the whip and swung, this time with as much proper force as he could muster. He heard the crack against Jeanie's skin. She screamed--but not loudly enough for Neil to hear over his own scream.

A line of fire burned across his shoulders, exactly where the whip had touched Jeanie, exactly where the welt appeared on her.

Neil turned to the Haji, who showed a slight smile.

"Yes, Young Master. Each stroke of the gray whip carries the same amount of pain. But the harder you strike, the more pain you bear, and the less pain falls on your victim."

The Smoke Owl leaned towards Haji's ear. His smile broadened.

"'Conserve'. Yes, a good word. The gray whip conserves pain between master and slave. You said you wished to be whipped in your genie's place, did you not? Your wish, Young Master, is granted--to the best of your own ability. Enough practice. Ten strokes. Begin!"

Neil stared into Jeanie's eyes. "Hmph!" She glared and turned her face to the wall, waiting.

He lifted the whip, and swung.

When the two screams died away, echoing, he heard Haji say, "One".

The mark on Jeanie's back was barely pink, just enough to let him know where it had landed.

He drew breath, braced himself, swung.

With all his will, he could not strike quite as hard the second time. Jeanie's yelp drowned out his own, and she looked betrayed, and very angry.  

Nevertheless, Haji counted, "Two." He covered his smile with a forefinger.

Neil took a breath, vowing to himself to not make a sound.

When the blow landed, he grunted, but did not open his lips. Jeanie howled as a brighter welt appeared.

Oh, this was too easy! He barely itched! And didn't she deserve this? Wasn't she arrogant, high handed, selfish, impulsive, dismissive?

He tried to rally his anger--and found it rising to his will, a pressure valve long bound shut.

"You order ME around!"

The whip made no sound. "ow!" he said. Jeanie screamed.


His next blow fell lighter across the small of her back. He gasped, but Jeanie's howl filled him with a kind of glee.

"You humiliate me in public!"

Oh, this was too easy! The stroke could not have torn tissue paper.

Jeanie's pain rang in his ears like a sweet bell.


He was getting the hang of this now. The lash laid full length across her back, gentle as a feather. A line of blood appeared on Jeanie's back from butt to shoulder. No music had ever been sweeter than her agony. Only the shackles on the wall held her up.

The whip kissed his back like a lover. He shivered in delight. He wanted to feel that AGAIN.

"You SENT ME TO VEGAS WITH RODGE! Dressed like a whore!" Gleeful rage filled him as he shifted his grip so he could barely flick the whip against her underhanded.


Something in Haji's voice made Neil glance at him. The creamy cruelty on the Genie Lord's face made him look at Jeanie, to SEE.

She was scared. His Genie was scared of her Master.

Except for the screams when he struck, no, when he caressed his ungrateful, disrespectful genie, her lips were still sealed; she could only plead with her eyes. Tears flooded the beautiful face. Snot ran out of her nose, unregarded.

He wanted to hear her scream again. Her screams delighted him more than the kiss of the lash. The blood running down her back inspired him. He imagined that blood dripping from the breasts she revealed as she twisted in her chains; the vision thrilled him. The whip moved like a live snake in his hand. He lusted to strip her completely, so he could strike her anywhere, everywhere.

He walked towards her. He wouldn't even strike, he thought, he would just, ever so gently, drape the lash against her back, and her flesh would open for him, red and dripping, everywhere the gray, dripping lash touched, and never would he have felt such pleasure.

Even as he lifted the whip, she moaned in hopeless fear. Even better, knowing fear. She knew she deserved this, and she was no longer pleading even with her eyes. She could only wait for her Master's pleasure.

He'd never felt so powerful in his life. This, this was what he truly wished for!

His genie, his all powerful, granter-of-any-wish genie. His beautiful, sexy Jeanie, contemptuous of him and his puny wishes, was abjectly terrified of her Master, of HIM. Dumpy, wimpy little nerd that he was, His Jeanie was terrified of Him, He was her Vengeful God.

His Jeanie. His Genie. All his. All of her. His. He Owned Her. Anything, anything at all, just for the asking.

All he had to do was ask.

Just ask, and she would do anything for him.

Just ask. Anything.

He'd asked for  a ham sandwich, and she'd conjured it out of thin air and dumped it on his wimpy, nerdish head in sheer contempt.


He was her Master, and she was his Genie, and he'd never once asked her for anything important. Never once something he just liked.

Never given his Genie anything to do for her Master. Most especially never asked for the pure simple pleasure of having her serve him.

Never given her the pleasure of serving him.

She'd brought him food and drink at his office, of her own free will, happy and proud, and he'd sent her away, embarrassed by her.

He'd seen something else in Aracelli, the desperate need to please, and he'd hated that. She'd been terrified of her Bottle, her totem, of being buried in the sea till the seas boiled away, and she NEEDED to please him, because he was her escape. She had filled him with unease.

