Author Topic: The Ring by John Roper  (Read 4343 times)

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The Ring by John Roper
« on: February 19, 2016, 11:18:37 AM »
  The Ring¬¬_

‘Wear this at your own risk,’ read the card that came with the 2x2x2 box in the  Manila envelope Laura almost tripped over when she stepped out of her apartment and into the most unusual and exciting adventure of her 39-year life.
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Upon initially inspecting the unexpected parcel, the first thing she noticed was that it was well sealed- with nothing written on it. “Hmmmm.”

Rather than break the seal to look inside, she placed it on her keys table, locked her apartment door and went to work. But upon arriving, another, smaller envelope greeted her when she opened the book store she’d been managing and owned  since 1999. A delightfully curious scent greeted her when lifting it off the floor and the 100 watt, soft-white bulb in the Tiffany light fixture hanging from the middle of the ceiling flickered off and on a few times.

The grandfather clock in the far, right-hand corner started to chime just as the phone signaled, after which the following message was recorded. “Hi, sis: just called to make sure you were alright. I had a strange dream about you… You there yet? OK- gimme a call when you get in- maybe we can do lunch or something. Have a great day. Bye.”

Candice almost never called her sister at this time of the day, knowing Laura would be busy opening the store, an oddity that did not escape notice, and which added yet another layer to the morning’s atypical happenings. “Hmmmm.”

Being the analytically inquisitive creature she was, while getting ready for business, Laura Twain ran the morning’s events through her reasoning and figured that this day was going to be anything but run-of-the-mill.

“Why didn’t I take that envelope to work with me? Why was there another unaddressed one on the floor below the mail slot when I arrived?”

 After removing her coffee from its bag, Laura sat in her usual place behind the register and took her first sip while slicing the seal to her future with the gold plated letter opener her sister gave her on her 21st birthday.

The card inside read, ‘If you had opened the first envelope, you might not have arrived here on time this morning, if at all.’

The ‘…if at all’ sent an especially invigorating shiver up and down Laura’s spine, one that immediately assured her that a much needed adventure was afoot and that lunch would certainly be served at her place that day. She immediately picked up the phone and called Candice.
Four hours later
The Twain twins sat at Laura’s kitchen table, eating their salads and staring at the ‘envelope.’

“Why haven’t we opened it yet?” asked Candice, who was a few minutes younger than her redheaded sister.

“Same reason we don’t open Christmas presents before their appointed time.”

“But this isn’t Christmas; it’s nothing, just another Saturday afternoon.”

Laura gazed up at the huge calendar hanging on the wall. A red ‘X’ reminded her of something noteworthy. “Yes- but tonight’s full moon will be a blue one.”

“Huh?”

“Whenever there are two full moons in one month, the second is called a blue moon.”

“So?”

“So, weren’t we born on the night of a blue moon, and wasn’t it also a Saturday?”

“Oh, I get it,” smirked Candice Twain as she stabbed another forkful of salad and remembered, “another planetary event will now forever change your life for the better or worse, and what’s inside that envelope will somehow be involved.”

Laura looked down from the calendar and gave her sister a knowing wink before grabbing a carefully selected cutting tool and breaking the envelope seal. “These scissors were given to Mom at her wedding shower. When she gave them to me she said, ‘Only use them for special occasions’.”

When the 2x2x2 box rolled out and onto the table, the refrigerator motor stopped and the blaring sound of an approaching fire engine could be heard entering and leaving the neighborhood. No note accompanied the contents of the envelope, which was a maroon, crushed velvet-covered, spring loaded ring box with a fairly large pearl embedded in the center of its top.

“Wisdom,” assumed Laura Twain after carefully folding the envelope in half and placing it on a far corner of the table.

“Huh?”

“A pearl of wisdom,” said Laura in a tone of voice that added more credence to her belief that the gift was exactly and unequivocally that. “And wisdom is a rare and precious gift to those who can appreciate its message.”

Candy’s presence of mind moved her to see if there was anything else inside the envelope. “Hell-oh,” she commented when her right hand grasped the box’s accompanying index card. Without reading it, she handed it to her sister and said, “Merry Christmas?”

Laura read the message silently then handed the card back to her sister’s waiting stillness.

 “Wear this at your own risk,” read the redheaded beauty before lightening up the moment with, “Should I magnetize it to the refrigerator door,” one second before the appliance’s cooling machinery turned back on.

A curiously ominous ten seconds came and went before Laura reached for and opened the case. Set in a pair of elevated, felt lips was a plain, highly polished, gold ring. The sunlight coming through the window to her left reflected off of it and into Laura’s left eye like a laser beam.

She added a quip of her own. “Guess I’ve been made another Lord of the ring.”

Both women spread their long, delicate fingers as they placed their hands down on the table, gazing at the gold bauble for a good ten seconds before Candice said, “You seeing anyone?”

“Nope.”

“Then who…”

“I have no idea.”
Later that night
The still opened ring box sat on Laura’s night table. She hadn’t tried on the mysterious gift yet, but decided to soak in the tub for an hour or so before slipping into white-Bikini panties and downing the last of the wine she’d started when getting into her bath.

While washing the glass in the kitchen sink, a thought crossed her mind. ‘If it’s from a secret admirer, maybe he lives in the building, else how could he, or she, have gotten in without a key? I’m rhyming- no small sign there.’

The walk to the bedroom was slow and thoughtful, but Laura’s mind was racing wildly in all sorts of speculative directions, all of which ended with question marks and a heavy foot on the brake pedal of her curiously excited expectations.

The ring slipped easily out of its velvet niche’, and was heavier than Laura expected. ’24 karat, me thinks… or gold plated led.’

As she sat on the edge of her four-poster brass bed, manipulating the solid gold gift in and out of her palms and fingers, a wonderful feeling of calmness overtook her, and continued to do so for a few minutes before she saw what had been inscribed completely around the inner face of the mysterious gift.

She immediately jumped up and headed for her roll top desk a few feet away, reached for the jeweler’s loupe her dad had given her some years earlier, and walked slowly back to the bed, where she sat and turned on the reading lamp affixed to the top of one of the vertical bars in back of her two pillows.

The inscription was in a language she did not recognize, but knew for sure was not of this corner of this hemisphere. ‘…Egyptian hieroglyphics…Sanskrit?’

