Keywords: M/F anal, oral Author: W R Jenkins Title: Happy Luck Good Time Nice Ring Disclaimer:(standard) Do not screw up. Do not do anything illegal. This includes specifically (but not limited to) reading on if you are under 18- 21 in some localities If you are underage you must leave now. If you're young and curious, this is not the place to get the straight story. You act like this and people will look at you strange and give you a wide berth. Also, don't try this at home. Some of this stuff is just plain wrong, most of it is unsafe in the present viral climate and some of it doesn't work in this universe. They are stories. They deal with ideas, fantasies and thoughts that might not even be pleasant in real life. Thoughts are like that. Fantasies are there so we can toy with the sensations without feeling or inflicting the pain, despair or humiliation. End Sermon. Happy Luck Good Time Nice Ring - (Nicering.txt)- A love story. How can it be a love story when some magic artifact compels any woman to fuck you any way you want? Read the story to find out. M/F, anal, oral. Grandpa shouldn't have put off retiring. He could have at 62, but he decided to put it off and died instead. I guess it sounds funny to say, but I don't mean it that way. I mean he should have got something out of life but working. I mean besides a couple of kids and some grandkids. I guess we count. Not that counting this up makes any difference. He's still dead. And that's what had us cleaning out his place. Aunt Brenda lives too far away- and had to come on a plane- and really didn't want any of Grandpa's shit anyway. It left my dad, me and my sister to box up, throw away and cart off stuff and make the decisions what to do which to. Marcie found the box. She threw it to me because she thought it was 'boy' stuff. It was a bunch of 40-year-old stuff from Grandpa being in the Army. There were campaign ribbons, the infantry rifle (a pin, not a weapon) and a bunch of other stuff from the era. I knew Grandpa had been in Viet Nam and I knew it was not something to bring up. Dad and Grandpa disagreed and Grandpa wouldn't say much anyhow. In tribute to his memory I won't say what he did tell. I guess I'd say he talked a little more as he passed 50 and he did know more about Cambodia than you might expect. Anyway, I closed the box and put it in my pile to keep and we kept cleaning the place out. I didn't go through it for weeks and I was back at my own place. When I had finally gone through most of the other stuff I noticed it again and sat down to see what secrets might be in it. There were more ribbons, the medals you get for shooting and stuff, a really dark piece of paper that might have been some sort of discharge papers and, at the bottom, a ring. It was of a bright gold that was just bright enough to be brass. Etched around the outside were some characters that looked like convulsing snakes crawling around the perimeter. There was no reference to it in anything else. I knew it would turn my finger green so I set it aside for the moment. Still, it had an exotic flair that made me remember. The first time I wore it, it became my lucky ring. I was going out clubbing and I slipped it on to take advantage of that exotic flair. Anything to get noticed, you know. I got noticed big time. It seemed every head turned in my direction wherever I went in. They mostly kept a respectful distance but seemed stunned in place if I meant to approach them. I talked to quite a few girls that night and got the feeling any of them would have gone with me if I asked. The same feeling told me that would hold true all night and I got real picky about the one I wanted. She was olive-toned, sloe-eyed (if that means almond shaped and with a slightly unfamiliar tilt), black-haired and as supple as a snake. I noted that last part in the way she uncoiled from her stool as I walked over to her. She was smiling a full set of pearlies at me as if I had already said something complimentary. "You want me," she said as a simple fact. She was right. I didn't think I would find better and her directness was encouraging. I nodded. "Then let's go," she said just as neutrally. Eat your hearts out boys, I thought as we exited with her on my arm. Now to back up just a step- for me to actually convince a girl to leave with me was a legendary feat. This was a 'retire and live rich' kind of score. The giddy did not stop there. She was serious. She wanted to go to my place, take off her clothes and climb all over me. She wanted me. Giddy was my only defense. In my right mind I might have stumbled or flinched at this unfamiliar reaction. I guessed I was so caught up in the wonder of it all that I acted like I knew what I was doing. I kissed back when I was kissed, fondled what was offered and led her, backwards, to my bed. There I thought it was enough to lay back and allow her to express her affection. I changed my mind after licking the tip of my cock gave way to sucking and then became a furious drive to make me spill in her mouth. That was the point for the roles to change and for me to put her firmly on her back and fuck her. For someone with so little help from me, she was wet and ready when I fell on her and thrust inside her. Her demeanor was just as accepting- as if she was joyful I had laid her back and taken over. I fucked her for an incredibly long time. She would be so good and active, cooing and encouraging and I'd start stroking for the fence. Then, some point just short of me cumming, she'd go into fits and throw me off my rhythm. She made me go on and on and seem like some super stud I normally am not. When I finally met her at the top, I came like a father watching his daughter give her boyfriend a blow-job. It wasn't enough to stun her like it stunned me, but I didn't feel she was disappointed. She was back to cuddling and petting me in a motiveless way. I felt like a god she adored. It was a nice way to recoup and it kept my mind on what a tawny tiger I had got into bed. It took a long time for the fondling to pale, in fact I think it never did. It got pushed aside by lust swelling up to replace it. I pushed her hand down to my cock as a sign and she took it long enough for a wet, sloppy kiss before she went down on me again. Why not? I thought, I'm the king. Sucking my dick was for ornametation this time. I needed little more than the first venture into the wet silk to be ready. I let her go on a bit longer and then pulled her up. She knew just what I meant and crawled up astride me to settle down on my cock. I had time for reflection as I mashed her yielding tits and watched her ride my cock like an experienced equtestrine. She was way out of my league. She desired me and was taking it on herself to use her skills to please me. One of us was insane. The logical answer was that I was strapped to a table in some locked room having a delusional fantasy. But I knew I wasn't that stressed over my less than stellar existence and I didn't think I had imagined the whole life I could remember so completely. That left her. On that subject I was perhaps foolishly uncaring. If she was crazy, she expressed it sexually and with great skill. I was the beneficiary and quickly losing interest in my train of thought. She was urgently calling my attention back to my racing pulse and my throbbing cock inside her. It was not to be the marathon session of before. Even though her position put her in place to seek her own pleasure, she seemed only interested in making me cum. The motion of her hips and the flutter of the velvet vise around my cock had me ready. Then she rolled off me. Roll is precisely what she did in a kind of side-ways somersault that brought her to her knees beside me. "Fuck me," she begged. "Get up and fuck me!" Perhaps you can guess how much that excited me. I hope so, because I can't find