"I wish my breasts were smaller," Fatima cried desperately, still clutching the lamp.
"Sorry," the same disembodied voice rang out, "no backsies."
"Noo!" Fatima weeped. "If I must be cursed with these... things for the rest of my life, then I wish I at least had a team of handsome male slaves to carry them and to care for me."
Suddenly six tall, muscular men appeared around Fatima. They wore nothing but collars around their necks and shoes around their feet, and Fatima blushed as she could see they were each very well endowed. Without a single word, they split into two teams and, three to a breast, lifted Fatima's cumbersome weights. Fatima stood up and thanked them.
"Hmm," she said, stroking the washboard stomach of her nearest slave, "this might be serviceable after all."
"If you're quite done," Farook intoned, extending a hand for the lamp, "the heir to this immense family's fortune would like his turn to make a wish."
"Not yet Farook," Fatima replied sternly, "I still have one more wish. I wish..."