Double Rings

"H Ring"

I was laying there in his arms, nearly exhausted from his fucking, and he leaned over me with a grin. He had a silicone rubber ring in his hand—much wider than required by any finger—holding it for me to see. He turned it over and showed me there was a silicone nub on the side—in the form of an H. He stroked my belly lightly with his fingers while he told me it was especially made using my initial—and that he wanted me to brand him as mine.

I was sighing as he stroked my belly, and my cock was rising—I wanted him to fuck me again. He leaned over and kissed me, and while he was doing so, he was pulling the ring down over my dick head. It went down over the bulb and lodged just under the rim of the glans. He held his hand there, over the cock ring, and encircling my hardening cock. He held me closely embraced to him with his arm. I trembled in his arms. My hips started to move, slowly churning, as he loosened his grip on my cock and began stroking me up and down in his hand, rubbing that H across his cream-slathered fingers. He lowered his lips to my nipple and closed his teeth over it, and I arched my back and groaned. And then he was kissing me on the lips again, deeply. I felt the weight of his body shifting and he was swinging his leg over my body, encasing my pelvis between his thighs. Positioning his channel on my cock bulb.

He had never given himself to me before; it had always been him mastering me. He had told me he loved me and I had laughed. But he had told me that he would show me that he was mine.

He was sliding down my pole, shuddering, the H of the cock ring rubbing his channel walls, branding him from the inside as mine—forever. He was riding me hard, arching his back, crying out "Oh Godddd!" Fucking himself on the H ring.

* * *

"Ring on the Sly"

"I don't know, Becca, which do you think we should hit first? I heard there were a few new Vera Wangs at Clementine, but that bangly thing I told you about is at Pinks, I think. And you know how fast things go from their shelves. Do you . . .?"

"Don't know about Pinks; the last time we were in there, that sales girl was a little snotty, you know," Chrissy cut into the gushing of her old college roommate Rebecca, "I don't want to miss getting to Annette Dean's. Maybe . . ."

"And shoes—and a bag to go with them. Gotta get to Occasionally. And Lex's; I've been thinking about . . ."

"Ladies, ladies, the Carytown stores won't be open all night. You begged to meet here in Richmond so you could shop while you caught up on your college days. So, go off and shop. Get out there and buy." Barry Holden was smiling, but only on the surface.

Barry's wife, Rebecca, and her College roommate Chris Worthington insisted on these "catch up" outings twice a year, and they got more involved and more expensive each year. Not that Barry begrudged the money. His boat storage business in Norfolk was doing very well—very well indeed. The Worthingtons—Chris and her husband Stan—lived in Northern Virginia, where Chris was a realtor and Stan was undersecretary of somethingorother in Washington, D.C. The two couples had met this time on neutral ground, in Richmond, Virginia, where the girls wanted to shop in the artsy fartsy Carytown district, and both couples were booked at the swank Jefferson Hotel for the long holiday weekend.

A waiter drifted by one more time to see if they wanted anything else. Stan had already paid the bill. It had been his turn. Barry paid the previous night for dinner right before the girls trotted off to an opera performance both husbands had refused to subject themselves to. The two couples were sitting in the best restaurant in Richmond—or at least one of the most expensive ones—tj's, the dining room of the Jefferson hotel. Both husbands had been forced to suit up, which neither one was all that wild about.

"Have you heard about Heidi Story?" Chris picked up their conversation as if Barry hadn't commented at all. "Under new management, I've heard. I hope that means they've brought in more petites."

Rebecca was taken aback slightly. She didn't know whether or not that was a dig; Chrissy had been good with such smiling backstabs in college. Rebecca was painfully aware that she would never fit in a petite size again. "We need to check out that new store, Eurotrash," she countered. "Anything with a name like . . ."

Barry looked over at Stan for some sort of help in getting the women going. But Stan was just sitting there, looking inscrutable, smiling his secret little smile, and looking benignly and with more than a bit of derision on the field of chattering woman at the surrounding tables—and not least at the magpies at his own table.

But then Stan caught Barry's look of desperation and lifted his hand and started moving a ring on his finger around and around, smiling at Barry. It was a Stan mannerism Barry knew so well, and it always stopped him in his tracks and made his blood boil. Stan was frequently given to such cocksure mannerisms.

The ring itself was a rather strange one—made of some sort of stretchy gold mesh that would expand to accommodate any size digit, and it had a sizable golden bead as its ornament. Not for the first time Barry wondered where Stan had gotten it. But the Worthingtons traveled abroad extensively with Stan's work, so it could have come from any exotic market worldwide.