words strong enough to express the combination of greed and desire I felt. She was begging me! And scrambling to my knees behind her I felt another surge looking at her butt offered up to my use. I began to favor the strapped to a table explanation as I pushed my cock into her and thrust against that perfect ass. This was too perfect, too much my every wish- but also more than I'd dare to imagine, even insane. I fucked her to the sound of her encouragement to fuck harder, faster. I was her ruler and her greatest desire. I could use her however I wanted and she would be grateful. I know these were my influences, but I was too busy slamming my cock into her to consider them as I fucked her. I had been ready to cum when she rolled off and I found myself straining to prolong my climax so I could savor the feel of her butt slapping my belly. But my orgasm was no more the end of her mania than it was the first time. Even so, I crammed my cock into her cunt as I lurched out a second helping of cum with such deliberation that I could have been happy if it was the last. "Now did that make you happy?" she asked as I fell to the bed beside her. "That was great," I told her. She just smiled and curled up next to me. I might have dozed or just been in a trance of disbelief at what happened- twice. Anyway, I became aware of something crawling between my legs. It might have been a snake for all I could tell at first, but it was her fingers finding my limp cock and playing. I was going to tell her it was going to take more than that to resurrect the dead, but then she turned and pushed my cock into the crack of her ass. It didn't seem like she was trying, but at the same time she was having tremendous success getting my dick interested again. That was a far cry from hard, but it was in the right direction. We lazed there, skin on skin, for some time as interest turned toward action. I have to plead dozing or trance again to account for the time and then I became aware of my hard-on rubbing between her ass cheeks like I had the snake-like touch of her fingers before. Her ass was moving gently, encouraging me. I was beginning to suspect something freakishly wrong with this woman. Usually I had to do magic tricks and stand on my head to get women to fuck me once. Now I had one that wanted it more than me. That isn't saying my cock wasn't just as horny to help her. I'm only saying I was satisfied with twice and doubtful of my stamina on a third attempt. She had me almost believing I was the sex god she was pretending I was and I didn't want to ruin the illusion for either of us. Partly that was because fucking a woman three times in a night was undiscovered territory for me. I had no clue what other new territories she had in store for me. She mumbled something about my hard-on needing a place to go and reached back to grab it. I was still unaware when she wrapped her fingers around the base of my cock and squirmed back on it. Yes, it was very different. I couldn't figure why it was so hard to make my cock go in. It hadn't been hard at all the first two times. It dawned on me like the clueless guy in a horror flick that doesn't know why his girlfriend is gyrating all over the place until the monster eats his way out of her belly and jumps at him. Only in my case, my dick was the monster and it was going in. Popping through her tight back door exploded the revelation that she was putting my cock in her ass through my fragile little mind. It was a stunning revelation. I was still dealing with the whole idea as she was squirming back to push me deeper. I would never suggest such a thing. Maybe, if she owed me her life and she was begging me to come up with some way to repay me- and we'd already fucked a whole lot- maybe if she really wanted to, I might say it, but this was her idea. That made the idea there was something wrong with her even stronger. I could hardly object. I couldn't argue that she might not want to do it. She put it in her ass herself. And I couldn't deny my desire to try it. I had just never seen it as a possibility. All that got slobberknocked as my cock went in that tight hole. All other things could wait until later. Her ass was clamped incredibly tight around my cock and every bit that was sliding up her ass was finding a furnace. I was even shaking off my apologetic demeanor in the thrill of feeling her struggle. I could feel the effort of making her ass accept my cock and it roused a growl of manly tresspass in my chest. Some of that must have been audible because she responded, "Go on! Push it in there! Shove it up my ass! Make me take it! Give it to me. Give me all of it!" What was a gentleman to do? Fuck a gentleman, what was I, who tended to grovel at the prospect of pussy, to do? She demanded it and I gave it to her. That might be a convenient by-pass of my concern in favor of my desire, but the only reluctance was in my head. She grunted as I pushed, but she pushed back as well. We were united in wanting my dick in her butt. Then I was appreciably deep in her ass, pressed against her butt and in heaven. We were spooning on our sides with my dick in her ass. I wasn't thinking about fucking. I was happy right where I was. Rather than encourage me to move, the motion of her ass was making me perfectly content with my present situation. I was holding her in my arms and letting her squirm and surge against me. She was managing to work my cock around in her ass to more than my content; she was giving me a sublime kind of pleasure. She was the discontented one. Her motion became more insistent, her grunts dissatisfied. She wanted more and she finally demanded it. "Fuck me why don't you?" she nearly snarled, "Fuck me good and hard. I want it. I need it!" She surprised me more than angered me with the contempt in her tone. I suppose it was to spur me into action, but it only brought back my belief one of us was crazy. For my part, I was blissfully happy with having breached her ass at all. It seemed like fucking it was an unnecessary and somehow rude thing to do. It struck me as an aggressive and humbling kind of thing. I didn't want to do either to a woman that had been so kind and giving to me. But she was insisting. In fact, it seemed like it was everything I feared. I pulled back and thrust forward in an exploratory rather than an assertive way and she grunted in undisguised discomfort. At the same time she pressed back against me. Her ass kept urging. Confused, I repeated the out and in a little more firmly. She had the same reaction, both of pain and pleasure. I saw no way around it. I didn't know what was prompting her, but her wish was clear. Shamefaced, I must admit my concern was lost in a few strokes. It was a great delight to invade her tight hole with no reference to her preference. The animal that had welcomed the invasion of her ass was thrilling to my cock driving in and out of the hot clasp of her tight hole. The gratitude towards the sweet woman who had climbed into my bed was lost in this joy of revenging myself on all the others who hadn't. I rammed my cock in her with all the energy I could muster laying on my side. She came back to me with every thrust despite the grunts and groans I drove from her every time I buried my cock deep in her ass. Her supplicant surrender to my ravage made that invasion more pleasing. Not only was I fucking a tight, hot asshole, she was admitting how I had been unfairly used by the others of her sex and was sacrificing the tight hole to my fury in compensation. I had to make her pay because she wanted me to. I had to be rough, rude and uncaring because only that would pay me back for my former rejections. I slammed into her ass with all the vengeance I could muster. I fucked her ass however made her cry out the loudest and let her cries add to my pleasure in that furious ravage. Cumming