I awoke. I had time to stretch and yawn, enjoying the kiss of the morning sun on my bare skin, before it all came rushing back. The bottle. The djin. The best sex I'd ever had, but not of my choosing. And the rings. The little tiny rings.
I'd just gone to bed last night, too exhausted to do anything else. This morning, however, I was fully awake, and determined to fight Algave, as best I could. I would start by removing the damned rings.
They didn't have any sort of clasp, I found as I traced the tiny golden circles with my fingers. It was just smooth metal all the way around. The one in my clit had a tiny, tiny blue bead on it. The ones in my nipples were larger, and covered in a delicate design of tiny golden dots. No, not dots. I got out my magnifying glass. It was a good thing my breasts were so large. If they weren't, examining the rings would be kind of awkward.
I held the magnifying glass up to the ring on my left breast, and took a good long look. Not dots. Letters. Little tiny Arabic characters. I wondered what they said. And how had they been inscribed so small? Magic, probably. These little rings were works of art. I felt almost bad about what I was going to do.
I fished around in my sculpture kit and withdrew a pair of wire cutters. It was difficult getting them lined up on the ring in my left breast so that they would cut wire, not flesh, but I managed it. Then I pressed down, hard.
There was no tiny give, no snick of metal parting from metal. When I pulled the wire cutters away, I found the ring unblemished. "Shit."
No matter what I tried, I couldn't get them off. Nothing I did could damage those rings. Finally I had to give up. For now, anyways. It was time to get ready for work.
*
I sighed, and flipped to the next page, searching in vain for the hieroglyphic I needed. I looked back over at the chunk of pottery. Damn budget hadn't extended to an actual egyptologist, so here was me, as usual, doing the best I could to fill the gap. Once again, I wished Robert Jensen had set aside more money in his will to catalog his damn collection. Saying he wanted the public to see all of the artifacts he had accumulated over the years was a very nice sentiment, but did he give us the budget we needed to actually make that happen? Nope.
I had worked with the Jensen foundation for over a year now, doing odd jobs ranging from cleaning the toilets to preserving paintings. It had been good experience, and had looked great on my application to grad school, but sometimes it was just too frustrating. Like today, tasked with translating an ancient egyptian pottery fragment using a beginner's guide to hieroglyphics.
I puzzled out the next bit, then turned back to my piece of paper and began to write. Suddenly, Algave appeared in front of me. I jerked, and my pencil lead broke. "Shit!"
My mentor, Dr. Thompson, made a sympathetic noise. "Maybe you should switch to mechanical pencils," she said, looking up at me from her desk across the room.
As she returned to her work, I looked from her to Algave, who she clearly didn't see. He smiled. "Mention me, and she'll think you're going nuts," he said. "You don't want that, do you?"
I glared at him, but stayed silent. So, Dr. Thompson couldn't hear him, either. That was just great.
"I want to exercise my conjugal rights," Algave said. "Excuse yourself, and go to the bathroom."
I shook my head. Hell, no.
He smiled. "I thought you might say that." He gestured, and my rings began to silently vibrate. I winced as my arousal level shot abruptly from 0 to 10. "Unless you want to cum right here, in front of your friend, you will go to the bathroom." He said.
Mulishly, I shook my head again.
Algave chuckled. "You'll change your mind." He sat down on the table between an impressionist painting and a large jade budda. "I can wait."
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, trying to find a position that did not put pressure on my girly bits. Giving up, I looked back down at the book.
Every passing moment made it harder to concentrate on my task. My breathing grew heavy, eliciting an odd look from Dr. Thompson. Shit. I forced my breathing to slow, and glared murderously at Algave. He just laughed.
I couldn't see the book clearly now. Couldn't think straight. I made a strangled noise.
Dr. Thompson looked up. "Bekka, are you alright?"
I stood. "I'm fine. My- my lunch is disagreeing with me." I turned and raced out of the room.
Behind me, Algave chortled.
"Bekka?" Dr. Thompson called. "The bathroom is the other way."
I knew it was, but I had been hoping to find somewhere private where Algave wouldn't molest me. Probably a futile hope, but still. Muttering my thanks, I made a u-turn toward the restroom.
I entered the bathroom. Leaning against the sink, I looked into the mirror at my far too red face. I moaned.
Algave appeared behind me. His arms encircled my waist. "Let's take it slow this time, shall we?" The vibration ceased.
I fought his grip, but his arms were like iron bands. "Let me go you fucking-" I gasped as the world blurred.
When things grew clear again, I was no longer in the bathroom. I was in a bedroom, opulently decorated in gold, purple, and blue. I wondered where we were.
Algave scooped me up and tossed me lightly onto the bed. Golden ropes snaked around my wrists and ankles. I yelped and tried to jerk free, but was swiftly tugged into a spread eagled position in the middle of the enormous bed.