But Jeanie--Jeanie had been his friend when he was just Jean. Ignorant, irresponsible, arrogant, disruptive, distracting, freeloading. Fun to be with, sometimes; witty, in his way. Trying, every day, to pry Neil out of his manuals, to get him to see, to feel, to touch, to enjoy his life.

Neil had once looked up, bleary over a screen of calculations, when Jean had put a cup of coffee on the desk. The window had been pink with sunrise.

"You strive. To sail. The bright. Black. Ocean. Of suns," Jean had intoned in his best Sagan. "The silent. Roaring sea. Of the Cosmos," then shrugged. "Me, I'm just gonna go surf."

For a  moment, Jean had rested his hand on Neil's shoulder. "You should try it. It's fun."

"Maybe," Neil had replied, "But only if I don't have to wear those hideous swim trunks."

They'd laughed, but now....

Now His Genie, His Jeanie cowered away from him in abject fear, where once she had curled her lip in disgust.

Because once Jean had become His Genie, he'd never given her anything to do, other than misbehave.

Never let her help him to be happy, not in any smallest way. His obsessive need to do it for himself, to NOT BE A BURDEN, to not owe anything to anybody, was the most selfish urge he'd ever felt.

And she'd been driven to more and more desperate measures to get him to SEE. To see her, His Genie, and understand how she needed to serve him.

But he had failed to serve her. He hadn't even given her the half tolerant friendship he'd given Jean.

He'd been too afraid of her to let her be his friend.

Neil splayed his hand across the stripes he'd given His Genie.

"I wish these wounds healed."

Power flowed from his fingers, pouring a warm healing syrup over her, unlike anything he'd ever felt.

Her flesh was unriven, clean.

Jeanie's eyes widened, her lips parted, Oh!

Before his will failed him, Neil stepped back, braced himself, and lashed his Genie with every erg he could summon.

He howled in agony, and fell to his knees as the blood began to flow down his back.

"Six," said Haji.

"One," corrected Neil, "I've been a very bad Master."

He stood, and lifted the whip.


"...Ten," said Neil's lips, moving against the stone floor. The screaming had left his throat almost as raw as his back; the word had no sound behind it.

The last few strokes had no force to them, yet had borne all the strength he had, inflicting terrible wounds.

"Neil!" She was kneeling by him, reached out to touch his stripes, the healing Wish already forming in her mind.

"Stop, Young Genie!" commanded Haji. "His wounds are his very own Wish, and you must not interfere!"

Her eyes were bright with fury.

"Why? How could you! He didn't deserve--!"

"His own wish, I said. I did not do this. He did it, to protect you, Young Genie. And look."

Haji pointed to the whip. It was unstained, not even gray, but pure, shining white. Gleaming silver threads wound through the handle and into the lash, a complex pattern the eye could not follow, Life itself flowing through its length.

"The White Whip is a fearsome weapon. It bestows its favor where it wills. It is a great honor. It portends struggle."

Haji himself knelt before Neil, touched his head to the floor. Neil stared at him; fear no longer in his eyes.

With enormous tenderness, he wiped the sweat from Neil's eyes, from his brow.

"Young Genie, gaze upon your Master Neil, a man who has truly mastered himself. Never have I seen...."

"pfft" whispered Neil. "I aced physical chemistry." He tried to shrug. "I hated phy chem."

"He is your Master. You are his Genie."

Haji gestured to the Smoke Oracle. She drifted over to hear his whispered command. The golden scrolls ejected a platinum disk of rainbows. A case of pure ivory carved into lace, woven through with blood red silk, slipped over it, red silk ribbons tying it shut.

Haji gave the disk to Jeanie.

"He has much to learn. So do you. Attend your Master, and he will guide you. There are powers that will seek out a pair such as yourselves, powers spoiling for a fight. There are already rumours of War. You must be ready for it when it comes. The Blue Genie did not know whom he fought. He will be the least of your opponents."

He stood, and returned to his throne.

"Very well. The Master has accepted his role. He will teach his Genie her role. Master Neil, your wounds have served their lesson."

Haji put his hand on an ornate staff standing by the throne, and knocked it against the floor. Thunder boomed.

All the pain Neil had inflicted on himself--came out, in reverse, all at once. Neil thought he was dying--and then it was over.

"This matter is concluded."

He thumped the staff against the floor again, quite an ordinary thump, and Neil and Jeanie were on the floor of their apartment.

"That arrogant bastard. That medieval son of a bitch. That filth. That brute. That--"

"Jeanie." He put his finger on her lips. "No."


"No. Sure, he's an asshole. He also did what he needed to do."

"Neil, you don't have to--"


He sat down on the couch.

"I've done very badly by you, Jeanie. I promise, I VOW, dear Jeanie, to be the best Master any genie has ever had. Starting now."

He patted his lap, and smiled.

"This is supposed to hurt me more than it hurts you, Jeanie, but I think I'm going to enjoy it very, very much."

"Neil, what are you...?" He patted his knee. "Oh, no. No no no. Neil, don't be an idiot."

"Don't be a bad little genie."