only paused me for a moment. I let out my spurting victory clamped against her ass, glorying in the tremors of delight spasming my muscles, and then fucked her ass some more. It was, in truth, a dying attempt that faded fairly quickly, but it was full of intent to take everything I could from her. I pretended to sleep after that, but lay alert until my limp cock finally slid out of her ass. She also lay still, but awake or asleep I have no idea. When I did sleep I was undisturbed until morning. She was still there in the morning and seemed as surprised as I was by that. We shared confusion, but she was the only one that betrayed a sore ass. She wasn't angry but seemed relieved when I let her have the bathroom first and she could quickly depart. Probably drugs, I thought. That would make her seem crazy and then more reasonable in the morning when they had worn off. It was lucky I had been in the right place at the right time. It was a scarcely believable stroke of luck to stumble on a woman that would fulfill my every desire and then some. I had to be grateful because it was likewise unlikely that it could ever happen again. Still, I'd been lucky on the night I had first worn Grandpa's ring. I took it as a good luck charm and wore it when I went out again. I expected it to remind me and boost my confidence. At most I hoped it would give me the confidence to talk to a woman without stuttering. I didn't expect to have such luck again. I really didn't have a chance to test my ideas. The circulating masses parted and I saw her- petite, blonde, curvacous and looking right at me. She met me more than half way and said, "Why bother looking farther? You know I'm what you want." Actually, she exceeded my expectations. And she had made the first move. It was settled. I was in a looney bin, hallucinating. Whatever. I might as well see what I could dream up for this little whirlwind to do to me. She took me home, stripped us down, and jumped on me. For a figment of my imagination, she felt real bouncing up and down on my cock. She felt real and real good. Then it was my turn. She pulled me over on top of herself and then pushed me away. I got the idea. Squatting on my heels, I held her legs up and pumped into her. She smiled happily and played with her breasts for me. I was appreciating the fuck out of fucking her. It was like playing some wild sport that made my dick feel so good. As I've admitted, sex was an event on its own. Having it be a sex event was invigorating and tingly. She had rolled onto her knees and I was boning her from behind when I realized how much I had been fucking her without worrying about popping. All of it had felt every bit as good as ever. She had a great wet little pussy and my cock was soaking up the heat with all the greed I could muster but she was changing up on me every time the heat got too intense. She rolled on her back and held out her arms to me. I fell on her and started fucking all over again. Only this time she was holding me more desperately. Her lips were on mine, on my face, down my neck. Her legs trapped me. I knew this was the last stop on the fuck train. I savored the obscene sucking sounds of my cock plunging in and out of her wet cunt as I fucked her faster and faster. Even as I drove in for the short strokes, I had the feeling there was more to come. Oddly, because I was never prescient and usually hard-pressed to explain things after they had happened, I was right. I fucked with all the urge, but none of the signs of impending climax. It was she who convulsed in my arms and shuddered as I drove unrelenting into her. I felt the flutter and the twitch and heard the gasps and sighs of her pleasure. Undiminished, I rooted her deeply for a time and then began to take her with long strokes again. I felt god-like as she limply received me and then started up again. On her side she took me almost from the rear, one curved buttock bounding my thrusts into her. Then again on her knees, she finally endured my fury to the point where my lust found me. No phantom of pleasure this time, when I closed hard on her upraised rear, she greeted me with a wagging tail and another shuddering climax that at last triggered my own delayed passion. I came in her as she flinched with every jab of my erupting cock and then knelt, gently trembling as I caught my breath and gathered my composure from my stunning orgasm. What the hell? I was the hallucinatory madman oblivious to my locked room and leather retraints and this was my dream. I decided to be decisive for one time in my sad life and dream what I wanted. "You just going to loll there or do you have something to do?" I asked her rather sharply. She would know what I wanted, however misty the picture was in my mind. She was the dream girl after all. She dropped forward onto her belly and then turned around on the bed. She rose up, shoulders first, like a snake and brought her face level with my hanging cock. Yes, of course, just what I wanted, I thought. Nothing better than a good old warm mouth to prepare me for another round. Since I was clearly insane, it figured that this dream would be like the last. Except this time the blonde cutie pushed me onto my back when she had revived my cock and did not relent the blow-job until I had cum most copiously and happily in her mouth. That was for me. She slid over me, and when that didn't rouse me, slid over and pulled me onto my side beside her. This was for her. I'm not sure how I imagined what she might want, but this dream of a woman firmly planted my hand between her legs and made it obvious I was to return the orgasm. I was happy to try and found that it was arousing to see her flush with pleasure and finally surrender to the orgasm. I felt potent pleasing her and I discovered I wasn't far from potent when I had done so. A quick reorientation so our heads were again at the pillow end of the bed and some heated kissing and I was again ready for her. "You can fuck me in the ass," she said. That had been a marvelous experience before, full of new and exciting aspects of sexual feelings, but I deferred. The other woman had forced my cock into her ass. She had demanded my participation. I had enjoyed even the brutal feelings of ravage, but I wasn't ready to start them for myself. I was still too shy to ram my cock in anyone's ass and unsure of how I would get on with it. I also shrank from the unsettling feeling that at least my victim's anus was unwilling even if she wasn't. I was too grateful I was getting fucked to do anything like that. I settled on taking her from behind again, vaginally. Several times her hands came back to spread her buttocks and tempt me with the open view of her asshole, but I still deferred. I was forming the opinion that she actually wanted it, but I was by then well into plowing her sucking pussy and didn't want to interupt the charge. She seemed happy enough when I came and settled into my arms for us to sleep the night away. She again looked slightly confused as to who had invaded her bed in the morning, but we had a polite exchange of 'good morning' as I dressed and left. Knowing little of the insane, I did know that there are symbolic icons in the delusions of the crazed. Clearly, my grandpa's ring was one of those. I don't know why I wanted to end the dream, but I suppose I was clinging to the hope it was all really happening. I went to Mama-san at my usual Chinese restaurant to see if she had ever seen anything like the crawling script on the ring. It clearly wasn't Chinese, but it looked Asian somehow. She said no. Try down the street, she said. Down the street was a Thai restaurant. Explaining I was sent by Mama-san, I asked the owner the same question. He had no idea what the script said but identified it, tentatively, as Khymer. Khymer- Khymer Rouge, Cambodia- I had a lead