After inspecting the strangely decorative letters, symbols, whatever, Laura turned off the light, placed the loupe on the night table and laid flat on her back, with her head propped up on her pillows. It was then she decided to try on the ring, which she immediately knew was not meant for either her thumbs or pinkies.

It didn’t fit on either her index or middle fingers either. “Hmmmmm. Ya’think?” she smirked to herself while slipping it onto the wedding ring finger. “Figures,” she observed when it fit perfectly, though a bit tighter than she would have wanted it to. Getting it off took some doing, and the inscription could be felt digging into her skin somewhat, a sensation that both mildly amused and subtly alarmed her well sharpened sense of intuition.

“This is weird,” she appraised as she once again toyed with the ring and pondered its vibes and aura. ‘What is it about this ring that I can’t get off my mind? Why does it arouse a sense of foreboding titillation?’

From the moment Laura removed it from its box she knew the ring had a mystical attachment to her future. Whether it was a gift from the man with whom she would spend the rest of her life, or an amulet given by someone chosen to act as a kind of guide through the canyons and crevices of her spiritual journey to perfection, it nonetheless contained some sort of power.

Laura had devoured hundreds of books on mysticism and the occult since reading her first at age thirteen. It had to do with the great pyramid in Egypt and the mysteries its hieroglyphics contained, which archeologists had been studying and writing about since who-knows-when. That book became the seed of her curiosity about things both paranormally historical and spiritual. 

Since the envelope appeared at her door, strange things had happened, not the least of which was that the ring fascinated her in ways jewelry of any kind never had before. The dream Candice recalled during lunch again came to mind.

‘Maybe if I wear it to bed something para-interesting will happen in my dreams,’ she hoped as she turned on the night light in the wall outlet by the door, pulled back the sheets and comforter, and slipped onto the center of the mattress. 

After positioning the covers just out of reach of her toes, as she usually did during the summer, Laura put on the ring and stretched her legs and arms towards the foot and head of the bed, respectively, while gently and excitedly lowering her head onto the pillows. Her hair was still as it was when she stepped into the tub, collected in a knotted ponytail halfway up the back of her head and held tightly in check with a thin strip of leather thong.

Laura’s eyelids were immediately and uncommonly heavy, which surprised her, since it usually took at least twenty-minutes of deep thought for her to roll over and let go to her plummeting brain waves. Given that she never wore rings of any kind, the one now on the finger it was obviously meant to occupy felt strangely familiar.

The dream her sister recounted during lunch added another wrinkle to the curious mix of mental activity that accompanied her slow descent into the Alpha state and beyond. In it, she was also in her own bed, but in a way she had never been before. That remembrance was all that was on her mind as she slipped off to sleep.

A few seconds later, Laura was engulfed by a vision wherein she stood at the foot of the four-poster, staring down at herself and wondering why her arms and legs were stretched out in opposite directions and kept that way with several feet of tightly tied and knotted, shiny-white rope.

‘My goodness,’ was all she could think while inspecting the meticulous particulars of the bind. ‘That’s me, and I’m all tied up.’

Her wrists were parallel bound with several turns of thin line and cinched securely. Another, thicker rope was tied to the cinch and ran up to the head of the bed, around its center bar, back down under her, then up between her legs. It continued to another four turns of thicker rope around her waist where it was tied off to the bottom circle.

‘Holy moly,’ wondered Laura Twain  when she realized her body had been tied to the four-poster, not only by the wrist tether, but by another rope secured to several turns of line that bound her crossed ankles together. It ran down and under the foot of the bed and, she assumed, was tied off somewhere out of her line of sight.

At first she thought she was having a dream because it almost perfectly matched the one her twin sister had recounted earlier in the day. She still wore only her panties, but what grabbed her attention almost immediately was the rope that dug into her pussy. ‘What on earth.’ Four knots, centered where they would do the most good, gave Laura pause to suspect something kinky was about to transpire.

The sheets, pillows and comforter were nowhere to be seen in the room; the red digits on her night table chronometer read 12:00 PM. It did not occur to Laura to look in the wall mirror to her left, for she could not take her eyes off her own, sleeping body, nor could she come up with  a clue as to why both she and her sister had and were having the same dream.

A smile broke out on her pretty features when Laura realized how weird it was to watch herself outside of her own body, for the perspective was like none she’d ever pondered before. It was then she realized that, except for one very mysterious detail, both she and her physical body were both identically, semi-naked.

‘She’s not wearing the ring,’ noticed Laura Twain before quickly looking down at her left hand, ‘but I am.’

It was then that she averted her gaze to the wall mirror. What she saw widened her eyes and weakened her knees to a degree that caused her to lose her balance and lean forward. Had she not grabbed onto the thick-brass bedpost, she would surely have fallen to the floor.

‘I’m not there…here. I’m invisible.’

She could look at her out-of-body self in whatever dimension she was in, but there was no trace of her ‘dream self’ in the mirror at all, though the one in bed could be clearly seen.

‘Un-freakin’ real… Maybe I’m a vampire,’ she quipped with a tiny smile.

She had not moved more than a foot from where she stood when the ‘dream’ started. ‘Dare I?’ But felt curiously compelled to walk around to the side of the bed between it and the mirror. However, before she could tell her legs what to do, Laura levitated an inch or so off the floor and glided to the spot she had predetermined to go, where she again stood and stared at her other body on the bed.

‘That was strange.’

It was a beautiful body, one she’d always healthily maintained and kept perfectly toned, not only for her own sense of wellbeing, but for the man with whom she someday hoped to spend the rest of her life. Her breasts and nipples stood full and erect; her lower torso, too, was as tight as a drum.

‘Why is this happening?’ a voice in her mind asked.

‘I don’t know,’ answered Laura Twain, much to her own astonishment.

She’d never been more clearly aware of herself in all her life. ‘I feel so free, disconnected, unfettered,’ realized the 39-year-old book worm.

‘That’s why,’ said the inner voice. ‘Do you know why you’re tied up?’

‘…Haven’t a clue… Who the hell are you?’

‘Let’s just say I’m your future and she is your past.’

‘Then who am I?’

‘Both.’

An irresistible urge caused Laura to bring her hands together and place her right index finger and thumb above and below the twenty-four karat-gold gift she quickly realized was totally responsible for what was happening.

‘Well, duh.’

‘Would you like to know what it would feel like to wake up tied up like Samantha is right now?’

‘Who’s Samantha?’

‘Later.’