Pat pat pat.

"LITTLE! I'll have you know I'm a grown man! I will not--"

"Looked at yourself in a mirror lately?"

"I--I'm a--grown, a grown...genie? I am a grown genie! I will not lay on your lap and let you spank me!"

pat pat pat.

Jeanie leaned into his face, hands on her hips.

"You need to go to the stripper pole again, Mas--Mister?"

He...flickered *POOFFOOP*, gone and back, standing before her.

How did he do that?, she wondered.

"Neil. Be reasonable. I understand. I've--I've made mistakes."

Pat pat pat.

"I won't do it, Neil. I'm not your toy."

"You are my good little genie, and you know what you have to do."

He took her by the hand, by her fingers.

He did not tug. He smiled, a rather sad smile.

"Neil, I, you, you..." She gave a disbelieving laugh. "You don't mean this."

He kissed her knuckles.

"Never anything more in my life."

He kissed her knuckles again.

"I'll do anything for you, Jeanie. Anything at all for my good little Genie."

He tugged, as if inviting her to dance.

She didn't fall to her knees; her knees decided to kneel. She stared up at him.

"Dammit! Neil, stop it! Don't make me do this!"

"I'm not making you, Jeanie. You are doing it yourself, because you know it's right."

"Neil, PLEASE!"

pat pat pat

Unbelieving, she found herself laying down across his knees.

He pushed her harem pants down. (How is he doing these things, she asked herself. They're not elastic! I can't take them off! I have to poof them away!) She gasped in outrage when he laid his palm on her rump, but could not make herself stand.

She twisted around to glare at him.

"Fine! How many? Five? Ten?"

"I don't know, Jeanie. You'll tell me when you've had enough."


"One! Enough!"


"Stop! Enough! You said--"


"I get it, OK? You are My Master, I am your genie! fine! Enough! Now stop!"


"I'm getting up now! I'm getting up, and then, Oh Master," dripping venom "then you will--"


She raged at her Master, lying on his lap, stroke after stroke. Until, finally:

"Stop. OK? Just...Neil, stop. --Please, Neil. Please don't do this--"

Her bottom stung. As if on fire, Master's hand burned away her rage, until only shame was left.

She was half naked, draped across doughboy Neil's lap, and she couldn't stand up, couldn't take revenge, didn't want to take revenge, because she knew she was exactly where she needed to be.

She just wanted, she just felt--

"I'm sorry! Neil, Master, I'm so sorry! So sorry!"

Crying, she curled up on his lap, arms around his waist.

The blows stopped. Neil hugged her as best he could.

"There's my good little Genie girl. There she is. Good Jeanie. Good girl."

He rocked her, a little. He rubbed her back. It was an amazing comfort.

"I failed you, Jeanie. I wasn't a good Master. I didn't understand that you couldn't be a good Genie to a weak Master. Now I do."

He pulled her pants back up again, careful not to scrape against her reddened flesh.

"I will read the Care and Feeding cover to cover, and I will abide by its rules, and see to it that you do, too. I will care for you, Jeanie, I do care for you, more than anyone ever in my life. I will quit my job, because I accept that my vocation is being your Master. I will find the very best, most nourishing, sweetest, juiciest wishes, and send forth My Genie to harvest them. I will find the things we need to do together. I VOW it, Jeanie. I VOW I will do anything for my good little Genie. Including spanking her when she's been bad."

He gave her one last pat.

She pouted. "I am not a little girl."

He kissed her hair, and raised his face to the ceiling.

"Hear me, Haji?"

A hint of the Smoke Oracle's incense drifted to his nose.

"I VOW we will no longer be a Master and his Genie. We will be Master-and-Genie, together. I vow this, Jeanie. You and no one else will be my genie, no one else's."

"Not Aracelli?" Her voice was small.

"No one. Not Aracelli. Not Belle. Not that witch on the beach. Just you, Jeanie, my Genie."

And for the first time, she heard it: he said "Jeanie" differently than "Genie".

"I am your Genie? And you are my Master?"

"I vow it, Jeanie. Will you...?"

She looked up at him.

"I will be your Genie, yes! I...I vow it! I vow it before the Haji! Anything, Master, I will do anything for you! Anything for my Master!"

She was sitting on his lap, now, arms around his shoulders.

He kissed her. On her brow.

"Then, my Genie, will you be my good genie girl, and get ready for bed, so I can tuck you in? I'm really, really tired."

She hugged him, and with her face buried in his chest, asked, "Will you read me a story, Master?"

He raised his hand, and an ivory-bound book, tied with a red silk ribbon, appeared in it, the Oracle's incense drifting around it.


Neil kissed the top of his genie's head, just in front of her cap, and they vanished.

The Bottle rocked.

On his throne, Haji cocked his ear to the fading echo of a giggle.

"Every few hundred years," he confided to the fire elemental snuggled under his arm, "I am allowed to do the right thing."

Lahar, his First Wife, kissed  him.

Submitted: December 26, 2020

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