but no idea where I could find a Cambodian to translate. At the same time I was getting a funny feeling. In respect to what my father called Gramp's misguided patriotism, I won't explain, but I think I'd have to hit you with a stick to make what I was thinking any clearer. What it all meant was still a mystery. Well, I hit the internet. Yep, it looked like Khymer all right, but that didn't tell me what it said. I looked up common Cambodian names and then looked in the phone book. This was a desperate attempt. Even finding one, I didn't know how I could approach a stranger and ask him (or her) to translate words on a ring. Between these forays, I put the ring away for safekeeping. I didn't have any more insane episodes when I wasn't wearing it. I was tempted, but also scared to repeat those wonderful nights. Even in the midst of the best sex of my life, I remembered the cold chill of uncertainty. And I recalled the fear more clearly than I did the pleasure. I finally found my Cambodian behind the counter of a junk- er, curio shop. I showed him the ring and he looked at it a long time, turning it round and round in his fingers. It was hard to translate, he said. Very old- old, old words, not easy to find English that corresponded, he could not say it the way it was meant very well. All good and proper, thank you very much, can you give me some rough idea? His attempt? Happy Luck Good Time Nice Ring- but you saw that coming, didn't you? What you didn't feel was that this guy was holding something back- like I was some infidel and couldn't be trusted with the secret knowledge. Or more likely, the real value of the trinket he was still turning 'round and 'round in his fingers. I got an affirmation of the latter when he offered me $100 and then $200 to buy the ring from me. As pitiful as I may be meeting women, I am not obilivious to the signs of internal intent. In some sense, I think that's one of my problems with women. I can tell they're trying to escape me and I give up rather than press my case. But in the present case, I could see he was berating himself for not starting the bidding higher. He wanted the ring and would have paid more, but to escalate now would only confirm my suspicions of the ring's great value. I could have put his mind at rest on that account, but I saw no reason to. I suspected him before, and his first offer- whatever it was- would have confirmed my suspicions. I was also connecting my recent luck with women to the ring. That was a leap worthy of the insane man I postulated myself to be, but it wandered in the back of my mind and would not leave. Clearly, I had to hang onto the ring. Whatever had caused the careful deception of the curio dealer, the ring was valuable and I had to find out more before I knew its true worth. First off, I could experiment. That's the way of true knowledge. And it could clear away the doubtful fantasy that the ring had some power over women. I couldn't shake the suspicion and, frankly, I was getting tired of it. It's humiliating to think a little band of tin and copper inscribed with a foreign language can get more girls than I could. Sadly, my lot was such that it wasn't that big of a leap. But I tried to keep an open mind and let the truth come out of trials. I went to some familiar haunts without the ring. I had familiar bad luck. Each woman was impatient to escape and try to find a live one. One poor mousy girl endured my conversation for a while, but was clearly hoping someone better would come and rescue her. Desperate to give it my best shot and to prove I wasn't some pitiful loser, I came back to her a few times and ended sitting with her as the night grew late. I finally suggested coffee to counteract the alcohol and she, reluctantly I thought, agreed to accompany me. I must have been drunker than I thought because I started bemoaning my luck with women to this, by now, apprehensive woman. She offered no comfort and kept trying to change the subject. When I became aware of how rude my tirade was- and inappropriate, I tried to find some common ground. We got along tolerably well on recent literature and I amused her greatly when I geeked out on science fiction. She tried to soothe me by saying my devotion was a good character trait, but I knew she was still laughing. I was a bit put off and may have been overly critical over her next few comments, but she still allowed me to kiss her before we parted. Generally, this would have been a pleasant, even noteworthy evening, but I had been doing better. Then I put on the ring. I went to the clubs and surrendered. There was no way this was a fluke. I had every babe's attention and was the focus of wrath from all the men. I could feel it. I could see it. I walked up to a statuesque brunette and said, "You- Me- my place- horizontal." With the lamest line ever conceived, I led her out of the place by the hand and she came along beaming at all the other girls I hadn't used my stupid line on. The crowd actually parted to let us pass. I may have projected the looks of awe on them, but I might not have. Now I didn't know what to do. Stay with me here- I'm making a point. I felt like a guy fishing with dynamite. And I felt sorry for the poor fish. Sure, this woman wanted the hell out of me- now, but not really. But I'm just a weak man. Like clockwork- like I knew she would, she was out of her clothes and pulling at mine. My concern for her free choice and my own ethics faded as my hard-on grew. She was a good-looking naked woman tearing at my clothes. At this point it was just as bad, maybe even worse, to reject her as to use her. She brought an interesting approach to prolonging our first fuck. When I was getting too close, something she was very accurate in sensing, she would conversely push me away from her to clamp tightly behind the head of my cock or trap me deep inside her with her thighs so I couldn't move and then twist my nipples painfully. This was more irritating than techniques used before, but very effective. I think I lasted a couple of hours pounding away at her and being stopped to start again. I was so skittish by that time that she pushed me off to climb over me. I still was thinking she was going to stop me, so when she kept sliding her hips up and back and bouncing on my cock to the end, I erupted with the double force of cumming and releasing my tension at what she might do. It was like the first spurts came without interruption and then a massive store of delayed passion forced its way past the feeble squirt to pour out like a hose. I was definiely bucking with the explosion or relief or something. She seemed very, deeply pleased with that and I had the suspicion that went beyond any influence I had over her. Perhaps that was her motive, but I had the feeling she had achieved something that would please her in any case. I didn't worry about that for long. Her idea of arousing me was letting me worship her body. She rubbed her breasts in my face as I lay under her and in general used her flesh stroke me. It was a rather effective method. For once I enjoyed probing and stroking rather than being stroked. Meaning no disrespect to her breasts, which were centerfold pillows of yielding goodness, I had a great deal of pleasure with the high curve of her ass as she lay on her belly. I enjoyed it with my hands and my face and my body. I wasn't even delving into the creamy goodness under that ass before my cock was hard again. I delved for a while and then added my cock to the parts of me I was rubbing all over her ass. She didn't immediately demand I fuck her again. She let me work up to that at my own pace. Like she had known when I was about to cum, she knew when I was ready to fuck her. I had rolled her over and played with her front again when I thought it was time. She turned away from me onto her belly, burying her