It was then that Laura’s mind raced back to a point in time some twenty-some-odd years earlier when, while at a pajama party, her girlfriends had tied her up and left her alone on a couch in a finished basement and told her she had a half hour to escape. Though she knew it would only take a minute or two to do so, the unique feelings she was experiencing stopped her from untangling herself.

There was something magically mysterious about being tied up, something that had haunted her all her life, but was never experienced again; an anomaly, if you will, that puzzled Laura whenever she saw a woman well bound on TV or in a film.

‘What are you saying?’

Her inner voice did not answer, but her curiosity got the best of her, as did the side of her that secretly desired to know what it would feel like to be back inside her other, tied up body. Without even knowing it, Laura began to turn the ring clockwise on her finger, almost as if she were dialing in her car radio or its volume. The more she turned it, the weaker her body became, but that didn’t stop her from continuing. If anything, the more she dialed the ring, the more blissfully and sleepily happy she felt until her eyes closed and she slowly fell towards the floor.

Almost immediately Laura awoke to find she was in the center of her bed and tied to it the way her other self had been when the out-of-body experience began. The first thing she was physically aware of was the knotted rope between her legs.

‘Goodness.’

Then came the feeling of total incapacitation that raced throughout her physical and mental awareness as she tested the limits set by the tightly tied cinches and tether lines.

Suddenly, everything was ‘real’ and not at all like what she’d been aware of as an observer.

“I’m tied up,” she noticed out loud, almost as if the reality of it had only just occurred to Laura’s powers of deduction. A few seconds of intense struggling also brought her to a profoundly odd realization. “…and I can’t get out.”

That’s when something totally unexpected happened. Laura Twain became instantly horny. “Oh-my-God” was all she could think, then say as wave after wave of arousal inundated her moistening pussy, compelling her to look over and into the eight-by-ten, ceiling-to-floor, wall mirror.

‘It wasn’t a dream. It was real and the ring…’

She felt for it on her finger. It was still there. She then looked back and down at herself and was suddenly fearful, which only intensified the amazing sensations going on between her legs. The more she struggled, the more the knotted ropes dug into her underwear, the wetter and more aroused she became.

‘Holy…What have I done?’

Her fingers fanned and fisted, as did her toes. She looked around frantically, as if there was something or someone there to help Laura out of her outrageous predicament. Her writhing grew more intense, but only succeeded in tightening the cinches that encased the rope circles around her wrists and ankles.

The urge to scream was quickly suffocated, for Laura could think of no one she wanted in the room with her other than her sister, who was several blocks away and probably fast asleep by now. A quick glance at the digital clock brought yet another tingle to her toes. It was still midnight, but an eye blink later, it said 12:01.

Laura’s cell phone signaled. Her struggling grew even more intense as she listened to it and was immediately aware of the fact that the harder she struggled, the more slack was lost on the tether line at the foot of the bed.

“WHAT!”

Laura was being stretched to the limits of her physical tolerances, which included the increasing of the pressure exerted between her legs by the knotted rope that kept digging deeper and deeper into her now, totally drenched crevice.

“Holy SHIT!” she whispered loudly. The cell phone went silent and, a few seconds later, the hard line phone on her nearby desk signaled.

Laura stopped struggling to listen to its impending message, suspended in a moment so fraught with fright and erotic nuance it placed her into a mild state of shock.

‘Why am I also enjoying this?’ was all she could think when the fact that her body could be stretched no further hit her between the eyes and an odd sense of timelessness overtook Laura Twain’s sensibilities.

“…Hi sis: I know you must be asleep by now or you would have picked up. Just thought I’d call to tell you I had that same dream about you just a few minutes ago…You listening…you there?”

“OH-MY-GOD!” uninhibitedly exclaimed Laura, with mouth and eyes wide open, as she reached the edge of an orgasm and made four fists with her hands and toes. The urge to struggle came and went while her sister’s message impacted her thinking.

“…Guess not. OK, well, I just wanted to chat some afterthoughts about the dream, the ring, and all the strange stuff that happened today. See you in Church tomorrow. Bye…Lovey’a.”

Laura couldn’t help but make one more attempt at escaping, which, of course, pulled out as much slack from the tether rope as it took to reach the maximum limits of her body’s distended extremities, and kicked off the most incredibly spectacular, multiple orgasm of her entire life.

The four turns of rope around her waist had also tightened considerably, thanks to the diabolical way the crotch rope tether had been designed. It was tied only to the bottom circle so that when the slack on the tether was pulled out, the other three circles would dig progressively and irreversibly deeper into her gut, a sensation that added yet another layer of inescapable constriction to the bind.

The configuration on both her wrist and ankle binds were similarly connected to the tether at just one cinch circle, which produced the same tightening effect and made it perfectly clear that whoever or whatever bound Laura had a sadistically purposeful nature that she found oddly admirable.

‘How mischievously creative of him…her…them?’

All she could now think of was the phone message from her sister, for it suggested to her that what was happening might actually be happening, that it wasn’t a dream from which she was now desperately trying to awaken.

Spasm after spasm pounded her thoroughly soaked pussy, and continued to without mercy in shorter and shorter intervals until her first bondage orgasm evolved into one, long, continuous spasm, an event that both astounded and satisfied Laura to degrees she’s previously thought unattainable.

It took all of what was left of her self-control to keep from vocally expressing that satisfaction for fear she might alarm a neighbor enough to bring them to her door. Never had Laura made any kind of noise comparable to what she was so desperately trying to keep from escaping her overwhelmed and overwrought, unbridled passion…

..She didn’t know how long she was suspended in her climax. What she did know was that when it ended, a fear unlike any she’d ever experienced filled her entire being. Strangely, she enjoyed every second of it, and didn’t care that she was held prisoner by the ropes that bound her. Even the discomfort that slowly crept into every joint and muscle in her body as the spasms subsided was peculiarly pleasurable.

A glance at the clock surprised her, for more than a half hour had passed since she last looked at it. A change of focus brought her attention again to the mirror.

“Wow.”

It was then that the ring grabbed her attention when it started to warm and then heat up.

‘U-oh, now what?’ thought Laura while grabbing at it with her right hand. It was soon very hot. Instinctively, she did her best to remove it and soon discovered that as she twisted it, the ring temperature lowered or rose, depending on which direction she turned it. ‘Counter clockwise cooler,’ she realized. ‘Interesting; maybe it’s trying to tell me something.’