" . . . you know, the red-spangled jacket that women a few rows down from us at the Landmark Theater last night," Chris was babbling. "We may have to go over to Dillard's in the mall for that. Maybe on the way out of . . ."

"Did you enjoy the opera?" Barry cut in. His head would explode, he thought, if these ditzy women didn't stop talking about shopping and started doing something about it. He might just have a nervous breakdown if he couldn't get them out of the hotel soon. "Neither one of you have said anything about the Opera. What did you see? Was the music good?" Maybe if he changed the subject for a second, it would break the logjam and they'd start moving out.

Rebecca gave him a blank look. How stupid of me, Barry thought. They were together; they had no idea what opera was playing. They were caught up in each other. It's the same no matter when or where they meet. Anything else happening around them was lost to them.

But then Barry chuckled at that thought and gazed over at Stan again, who was still giving him that inscrutable smile and twisting that ring of his around on his finger.

Chrissy swept in to save the day. "It was OK, but the soprano was a little flat—of voice that is, she was so top heavy I have no idea why she didn't tip over into the audience. So, what did you two do while we were gone? Stan? You said you wanted to watch a game on the TV. What . . .?"

"Oh, I just screwed around," Stan said, smiling wanly at his wife. "Just screwed around for a while."

"And you?" Rebecca turned to Barry.

"Oh, me too," Barry said. "I . . . um . . . just screwed around too." He took the remainder of the water in his crystal glass in one gulp for whatever diversion he could manage. A waiter promptly stepped forward and refilled the goblet—the mark of a great restaurant, pristine service even after the tip had been paid.

If only you knew, if only you knew, Barry thought. And then he sighed and looked at Stan, sitting there, also smiling, twisting that ring, while the women resumed their shopping plans.

It was the first time Stan had used the ring, and the novelty of it had sent Barry over the edge, making the experience much more arousing and climatic than last Christmas at the Homestead while the women were horseback riding and Stan had brought out those beads on a string. He and Stan had been stretched out on the bed alongside each other, naked, in Stan's hotel room. Stan was always the one in control. Barry always had gone to Stan, and they never were finished until Stan was fully satisfied. And Stan was always inventive and full of surprises.

Barry had been laying inside Stan's embrace and Stan was stroking Barry's cock languidly. Stan already was ready, condom in place, and Barry's body was moving in waves of pleasure, in rhythm with the slow pumping of his cock under Stan's always-expert attention. Stan was using that ring of his—the golden bead nub—rubbing it around on pressure points of Barry's cock, running it down the length of him to the root and applying pressure, moving it under Barry's balls and across his perineum, rimming Barry's twitching, soon-to-be blissfully filled hole. It was driving Barry to distraction.

"Oh, god, Stan. That ring. That hard bead. Oh, god, oh, god," Barry moaned.

"Like that, do you, Barry?" Stan whispered, smiling his inscrutable smile. "Know a secret about this ring, Barry?"

"Oh god, no . . . yesssss, there, like that. No, tell me the secret, Stan. Ohhhhhhh . . ."

"Here. Take the ring off my finger, Barry. Just pull on it. The gold mesh will expand. There, wasn't that easy? Now, open it up and slide it down over my cock head. Go ahead, it will expand. Yes, yes, like that. You're trembling, Barry. Are you beginning to understand? Just down beyond the rim of the bulb. Now your leg. Here let me help you. lift it up my chest. Move like this. Open to me, baby."

"Oh, Stan . . ." Moan.

"See the golden bead? See where I've moved it. You know what it will be making love to when I enter you . . . like . . . this?"

"Ohhhhh. Ahhhh. Stannnnnn! . . . Oh GAWD!"

"Barry, my coat."

"Eh, what?" Barry asked, snapping out of his reverie and realizing that the women had risen, at last, and Chrissy already had her coat on. And the women weren't the only things that had risen. Stan had his hand under the table—and on Barry's engorging cock through the cloth of his suit trousers. The golden bead on the ring had been twisted to the underside of Stan's hand so that it rubbed up and down along the length of Barry's hardening cock. Stan was smiling that inscrutable smile of his.

"My coat, honey. You are sitting on the tail of my coat."

Barry moved his butt off his wife's coat—pushing his crotch closer into Stan's hand. He thought he might feint on the spot. Barry's mind was silently screaming. Could those damn hens just get out of here so he and Stan could get back up to the room before he creamed his shorts?

"So, what are you guys going to do while we're shopping?" Rebecca tossed over her shoulder as she and Chrissy, arm in arm, started out on their afternoon shopping spree in Carytown.

Stan looked up, graced them with his inscrutable smile, and murmured, "Oh, something will come up, I'm sure. It always does."