crotch in the bedclothes. "You like my ass, don't you?" she asked. "Fuck it." She had me believing she was in charge. She knew what I wanted before I did, so it was natural to assume I wanted to fuck her in the ass. And since she was in charge, it was natural to assume that's what she wanted. Real perception or wishes tainted by excuses, I didn't feel wrong fishing my cock in the crack of that fine butt, feeling for her asshole. I was mostly thinking how tight it was going to be with her laying on her belly that way. I already felt good between the cheeks of her butt and I hadn't even started into her asshole. How could I be imposing on a woman that ordered me to do it? I had every reason to hold my cock in place and lean on it to force her sphincter to accept it. Any sounds she made were happy suffering for the greater reward she wanted so much. I was right about her ass in this position. It was like fucking tits with an asshole on the other side to slide between her cheeks into the tight hole. And I do know about fucking tits, although I can't admit whose I learned from. That became a minor amusement as I settled deeper up her ass and touched down on the globes of her ass. Yes, her ass compressed and pressed tighter around the hilt of my cock as I drove into her, but there was so much cock so deep in such a hot hole that the added sensation paled. I felt the truth of the expression 'nailing' a woman as I humped toward the bed with her ass in my way. I felt that I was driving my cock right through her and not just up her ass as I fucked her on the sold platform of the mattress. And her height was an additional charge as fucking her ass brought me down closer and closer over her back. My head ended just over her own and her gasps and cries as I drove into the tight hole seemed like sounds aimed for my ears alone. Remorselessly, I wanted to hear her talk and fucked her harder. There was no deeper because I was crushing her bottom for the sensation of her cheeks on my cock from the first time I reached that point. However minor I deemed it, I hungered for that sensation as much as I could have it. It was not the fury of a mounted attack. It was the explosion at the end of a long fuse when this pleasurable rooting into the oven of her butt made me cum. It seemed to creep up on me and then overpower me suddenly, bursting forth in a jerking assault on the resiliance of her buttocks as I rocked my weight on her ass. I collapsed on her back and her only reaction was to lift her shoulders to breathe more easily. My cock basked deep in her ass almost as pleasurably as it had felt fucking it. I was still invading and the heat still bathed my cock. Even the inevitable fading was a giggly pleasure like a guilty child caught after eating all the cookies he can hold. My regret when I rolled off her was that it was done and was done so soon. Already considering these recent liasons as a set, I was sure anal sex or the offer of anal sex was the final act before we slept. I settled back to sleep and let my hand lazily run over the long swoop of my partner's back. I found out the operative connection with the other women was the number three after I had dozed. I woke up confused and seemingly alone. It was only an instant before I knew the missing woman beside me was the lump in the covers between my legs and her mouth on my cock was what woke me. She came sliding up out of the covers like some large, dangerous snake when she felt me stir. She was grinning at the way I flinched as she dragged her smooth skin over my hard cock on her way up. She hovered over me, but didn't even kiss me before she rolled off, pulling me with her. It was like finishing where I started except she didn't try to delay me this time. Her thighs stroked along the sides of my hips as I fucked her, her hands roamed over my back. She was receptive and active, moving her hips with my thrusts, but passive compared to the first time we fucked. As I grew more heated, shorter strokes fucking her faster, her hands gripped and her legs wrapped around me. Still she was encouraging rather than impeding me. She lifted her hips to my thrusts with her legs and urged me with clawed fingers on my back. Along with the marvelous introduction to facets of sex I had only the faintest idea of, these recent women had taught me about the third orgasm. I put my faith in the reluctance of my balls to rouse themselves again and drove into her without restraint. I could languish at the peak of excitement with all the fury I cared to use and I knew I would enjoy that state for some time. The resulting climax was no less a victory or pleasing to me, but my ejaculation was like a dry heave with more fury than substance. For all the lack of jizm, it did sap my strength more than the previous orgasms and I did fall asleep without remembering sliding off her. She was regal in the morning. She did not betray the confusion I knew by now that she must be feeling, but still dressed efficiently and took her leave. I sat and pondered. It was too convenient. Two trials was far from a scientific sample, but I had known in my heart the truth of my theory before I tested it. No ring- an awkward conversation and a brief kiss. Ring- furious and exhausting sex most of the night with the woman of my choice. And I had my whole life before the ring to confirm these last three encounters were a fluke. And so many 'flukes' linked to a common change was very telling. They were- had become no longer 'flukes' but results of wearing a strange foreign ring. I didn't believe the ring had power for a moment. But I had no explanation for the change in my life that did not involve that ring. Believe it or not- it was happening. I tried to occupy my thoughts reconciling these facts, but the question I didn't want to answer kept intruding. What was this power doing to my chosen ones? No one had screamed rape or even questioned how they had got in my bed, but I knew they wondered. This ring- this power, whatever it was, didn't alter their being. They still regarded me as a lump except under the spell or influence or whatever. And as much as it was questionable to use this trick to make them fuck me, I wondered what it meant about me. It seemed I would be embracing a loser status to depend on a crutch. Oh, I could have some personal revenge on all the conceited bitches that rejected me. I could fall back on my helper to put my cock in any woman I fancied. I could have a constant supply of great sex, but it was one-sided. It was like jerking off to a fantasy- or more aptly, having a new life-like love doll when I wanted to masturbate into it. Make no mistake- even that was an attractive idea compared to the usual futility of my life. I could easily reject as fantasy any idea that shared passion was superior since I had never seen any evidence in my relationships to support the idea. It was mostly a philosophical argument with myself and I've always regarded philosophy as a non-susbstantial refuge of people with nothing better to do. Horny ruled the day. I gave myself a break of a couple days to see what I would do. It was patently stupid on the face of it to cast myself as the observer and the observed, and I knew it, but I clung to the excuse not to think about it any more. Then I had urges. It's only natural. Faced with the choice of erotica in the bathroom or putting on the ring and cruising, I chose the ring. That was pure logic and I find no fault in the reasoning. I was going to be picky. I was picky the first time and- mostly because it *was* the first time- I had the most amazing sex of my life. When I reached the bar, I noticed the same poor mousey girl and considered her for a millisecond. I could erase her giggles at my awkward conversation and beside unwrap her and discover everything she had. But my head turned and I saw a