Instinctively, and with some effort, Laura continued to clumsily pull and twist the ring in a cooler direction until it slipped off and onto the mattress, immediately after which she quickly and mercifully drifted off into unconsciousness.

The next morning
At first, thoughts of what had happened the night before were eclipsed by the usual routine of waking up and stretching her bones and muscles for a few seconds before removing the covers and rolling out of bed, which Laura did without batting an eyelash. She then turned off the alarm clock and plopped back onto the mattress with her eyes still closed. That’s when it hit her.

“It WAS a dream,” ‘realized’ Laura as she covered her face with her hands and smiled with both delight and relief. ‘And an amazingly real dream at that.’

The blinking light on her answering machine brought her to the desk, where she listened to the message her sister left the night before. Standing in amazement, she wondered how it was possible for both the message and her bondage orgasm dream to co-exist in the same time and space.

That’s when enlightenment hit her in the form of the sore spot between her legs. ‘Good grief,’ realized the book worm, ‘I really was tied up, but how did I get out, or who untied me when I fainted?...And who tied me in the first place?’

A quick glance in the mirror and a reach for the ring on her finger added yet another layer of unprecedented disorientation to the brainstorm building within her short circuiting consciousness.

‘I pulled it off,’ she remembered, averting her gaze to the closed gift box on the night table. ‘If it’s in there, I will absolutely freak.’

It was, and she did.

Two hours later
Laura sat transfixed in her ongoing astonishment and bewilderment, waiting for Candice to show up and sit next to her in Church. They always arrived early and occupied the same pew in the back of the hundred-four-year old house of worship. Both were uncharacteristically right-on-time that morning.

Recollections of what had happened the night before dominated Laura’s thinking. ‘Thank God it happened on a Saturday night. I don’t think I could have functioned today if I had to open the store.’

“Hi,” whispered her sister as she slipped into the pew and sat. “What’s up?”

Laura turned slowly to gaze into Candice’s eyes, her mouth slightly agape, her eyes half-lidded, with an expression of mental exhaustion clearly apparent to her perkily unawares sister.

“Did you try on the ring?”

“Did I ever,” was all Laura could come up with just before the service began and the subject had to be dropped for another hour and eleven minutes.

The walk from Church to the diner engendered its usual period of silent reflection, a tradition Laura currently and gratefully appreciated, especially since her loss for words would have made a verbal exchange awkward, to say the least.

‘Everything that happens to us in life happens for a reason,’ she remembered from Pastor Williams’ sermon. ‘Looks like I’m about to spend a month of Sundays reasoning.’

After settling into their usual booth at the ‘Joe’s’, the sisters Twain got down to the business at hand. Candice was the first to bring up the matter.

“So you tried on the ring, right?”

“Right.”

“Which finger did it fit?”

“Guess.”

“The one next to the pinky on your left hand?”

“Yup.”

“You’re strangely short with me this morning. Any particular reason?”

Laura locked her fingers together, planted them and both elbows on the table, sat up straight in her determination, looked almost plaintively into her sister’s eyes and said, “If I told you, you would not believe me. In fact, you would probably think I was crazy.”

“The guy who sent you the ring showed up and made wild, passionate love to you?”

Laura smiled as she bowed her head. “Something like that, only I think I slept through the whole thing.”

“Huh?”

She smiled at her own witticism. “Remember the dream you had twice about me?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I had it too.”

There was always a strong, physic connection between the Twain twins, a spiritual bond they both often took for granted, except when something unusual happened, like the tied-to-the-bed dream.

Upon arriving home, Laura immediately got online and Googled ‘tied up,’ something she had never thought to do before, given the long ago, almost forgotten memory of being amateurishly bound on the couch in her girlfriend’s finished basement. For the next four hours, she clicked her way through an eye-opening assortment of bondage and discipline material she hitherto did not know existed.

“Where have I been?”

While the books, movies and TV shows Laura had read and seen that included scenes featuring bondage had tweaked her curiosity somewhat, the mind-blowing assortment of kinky images, video clips and stories she found online convinced her that she was indeed about to enter into a relationship with the bent that would surely change, or at the very least, seriously affect her life forever.

She stood at the night table, staring down at the ring box, pondering its significance and wondering, ‘What the heck is going on here?’

Her PC screen contained an image of a well gagged, severely hogtied damsel with a figure similar to Laura’s and an expression on her upper face that spoke volumes to what had gone on in the 39-year-old’s thinking and sensual awareness the night before.

“Why do I want to be tied up like that?” she asked the ring box.

The inner voice with which she’d had the night-before conversation remained silent.

“If I put you on and position myself in bed like the girl in the picture, will what happened last night happen again, only with me tied like that?”

The hard line phone signaled. Laura waited for the machine to pick it up, but the ringing stopped at one. She reached for the finger on which she’d placed the new wrinkle in her life and pondered the possibilities. As she did, the book worm became aroused to a degree she didn’t think possible without either touching herself or playing with her vibrator wand.

She sat on the edge of the mattress, slowly and almost reverently removed her shoes, skirt, pantyhose, top and bra and rolled onto the bed, where she laid on her stomach and tried to assume the position the girl in the picture had been forced to sustain in strict rope bondage. Another twitch of sexual arousal made it clear to Laura that, come what may, she wanted to be hogtied and gagged before the day was over. She also wanted to spasm like she never had before, again.

‘But why do I want to be tied up so brutally?’

Of all the thoughts Laura had on the matter, the one that took up most of her deductive reasoning was whether the ring was a gift or a curse.

‘Guess there’s only one way to find out.’

It took some effort to bend her body into a position similar to the one on her computer screen, which required that she grab each ankle with its corresponding hand. Almost every muscle in her five-foot six, one hundred-twenty-seven pound physique strained to accomplish the desired effect. Once it had been achieved, Laura’s second thoughts began to invade her always practical nature.

‘And this is making me hot? Why?’

While mentally searching for an answer, Laura sat up, reached for and opened the gift or curse box, removed the ring and slipped it onto its perfect fit finger. She then lay down on her stomach, on the comforter, in the middle of the bed, rested her chin between its two pillows, assumed the hogtie position, and closed her eyes.

A wave of uncommon, inner peace and physical relaxation swept over her; her mind emptied, and Laura drifted off to sleep, or so she thought.

‘Here we go again.’

She was again standing at the foot of the bed, only her back was to it. In front of her was the image on the computer screen on the desk.

‘Dare I turn around?’