sex machine in the middle of a bunch of guys vying for her attention. The challenge was clear. It was me versus the guys. It was no contest but I still felt a rush of superiority when I walked into the middle of them and walked away with the prize. And it was more than manly pride that made me tingle at my acquisition. Again she was dark-haired, but a large, firm chest, narrow waist and most marvelous ass were the attributes that attracted me. She was all sex parts and promised to be most satisfying wriggling on my dick. She could also suck cock forever without letting you cum, but I only found that out later. She was, in confirmation of her glorious equipment, not only built for sex, but consenting to her gifts and devoted to that destiny. I could have fucked her tits all night and been grateful, but she had more she insisted on giving. I wondered that it was ever a question that I should lure her into my bed and fuck her. Fucking was her life and I sensed that her partner mattered little to her. This was destiny. This was the way it should be. Thrusting into the blender action of her hips only made that more clear. If she was nothing but a love-doll, she was the best love-doll on the market. She wanted to make fucking her the most memorable event in any man's life. In that she was more than amply equipped and just as motivated. It was like having your favorite movie star begging to humble herself to any use you wanted to put her to. We fucked three times, as usual. Only it was three protracted, varying, all over the bed, floor, furniture and appliances fucking. Likewise I was in her mouth, between her breasts, up her cunt and back again through every encounter. Even when she offered her firm bubble butt, which was conversely as tight as could be and easy to penetrate, she had to flip around and suck my cock before putting her ass up for more cock. I had every sexy part of her over and over as she drew out each of my climaxes in these incredible travels of place and orifice. It had all the wonder of a magic show as she revealed ways of fucking that had to be closely guarded secrets of the Orient or some such mumbo-jumbo. I was as amazed as tittilated and that took some amazement given how horny she kept me even when I was drilling her perfect little snatch. Insert a bunch of superlatives here and you scratch the surface of how good she was. In the morning she was bright-eyed and cheerful. If she felt out of place, she disguised it, although it wasn't by costume since she stayed happily nude and shared breakfast with me. When she dressed it was on her terms and she kissed me before leaving. Now there was my sex-bot. I had the ring. I could keep her- or at least continuously attract her. Certainly I would get into fucking shape over repeated encounters and not be as drained as I was that morning. None of my reluctance seemed to apply. She didn't care who I was. That I eagerly participated in her display of prowess seemed enough for her. Where was the bad in that? Nevertheless, on the grounds of exhaustion- for which there was some excuse- I didn't claim her the next night- or the next. I had the sense that one more time and I would be hooked as deeply as she was by the power of my ring. I wondered why I hesitated, what my problem was, and had no answer. I finally got very angry with myself, perhaps prompted by my dick. If I couldn't come up with a reason not to, then I better get out there and find her because my dick wanted to fuck her. This kind of sinking into inaction was my problem, I berated myself. Now do something! She wasn't at the bar where I had found her. Perhaps still trying to assert the quieter, contemplative me over the rage of my sex drive, I stalled going out to search for her. That other girl was there. I could avenge my embarrassment on her. Yes, I could tie up that loose end and look for the other woman some other night. Like every other woman, it was over before I approached her. She got up as I walked up and looked up expectantly. She may have seemed drugged in the way she took my hand and went with me, but that might have been a fantasy. She was certainly less discerning than she had been the first time I met her, but that was to be expected. She wasn't hesitant or examining me this time. She already knew how much she wanted me. That was the difference. She didn't have to determine my intent because she knew she was going to fuck me. She was going to fuck me three times and offer access to every part of her body. She didn't have to worry about it because it had already been determined. Only I spent too long thinking up these excuses for the change in her attitude. And they circled too near the problem I had with using the ring on her. I had some sort of panic attack as she started taking off her clothes. In some desperate desire for it to stop, I pulled off the ring. She seemed to emerge from a deep, hypnotic trance. Her eyes darted around in panic. She started to stutter, but could only blurt out what? how? and other single words. "I know you, don't I?" she finally fixed on me. "What am I doing here?" I told her she wouldn't believe me. I tried to stall with as much extraneous data as I could before I mentioned the ring. I was right. She didn't believe me. "I can prove it, but I don't want to," I told her. She saw that as a transparent excuse. "All right," I said. "It won't matter in a second, but I promise I won't do anything to you when I show you. And I'm only doing it so you know it's true." And I put the ring back on. I let her undress. She wouldn't stop until she had undressed me too. I let her get into bed- and pull me along- but I hopped out before I took the ring off again. "See-" I said quickly, trying to take advantage of her confusion to plead my case. "You explain why you're naked in my bed. Tell me how you got there." She instantly covered herself, visibly shaking. She was turning through the same mono-syllable confusion as before. Finally she spoke timidly. "And you didn't do anything to me?" she asked. "You remember?" I wasn't sure she would. "I let you undress. And you insisted on undressing me. But I didn't let you do anything else. If I wanted that, I would never have taken off the ring. I only did it to convince you. I wanted you to know I'm sorry I treated you that way. I felt bad about it and wanted it to stop." She thought and I shifted from foot to foot nervously in anticipation of her verdict. At some point I realized I was naked and grabbed my pants to cover myself. Finally she looked up at me. "I don't know," she said. "I can't believe in this ring bullshit, but somehow you can make me go places I don't remember going and do things I don't remember doing." I tried to assure her it was the ring, but she shushed me. "But you didn't," she said, "You could have taken advantage but you didn't. You didn't even let me undress at first. Then you proved you could, but you didn't. I have to give you credit for that." I felt a little better at what seemed to be a pardon for my acts, but then she was sterner. "Why didn't you?" she asked. "Did you do this with the other woman I saw you with?" "No- I..." I saw no way to proceed in that direction and changed the question I answered. "I met you before. It felt wronger, more wrong, worse to use this power on you. You were different. And I knew you'd never do what you were going to do willingly." "What was I going to do?" she was shocked. "Just- you know- have sex with me," I said. "And you don't think I'd ever have sex?" she was affronted. "Not with me," it just burst out, I tried to fix it, "I mean, not because I walked up and took your hand. If you were like that we'd have done it before." "You didn't ask," she reminded. "If I had, would you?" I was shocked I might have been so stupid. "No," she admitted, "But you didn't know, did you?" It was