Upon deciding to do so, she was lifted off of her feet and very slowly rotated a hundred-eighty degrees. The sight of her physical body, with head facing the bed’s head, widely opened her mouth and eyes. The impact of the hogtie gradually came into full view and she was again lowered to the floor.

Her upper arms were tied as close together as they would go with three, skein-wrapped and stacked circles of thick rope; her elbows also, with wrists parallel bound together by several circles of thin, tightly cinched line. Ankles, calves and lower thighs, too, were similarly welded together by thicker rope and knotted securely. Several more feet of even thicker, severely cinched hemp held Laura’s arms to her torso above and below her gorgeous breasts, as well as around her waist.

‘Good gawd.’

Wrists and ankles were tied directly together, forcing her body to bow in a way she could not achieve herself when toying with the idea of being hogtied on the bed earlier. She was on her stomach, with head lowered in a dead sleep, her forehead a good four-inches above the mattress.

‘Do I really want to wake up in that?’ asked a very uncertain Laura Twain while floating to the right side of the bed to get a better look at what might be the case should she decide to reach for and twist the ring in the hot direction.

‘Who’s doing this to me,’ she asked herself.

The inner voice answered, ‘You’re doing it to yourself.’

‘But why?’

‘You won’t know until you turn the key.’

Laura immediately reached for the ring and was sorely tempted to pull it off. Instead, she just held onto her left wrist and took careful note of the gag. She immediately knew her mouth was stuffed with something that forced her jaw to open widely, making her face look longer than usual. Its lower half was covered with very tight turns of shiny-white bandage material, from just below her nostrils to the tip of her chin.

‘Woah.’

Laura could not take her eyes off of her severely gagged mouth and wondered what that might feel like.

‘With that gag on, I could have screamed my head off last night and no one would have heard me…Tonight too, if I dial the ring…’

She also knew now that anytime she wanted out of the bind, all she had to do was remove the ring and the session would come to an abrupt end. These undeniable facts inundated her thinking as Laura stood transfixed by the sight of her tightly bound bones.

She also thought, ‘Why is this not making me horny like all the pictures and stuff online did?’

‘You’re disconnected from your physical self,’ informed her inner voice.

‘Ah. But isn’t the ring a solid object?’ asked a very perplexed damsel when she noticed, unlike her, it had mass.’  Why isn’t it like me, invisible, transparent, ghostly?’

A look in the mirror confirmed that observation, for though her spiritual body was not there, the ring was, floating in mid air, a detail she hadn’t noticed the first time she was out-of-body.

‘Amazing. How is that possible?’

‘Later,’ assured her future self.

That’s when something totally unexpected and ‘unintentional’ happened. While in the throes of making up her mind about being brutally gagged and hogtied, without realizing it, she started to turn the ring clockwise with her ‘fidgeting’ pinky. An almost imperceptible dizziness slowly overtook her. Within a matter of just a few seconds Laura collapsed and woke up in super strict, rope bondage.

The Second Ring Fix
‘Woops… Holy moly. This is awesome.’

The first thing of which she became aware was the crotch rope, something she hadn’t noticed from her two, OOB vantage points. There were no knots in it this time, but it was much thicker. And when she launched into her first escape attempt to test the limits of the bind, it moved somewhat whenever her legs were involved with the struggling.

‘MAN-these-ropes-are-tight.’

The moistening arousal between her legs started to kick in. She couldn’t believe how fast that happened and was now grateful that a force beyond her own had taken on the responsibility of making the decision to place her back into her thoroughly bound and gagged body.

The gag stuffing that filled her mouth occupied every nook and cranny with what felt like something porous, yet totally unaffected by her efforts to lose whatever pressure it exerted against the inside of her gaping lower face.

‘Sponge,’ she figured.

It didn’t take Laura long to realize her predicament was all, and considerably more than she thought it would be and feel like. The second escape attempt was herculean and did much to accelerate and intensify what was going on between her legs. Nothing she could do made any difference in either changing or loosening the 200-or-so feet of super-tight rope that held her fast in the hogtie she’d plucked off the net to experience.

‘I LOVE it! It’s like having a bondage jukebox.’

She explored every inch of the bind and determined that whoever was doing the tying was obviously a master at what he or she did. All Laura could move were her fingers, head and toes. That knowledge inspired a rocking motion to see if she could roll over onto her side, which took less than a minute of struggling, weight-shifting and intense writhing to accomplish. And all the while, her seriously impinged upon wet spot came closer and closer to where she wanted it to go and to whatever the bondage gods had in mind.

It didn’t take her long to learn that the crotch rope was connected to the wrist/ankle cinch, where the only play in the bind allowed a certain amount of control over the pressure on her pussy.

‘Why didn’t I take off my panties?’

She was now on her right side and panting with temporary exhaustion. A long look in the mirror did much to bring her sensual juices to a boil. And the move to the position she was now in also taught her something about the crotch rope. If she rocked back against the tops of her feet, it would saw a bit on her pussy. She learned this while negotiating a 45 degree turn so she could see the picture on the PC screen.

This, of course, also tested the limits of her mobility which, she soon learned, were severely limited.

‘I am sooooo tied up. I wonder how long she was able to put up with this.’

The thought reminded her to check the accessibility of the ring to make sure she could twist it off when the time came.

‘What if I didn’t HAVE a way out?’

That thought and another look in the mirror brought her closer to the edge of her next multiple, which she savored for several minutes before launching herself into her third escape attempt, rocking back and forth in the process so as to cause the crotch rope to subtly saw at her pussy.

‘Now THIS is what I call masturbation.’

Within a matter of just a few seconds Laura was stuck in a self induced denial of what was certain to be the high point of her gnawing need to reach the flashpoint of her next orgasm. To keep it from happening all she had to do was stop struggling, empty her mind, and avert her gaze from the mirror image of her vacillating efforts to keep the on/off switch of her passion from ending the edginess of her hot-n-heavy ‘predicament.’

‘I LOVE this! I absolutely LOVE this!’   

Now freed from the limitation of having to quell her outbursts, Laura moaned and made all kinds of sensually induced, guttural racket on her way to what she’d put the ring on for this time. The first spasm inspired the sort of audio feedback she didn’t think herself capable of vocalizing.

“MMMMUHUHUHMMMUHUUHHUMMMMMMUUHUHU” said it all, and continued to say it for several incredible minutes before her sexual gear box slipped back into neutral and Laura opened her eyes, stared into the mirror, and launched herself into another ‘escape attempt.’