my turn to be affronted. "I'm not totally clueless," I told her. "I thought it went all right for first meeting you, but I didn't get the feeling you wanted to jump on my bones. I was pretty sure you weren't interested." "You thought it went all right?" she asked. "I thought you were looking for an excuse to dump me." It didn't occur to me why she had picked that out of my words, but I did feel we were connecting and I pursued the connection. "That's just me. I felt I was fucking up- sorry about swearing- and I was trying to stop embarrassing myself and imposing on you," I said. "I could tell I was blowing it. I thought you wanted to dump me." She laughed. I know now that she was a step- maybe two- ahead of me, but it felt like she was mocking my distress. She didn't help my mood as she answered. "I've heard people say 'fuck' before. I may have said it myself. You don't have to treat me like an alien race. You're too uptight," she said. "And I thought it was going all right too- at first." Her last words seemed like a sop thrown to the dogs and I may have discounted them, but she was looking uncomfortable. She was again aware she was naked in my bed and my perception of body language being stronger than my sense, I knew she was feeling self-conscious in front of me. That put a different spin on her words. "You mind if... Would you turn your back so I could get dressed now?" she asked. That was cute. I'd seen her naked. She'd been pretty proud of showing off as she took off her clothes. She'd even played with my cock as she undressed me, although I left that out of my explanation for obvious reasons. Still, I was getting the message and I dutifully turned my back rather than explain how silly it was. It came down to trust and as much if she could trust herself as if she could trust me. I certainly wasn't going to be a smart-ass. I was the one that had nearly used her for my own benefit and was still feeling guilty about it, although not as much the more we talked. "Well, whatever you were going to do, you didn't," she said from behind me. "I've got to give you credit for that." She said that before, but I felt she was going somewhere with it this time. "Which leaves why you picked me in the first place. You didn't the other night. Why tonight?" she asked. It was the time to be honest, I guessed. I said, "Because you embarrassed me." "If you felt embarrassed..." she began but I cut her off. "I know I embarrassed myself, but when you can have your pick it comes down to the same thing. You wouldn't even have known what you were doing. Maybe in the morning, I'm not sure exactly, but it's all about me when I've got the ring on." I told her. "But you didn't do anything," she reminded herself before asking, "What do you mean about the morning?" "They look confused. They don't say anything, but they get out of here pretty quick," I said. "I think they remember something." "They?" she picked up on the plural. "So the woman the other night wasn't the first?" I shook my head. "And she didn't care in the morning. She was just as happy as she had been the night before. It was the others. Before you." She digested that a minute before saying, "You had the ring that night we met? Why weren't you wearing it?" I saw that she was accepting at least the concept the ring was involved. But that wasn't her concern. "I was experimenting," I admitted. "This weird stuff was happening when I wore the ring and I had to convince myself that it had some power. I didn't make it up, you know. I didn't believe it either until you treated me like always and I took the hot chick home when I put the ring on." "So I was some random test?" she asked. "More or less," I said. "Only I tried to skew my experiment by picking someone that I had a hope might be interested." "Because I was the loser at the bar," she said. "Because you weren't all ga-ga over flashy clothes and slick lines," I tried to rescue myself. "I can tell fake and it looked like you could too. Since I'm not flashy, I thought you were my best chance." "That I might see the inner you and be interested," she baited me. "Yes." I said. "And then you spent the next hour trying to hide the inner you," she snapped the trap shut on my ego. "I know how I am. I live with me," I snapped at her. "And I can't help feeling I need help. My record screams it." "But at least you're sweet inside," she softened. "And I have to be grateful that you didn't let me go through with it." "No you don't," I contradicted her. "I still intended to. Just because I chickened out is no excuse." She walked around in front of me to scowl in my face. She was dressed and pissed. "You don't like me at all, do you?" she accused. "I'm trying to be as nice as can be and all you can do is argue. You want me to leave? I can do that and leave you to your self-pity." Okay, I'm slow, but that finally broke through. We were still on subject, but it wasn't all we were talking about. I guess I knew that, but I was feeling the need to be punished for my guilt. "No," I said. "But I don't want you to forgive me. I was wrong. I've been wrong. It bothered me, but it didn't stop me. I don't want you to brush that off like nothing. It isn't nothing. It's horrible!" I was getting pretty shrill and she was threatening to laugh. She kept it down to a couple of escaped snorts, and that made me even madder. "But you didn't," she said patiently. "That means something special to me even if you can't see it. I agree it's a very predatory thing you've been doing, but you spared me. Me! It makes me feel like I mean something." Of course. It meant she was worth fucking, and worth taking the chance she wouldn't. It meant I had some feeling for her, whatever it was. Those weren't exactly her words, but they are her sentiments. I think I looked at her for the first time after that. I mean I saw her from her viewpoint instead of my martyred self-pity. We were a lot alike. That didn't really mean much, but it was a starting point. Now let me be the heretic. True love is a crock. A soul mate- the fated love- is all romantic bullshit. An affection- even a connection can be all that's needed. Exhibit "A" is all the couples bound in arranged marriages that find affection, connection and, yes, even love just through the mutual dependance on and decency of each other. What's needed is a certain respect for each other- the willingness to see the other's point. And an ability to set aside ego and accept things because it's better that way. Maybe even replacing individual egos with a common ego. I'm getting into misty stuff here, so I'll stop, but all I'm saying is the spark doesn't have to be blinding to smoulder into heat. We all know where I'm going here. Emily, that was her name, was that small spark or we were the spark in each other. It was an odd starting point but it was a start. Try it out and see. For me it was all about relaxing a little and seeing her sharp tongue as a valuable sign I was wandering off the path. For her, according to her report, it was about cutting through the twisted ways of my reasoning to get to what I meant. She thinks I'm a decent guy. I know she watches out for me because she likes me. We have a trust and dependance on each other and if you want to call it love, that's your problem. She let me see her naked (again) the next time we met. She let me fuck her too, but not like I was wearing the ring. She was justly horrified when she made me tell her what those nights had been like, but tittilated as well. She teased that one night she would have me put on the ring and see what it would have been like if I wasn't such a nice guy. It got so old I thought it was an empty threat. Not that I was anxious. I didn't see why I should. We had a fine sex life without the ring and it was somehow better, if not as sky-rocket, circus act exciting, to have someone