This back-n-forth, self-induced fantasy went on for several minutes…

…The hard line phone rang and her sister left a message.

“I was thinking Barbara and I might drop by for tea, if that’s OK with you…Not there, huh? Or are you napping, or working, or soaking in the tub. I wanted to borrow a book anyway, so I’ll head on over when Barb gets here and pick it up. If you’re there, you’re there. If not, we’ll just pick up the book and do a movie or something. Later.”

The message did much to double-clutch Laura’s spasms into high gear and eliminate the semi-dead space in between. She was now thrashing and writhing for all she was worth, watching herself in the mirror and screaming her head off as a mixed bag of fear and lust drove her to the nth degree of her spasmodic potential.

The new gag wrinkle, the impossible demands the bind placed on her body, the vocal outbursts, the ‘live’ bondage video in the mirror, the phone message and the controllable crotch rope did much to make the multiple far exceed Laura’s expectations, so much so that she didn’t want it to end.

All she could think was, ‘If Barbara shows up there now, they could be here in less than eight minutes.’

Once again, Laura was locked into an endless spasm that showed no sign of letting up. A quick check of the clock gave her a starting point from which to count down the minutes to the one when the situation would enter time-critical territory.

“MUHMUHMUHMUH---MUHMUHMUHMUHMUH!!!!”

The moment crackled with diametric deliberation. and what it all boiled down to was that Laura had been locked into a situation over which she had only one option if she expected to resolve in a way that satisfied her sense of sisterly propriety.

Whenever Candice arrived unexpectedly or after Laura didn’t pick up the phone, she would always ring the downstairs bell twice before using her key to get in. This meant her sister would only have about a minute to remove the ring before things got totally out of hand.

‘This is too impossible,’ thought Laura, for the intensity of the suspended multiple surpassed the one she enjoyed the night before in direct proportion to how hard she writhed, sawed at her gushing wet spot, and thought about her untenable and potentially humiliating predicament.

But there was also a side of Twain that didn’t care what happened as long as her third and best experience with bondage completely ran its course. Add to this the fact that the ring wasn’t heating up, and one potentially outrageous scenario after another continued to bombard her thinking, adding more wood to the fire of her libido’s orgasmic persistence.

‘Trust the ring.’ Spoke her inner voice.

‘Sure, that’s easy for you to say.’

The simple instruction did little to quell Laura’s anxiety, which soon turned to panic when the possibility that the voice’s intent was to make sure the worst DID, indeed, inevitably happen. So it went for the next several minutes....

…The tightly cinched calf rope circles were beginning to sting, but the ring remained cool and the clock said there was only one minute left in the countdown.

‘Trust the ring, trust the ring,’ Remembered Laura, even though her suspended multiple showed no sign of letting go or easing off. ‘You’d better not be trying to get Candice and Barbara involved in all this or I’ll…’

‘You’ll what?’ fun-poked the voice of ‘reason,’ ‘stop wearing the ring?’

She wasn’t thinking straight, and she knew it. The pleasurable distraction of having the most stupendous orgasm of her life ‘forced’ upon her, plus all the orbiting possibilities were beginning to have a profound impact on Laura’s thought processors.

The hard line phone signaled, (her bent-out-of-shape thinking mistakenly thought for a second it was the downstairs buzzer) causing a jolt of spasmodic intensity that made Laura wonder if it could get any more spectacular than what she thought was impossible before it did again. The phone signaled a second time.

“MUHMUHMUHMMMUHUHUHMMMMUHUHUH!”

‘Un-freakin’ REAL!’

The rings had placed four cherries on the top of her passion cake, for when the fourth one sounded and put her over the top of her expectations, the wall-to-wall multiple started to subside somewhat.

“Hi Law. Well, it looks like Barbara isn’t going to come over after all. The book can wait till lunch tomorrow. I Googled ‘bondage’ today. I can’t wait to tell you the results. You’re not going to believe what I found. See’ya tomorrow. Love you. Bye.”

The aftershocks of Laura’s orgasms began to lesson in frequency, tapering off as the phone message assured her the ‘worst’ was not going to happen. But now she had something else to deal with- the escalating discomfort of the bind, which never occurred to her physical awareness during the pleasurable aspects of the session.

‘My goodness.’

In spite of the discomfort it was causing, Laura wanted to remain tied up as long as her stamina and pain tolerances would allow. She didn’t know why, but at no time during the next 20-minutes did she grab for the ring. Her head went limp at the end of her neck, breathing slackened, and a weird sense of euphoria overtook her normally practical nature. The minutes ticked away and she seriously considered the option of staying tied up all night, or at least for another hour or so.

Laura wanted to know if, when the sexual implications were removed, she could experience another spiritual, physical, or emotional aspect of the experience. A term she’d learned on net suddenly came to mind.

‘I guess this makes me a rope slut.’

Laura didn’t bother looking at the clock again. She continued to thrash and roll around on the bed and, now that the sexual aspect of the bind had been temporarily, if not completely removed, became even more intimate with the punishing rope work.

‘It’s like an endless, almost violently intense hug.’

Laura was back on her stomach, wondering if she could be tied up any tighter or demandingly, when dizziness came over her again and she fainted for a few seconds. Upon regaining consciousness, her question was abundantly answered when her head was no longer slumped over but pulled back as far as it would go by a rope tied to the back of the gag bandage.

‘DAMN!’ Laura thought when she realized the rope was tethered to a cinch that bound her big toes together. Her feet were tightly tied and cinched together as well.

All she could move now were her fingers and small toes. After just a few seconds of appreciating the new wrinkle in her outrageous predicament, more of the aftershocks it precipitated erupted between her legs. Another minute of serious struggling added yet another series of tweaks to the mix. Laura’s incredulity began to redline.

 ‘I wonder if they have an annual competition for the crowning of Miss Rope Slut.’

+

Candice knew nothing at all about her sister’s ring-responsible bondage encounters. This bothered her somewhat, but both women respected the other’s privacy and knew that, sooner or later, most of the secrets between them would be shared at the right and hopefully perfect time.

“Something happened with the ring again last night- yes?”

They were again eating lunch at Laura’s kitchen table. “OH-yeah.”

“Why won’t you tell me about it? And please don’t tell me again that I won’t believe you or that I’ll think you’re crazy. OK?”

“OK.”

“…Was it that unbelievable?”

“That.”

“…So are we like playing 20 questions?”

“Sorry. It’s just hard to explain is all.”

Candice stood up and walked into the living room. “That personal, huh?”

Laura dropped her napkin on the table, stood, and followed her sister to the huge, ceiling-to-floor set of book shelves that ran from one corner of the room to the other. “It don’t get any more personal… Which book did you want to borrow?”

“The Collector.”

Laura had read it in college. “Oh, right, I saw the movie too.”

“How was it?”

“Kinky, but I don’t think I have a copy here.”

Candice pressed on with her ploy to squeeze more information out of her evasive sister. “How about at the store?”

“Listen, Candy,” smiled Laura as she sat on the couch, “I know what you’re trying to do, but there’s no way I can adequately tell you what happened. The only way to explain it is to experience it yourself.”

Candice turned from the bookshelf, walked to the couch, and sat next to her obviously on edge sister. “How do I do that?”

The two had covered Candy’s take on what she had found on the internet over lunch, but the chat was all informational. Personal experience had been carefully avoided.

Laura asked, “Have you ever been tied up?”

“No, at least not in real time, but I have had a few dreams in which I was.”

“How did they hit you?”

Now that the shoe was on the other foot, Candice squirmed a bit before saying, “It was a very odd sensation.”

“Did it wake you up.”

“Oh-yeah.”

“Would you have preferred to continue the dream for a while?”

Candice stood and walked back into the kitchen, where she started cleaning up lunch. Laura followed and said, “Now you know why I find it hard to tell you about the ring.”

“OK- I get it.”

“ I Googled tied up for four hours yesterday. Everything you told me about what you learned on net, I learned too, and more.”

They were standing in the kitchen, leaning up against opposite walls and wondering where to go from there.

“So you wore the ring to sleep and had a dream in which you were tied up?”

“Something like that. “

“Wow.”

They were immediately uncomfortable in each other’s presence.

“I’ll see if I have The Collector at the store,” said Laura before gathering up her things as a way of saying, ‘this chat is over.’ “Does the name Samantha mean anything to you?”

It didn’t.

Laura wasted no time looking up esoteric alphabets on line between customers at the store that afternoon. Later, on her home PC, she continued the search in earnest until, low and behold, there it was on a site devoted exclusively to a language that had not been spoken or written for thousands of years.

When she right-then-and-there considered translating what was engraved on the inside of the ring, sleepiness overtook her. A glance at the clock said it was time for bed. The temptation to put on the ring before turning in did not cross her mind, but as she removed her long-sleeved blouse, one, very important thought did.

All during lunch, she had made sure its French-cut and linked cuffs did not ride up her forearms, for if they had, Candice would surely have noticed the rope marks and burns on her wrists and gone ballistic with questions Laura was not ready or prepared to answer until she’d gotten a better handle on what the ring was all about.

As Laura studied the slowly fading bruises and such, and settled into a more comfortable dumbfounded-ness, she realized how quickly her mind had accepted as routine what had been happening to her since the package arrived on Saturday morning.

‘Almost as if it’s always been a part of me- waiting to surface into conscious thought.’

She slept without dreaming that night, at least none that she could recall upon awakening, though her thoughts before and afterwards bounced and were flipped around her mind like a pinball in an arcade machine.

She was up and running earlier than usual the next morning, so much so that Laura was able to work a good half hour at her PC before leaving for work. The name Samantha sat atop the to-do list on a note pad to the left of the keyboard. After clicking on the picture that inspired her no-nonsense hogtie experience, she explored the site on which she’d found it and discovered the name of the model.

‘Damsel Samantha. Son-of-a-gun.’

The site also offered the option of sending fan mail to the bondage model, something Laura think-tanked throughout the work week between translating what was on the inside of the ring and fielding questions from her sister, who showed up at and phoned the book store more often than usual to ask the same question whenever she did.

“Did you wear the ring last night?”

Laura hadn’t, and had not been tempted to either. She also said nothing to Candice about the engraving translation project that took up much of her time at night. There was no punctuation or spaces between letters to help untangle the syntax, let alone decipher the context of what had been so beautifully, perfectly and painstakingly engraved on the ring.

Laura used upper case letters when finally deciding to email Damsel Samantha, for she wanted her thoughts to stand out from the rest in case the bondage model’s mail box was overloaded by gawking admirers and wannabes.

DEAR DAMSEL SAMANTHA: MY NAME IS LAURA AND, THANKS TO A PICTURE OF YOU IN A STRINGENT HOGTIE, I VERY RECENTLY DISCOVERED WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE SERIOUSLY BOUND AND GAGGED THE WAY YOU WERE IN THAT PICTURE. I WOULD BE MOST INTERESTED IN OPENING A DIOLOGUE BETWEEN US FOR REASONS OF WHICH I AM NOT YET TOTALLY AWARE. SO IF THIS EMAIL STRIKES A CHORD WITHIN YOUR PSYCHIC AWARENESS, PLEASE FEEL FREE TO FOLLOW ITS LEAD AND RESPOND AS THE BONDAGE GODS SUGGEST. PS: I AM THIRTY-NINE YEARS OLD AND TOTALLY STRAIGHT. [email protected] (A new web address I will use exclusively for our contact.)

Late Friday night, Laura finished translating what was engraved on the ring. It was in a language called Conkharian. The only evidence of its existence had been found in a cave atop a Himalayan Mountain in Tibet. Nowhere else on the planet could its literature and artifacts be found.

The engraving read: ‘For those given the honor of knowing we leave these gifts and the responsibility of gifting others who are also ready.’

‘Ready? Ready for what: being impossibly and outrageously tied up and made to cum until we faint?’

Saturday was not an easy day to work through, given the weight of what had happened since the one before. The Twain twins lunched at Darby’s. They rarely ate at the upscale eatery, and always split the check, but not this time.

“This one’s on me,” announced Laura as they glided through its front door.

“Wheeee,” appreciated Candice.

“Have anything you like, and don’t even think of looking at the clock. Barbara can handle the shop till we get back.”

After ordering, Laura abruptly opened the can of worms that had been driving a wedge between them all week by simply saying, “The ring was a gift made several generations ago by a race of beings that disappeared from the planet so long ago that there is no historical record of their existence.”

Candice sat transfixed by the press release and could think of nothing to say as she leaned back and waited for the juicy stuff.