that knew where they were and was there because they wanted me, not to mention that every response was real and not programmed. I even resisted when she finally said: wear the ring. It couldn't be any better than what we have, I argued. It isn't for you, she said. But you'll never know, I said. How can you be sure? she asked. In case I was right, I was to describe everything (punch) honestly. Every little detail so she'd know. She had wisely held back beyond comfort to a real trust between us so I didn't feel too apprehensive about anything I might have to say. She had also, practically, introduced anal sex into our bedroom repertoire so it wouldn't be such a shock to her. I was again horrified that I had ravaged those women without the benefit of lubrication and vowed not to do so with Emily, no matter what she said. I'd like to say it was boring and one-sided and hardly worth the trouble. The truth is, it made me call what we had love from the sheer flood of emotion I felt having circus sex with someone so closely tied to my emotions. I felt the regret of it being one-sided, but it was still hot sex and my dick had no regret. I soothed myself that in some part of her, Emily knew what she was doing- at least she was aware of what she would do when asking me to put on the ring. It also gave me insight into what the ring did. I knew Emily, intimately and regularly. Seeing her slither down to suck my cock let me see the contrast between normal and enhanced. It wasn't much. It was Emily at her most playful, most joyous. It was the blow-job she might give me after I'd given her the perfect gift or compliment or touched her heart like that. It was Emily at her most motivated, most eager. And, I slowly discovered, Emily at her most adventurous and revealing of her hidden thoughts and talents. She had never swallowed my cock that way, carelessly, freely, right to the base just like she would take half normally. Obviously she could do it- I was watching her, but she never had quite like that. The ring seemed to banish fear and inhibitions as it inflamed desire. I also gained an interesting insight to the procedure. While visually impressive and arousing for that, it was idea more than substance in effectiveness. If I was doing it with some disguised grudge, it might have been more, but marveling at her trick was, at last, slightly less effective than the firm suction she could apply with her mouth. That did not hold true in everything, happily. An increased stamina and incentive I supposed was caused by the ring had a direct effect when she mounted me and rode my cock. Her stubborn and lively motion around and up and down translated directly into more pleasure for me. Some technique was lacking. By that I mean only that she had no skill in slowing my response. In the familiar attempt to delay my climax, she seemed only able to cry out for me to hold back. She'd stop what she was doing for a moment, but no craft occurred to her. I guess there our connection filled in. She asked and I tried. Of course, I had as much interest in prolonging this exercise so it was not without selfish concern, but it seemed to work well enough. And when she let me go, it was almost as if there was no force directing her. By that I mean it was perhaps a memorable event, but not beyond the abilities of our normal fucking. I think we shared that, since she climaxed with as much demonstration as I had ever roused in her while I was cumming in her with a like pinnacle of pleasure. Familiarity gave her an advantage that the compulsion on her did not take away. She knew my keys, my sensitive parts and my particular tastes and used them when reviving me. Except for a particularly driven nature to her actions, it might have been a night when she was very horny. It was like that- the all-star performances, not some new process secretly transmitted to her. I do not complain. Our sex was happy and free-form naturally. It didn't need more improvement than the fire of desire which sometimes, naturally, dimmed. The second verse was much like the first, only I insisted on participation where before I had allowed myself to be served. As my wish directed her passion she was not only helpless to resist but glad to serve. Fucking her ass was the big difference. True to my word, though she seemed bothered by it, I greased her ass when she offered it to me. Then I found I might not have hurt those other women as much as I feared. Usually a patient process of relaxing Emily and letting her prepare, I found her asshole as willing as her spirit. She was not relaxed, but seemed to dialate at will as I pushed my cock into her anus. Clearly, this was an effect of the ring. Her asshole didn't gape or open its widest, keeping a firm circle around my cock. She sounded distressed as I fucked her ass, but more if I hesitated. I formed the opinion that she was directed to protest to heighten my response. Admittedly, shamefully, it worked with women I didn't know. I felt the animal urge as a added thrill when I forced the tight hole. I ruminated on that- as much as you can fucking a tight ass- to give me the excuse to ream Emily as effectively. The other big difference- and I'm guessing part of this- was the lube. I think her ass adjusted based on no lube. With the addition, the ease of fucking her ass made it less the short, brutal experience of ass-fucking and more a long, just as arousing, marathon of mining her butt for pleasure. We went from her on her side to her on her knees in that marathon and I added the reach-around of diddling her clit to the latter. It took all of that to tease the elusive third climax from my balls and I think her third orgasm as well. She remembered little in the morning. What she remembered she had trouble separating from what she already knew. She had a vague impression that she was being assured she was willing, but she was willing and couldn't judge how strong that assurance was meant to be. Likewise that it had been her idea and that she had been the instigator of evertyhing we did. Only at the point that it was her own desires that led her to all the acts of the night was she able to tell there was a definite voice coaching her memory. It was interesting enough. Now I could guess what led to the confused looks as voices echoed in the head of the first three and that they were ignored- or laughed at- by the last. Interesting, but no longer important, since I had no intention of wearing the ring again. I did not skimp on detail- as I have for you- when telling Emily everything she did. I did it not from comfort, but with the comfort of duty. She wanted to know and I would make nothing better, smoother or less disturbing by holding back. She was more amused than shocked. She could, would do any of those things. She was pleased rather than embarrassed by her hidden talents. And then she told me it was my turn. It was not the first murmur of the idea. It had snuck into my head from time to time, thinking what she would do if she got her hands on my ring. How could I refuse? Didn't I trust her? If she had been willing to submit herself, how could I be too prim? She put the ring on and nothing happened. I suggested she go out and see if it attracted women and she took it off. Did I ever wear it again? Ever? How can I say? I'm not dead yet. And yes, from time to time, and only at Emily's request, I put it on and enjoy her as an unknowing sex doll for a night. I swear it's for her. She seems to think she is giving me a gift. I appreciate the sentiment, but I can't seem to convince her that her willingly being with me is better- even on sexless nights- than anything she can do under the spell of an artifact. But I have to grant that she has her own insecurities, and if she feels the need to be the brainless sex-bot, I have to give her the regard she gives me. ###