“I learned this from a site that documents what they left behind before disappearing off the face of the earth, or dispersing to its four corners either to foster new civilizations or assimilate themselves into those that existed at the time. They called themselves the Conkharians.”

Laura raised her wine glass to make a toast; Candice followed suit. “To the Conkharians: may their legacy be a positive reflection of all that is good and pure in the eyes of God.”

Without even realizing it, Candice said, “Amen.”

Laura went on to unload her research during and after dinner, but purposefully avoided getting into the kinky particulars of her personal relationship with the ring. Her sister just sat and drank it all in without asking any loaded questions.

When they got back to the book store, both stood in front of it and looked up at the simple, ten-by-four placard above its front door.

“Bishop’s Book Store,” said Laura. “I wonder why Mom named it that instead of Twain’s.”

“Bishop was her maiden name,” reminded Candice.

“Another worm in the can.”

When Laura got home that night, an email from Damsel Samantha was waiting for an answer.

‘Hi Laura: thank you for emailing. I am also as straight as they come and twenty-one. Your name jumped out at me for reasons I cannot begin to explain except to say that I have reason to believe we are connected in some way. I rarely answer mail, but yours haunted me, just as I’m sure the picture of me you mentioned haunted you. I have been a bondage model for about a year now, and while the money’s good, I find it hard to find others in my professional circle with whom I can comfortably relate. I would be more than happy to continue an exchange with you until our reasons for doing so become obvious. Sincerely, [email protected] PS: I opened an account at pop.com too, so we could both be on the same venue. My real name is Darby Jones. What’s yours?’

‘Another uncanny coincidence,’ realized Laura when her lunch with Candice at ‘Darby’s’ came to mind.

Laura immediately went to the site on which Samantha’s pictures appeared, and studied all four sessions before Googling and finding her on five other bondage sites. She obviously specialized in extremely tight and demanding rope bondage, which immediately gave the book worm a common denominator upon which to build their forthcoming, online relationship.

Another of Samantha’s pictures grabbed her by her private parts until it was time for bed and the prospect of indulging her newfound, psycho sensual nature again through the ring.

This time, Laura was completely naked, her kinky-red hair totally undone so that it flowed down to her waistline like a flood, watering the tightly toned, alabaster geography of her back with its thick-n-shiny femininity.

‘What am I thinking?’ asked Laura as she sat on the edge of her bed and glanced back at the picture on her PC screen, tossing the ring from hand to hand in a state of extreme trepidation and excitation.

She was about to place herself into a very risky situation, the contemplation of which not only and immediately brought her sexual juices to the fore, but made her wonder how much further she was willing to go in her quest to untangle the mystery she so determinedly sought to solve.

Her mind went blank when she slipped on the ring, moved to the center of the comforter on her stomach, and spread her arms and legs as if she were reaching for the four, brass bedposts with her hands and feet.

“How crazy is this?” asked Laura Twain of the bondage gods before losing consciousness and drifting off and into the la-la land of her kinkiest fantasy so far. ‘9:05,’ she said to her linear self just before conking out…

…Again, when Laura realized she was out of her body, she was standing with her back to the bed, gazing down at the PC screen of Darby Samantha Jones spread-eagled on a bed, around which a thick, wooden framework had been built.

‘And there’s no way out of that without help,’ thought Laura before rising from the floor and backing up towards the head of the bed. En route, an unhurried one-hundred-eighty degree turn ensued so that when she arrived, the sight of her physical body X-ed and tethered to the bed at its posts grabbed her undivided attention.

Of course, she had no intention of turning the ring in the hot direction, for she knew that if she did, there was no way to remove it from her finger. She was just curious about what she would look like that way and wanted to study the fix for her own amusement and fantasy recollection. However, before putting on the Conkharian ring, she had smeared its finger with Vaseline in the hope that, if she did something stupid, she’d have at least given herself a shot at escaping.

Again, she was moved to inspect the bind from another perspective. While moving to it, Laura took careful note of the intricate crotch rope configuration. It ran from the waist ropes in front, between her legs, up to and over the horizontal brass bar at the top of the head of the bed frame, back down between her legs again to and under the waist rope circles, back between her legs, then under the back of the waist ropes and up to the top of the bed frame, where it was tied off.

A thinner line, braided and tied to Laura’s hair in such a way as to evenly distribute the follicle pressure caused by her head being pulled back by its tether, was then tied to the second crotch rope line and knotted to where it met the back of the waist circles. Any forward head movement would affect the pressure on her wide open crevice.

Of course, Laura had thoroughly inspected the bind online before three-dimensionally checking it out in her own, spirit-less body.

The gag was a huge, a strapped on, red ball that would sorely tweak the limits of her initial discomfort, and inevitable pain thresholds. She also recognized that by moving her head forward, she could lessen the gag pressure to some extent, but the price would take its toll on the second turn of quarter-inch-thick crotch rope.

‘Genius,’ appreciated Laura while wondering if her mouth was stuffed with more than just the hard, red ball. ‘Sheer genius… I wonder what it would be like to date the guy who dreamed this one up.’

The picture on the PC was of the fix before the full suspension aspect was achieved, so both Laura’s physical body and the model were still on their stomachs and chest, waiting for their binders to do whatever it took to raise her off the bed.

Laura’s right hand had a firm grip on her left wrist. The left was firmly fisted to prevent any ring movement. Another rope ran from one end of the bed to the other, left to right, in line with and under her breasts.

‘Hmmm, me thinks something sinister is afoot or in this case, a-tit,’ Laura figured while chuckling and trying to see what was hidden there-under.

The wrist and ankle tethers were tied to the tops of the brass framework, where the horizontal crossbars met the posts, with her bound ankles and wrists well secured to their tethers with six turns each of 3/8th-inch thick soft line so as to evenly distribute the rope pressure brought to bear by Laura’s body weight when the suspension aspect of the bind came into play.

Laura could only guess at how that would be accomplished, but decided not to speculate, opting for the element of surprise should she decide to twist the ring clockwise.

The phone signaled once, and the inner voice said, ‘Yes.’

‘Yes, what?’ asked Laura. ‘Answer the phone?’ (She wondered if she could, given her non-physical/material world aspect.)

‘Two rings are a ‘no’.’

‘I see. Clever.’

‘And you’ve only just scratched the surface, dear Damsel Laura.’

‘But I won’t be able to…’

‘Trust the ring.’

‘Do I have a choice?’

‘You tell me.’

Laura let go of her

 

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