Holly Jenkins was 23. She hadn't gone to college, as neither she nor her parents could afford it, and had been working the same dead-end job working the register at a bookstore since high school. She knew that she was gorgeous, and she had been told—frequently, and often loudly, by strangers in the street—that she had nice tits, but she was too proud to make a living off her looks. She had striking green eyes, silky dark hair hanging past her shoulders, and a dazzling smile. And she also had, as of a few days ago, a cursed ring fused to her hand.
Holly twisted the ring on her finger, or at least tried to. When it moved, it brought the skin it touched with it. The damn thing was fused with her, and it had been for five days now.
She'd gotten the ring online. It was supposed to be a migraine cure, and admittedly she hadn't had a migraine since she'd gotten it. Her insurance had stopped covering her real medicine a month previously, and she couldn't afford to pay for it out of pocket, not with her shitty retail job. The person selling the ring had claimed that it was magic, and migraines were only one of the many things it was said to cure.
Holly had immediately dismissed it as a scam, and had scrolled down to see what ridiculous amount the seller was asking for this piece of shit. It cost a penny. And so, because Holly was drunk and because the shipping was free, she bought it. No use not trying, she figured.
The box came in the mail the next day. The only thing inside was a tiny engraved wooden jewelry case. The instant Holly opened the case, the hangover she'd been nursing since getting up vanished. The headache went away with such abruptness that she dropped the little box. She stooped to pick it up, cursing, but stopped. The ring was already on her finger.
After a few hours of prying at the thing, it became very clear to her that it wasn't going anywhere. To take her mind off of her growing panic, she booted up her dinosaur of a laptop and checked her email. She had a new message from the seller of the ring, and she read through it with growing horror.
Dear buyer,
I thank you for quite literally taking that horrible thing off my hands, and apologize for what it will probably do to you. The only thing I can offer is this warning about the ring's effects, and I hope that it will keep you safe until you can foist it off on some other unlucky bastard. The ring will, as advertised, cure most ailments. For as long as you have it on your finger, you will be ageless, immune to all sickness, and numb to any serious pain. All injuries will heal at a rapid pace. That's the good news.
The bad news is that as long as you wear the ring, you will be unable to disobey any demand or request made of you between sunset and sunrise. Nighttime is now your enemy.
The only way to rid yourself of the ring is to give the box to someone and have them accept the ring as theirs. This is harder than it sounds, and you may feel guilty for doing it, but it is better them than you just as it is better you than me. Once again, I am sorry. Do not try to contact me, as I will never check this email address again.
Holly sent a few furious emails, but there was no response. She wanted to believe that it was all some sort of weird prank, but it was hard to disbelieve in the magic of a ring imbedded in her finger, especially after she gave herself a paper cut and watched it seal up in a manner of minutes. So she stayed inside and stopped answering her phone after dark. She put the stupid ring up for sale online, with the same pitch and price that had nabbed her, but so far there were no takers. And so she had managed to go almost a whole week without talking to anyone at night. But she had a late shift scheduled for Wednesday, tonight, and she couldn't afford to turn down hours. She steeled herself and headed to work.
...
It was several hours later, and Holly hurried along the sidewalk, nervously glancing from side to side. She had avoided trouble at work, but now it was quite fully dark out, and that worried her. Walking city streets at night was dangerous enough for a young woman under normal circumstances, and even more so in her current predicament. The predicament, she was coming to realize, that she would be in for the rest of eternity if she couldn't get someone to take the ring off her. The thought made her head spin.
She shouldn't have offered to work late, that had been very stupid. She had managed to avoid talking to anyone after dark so far by sequestering herself in her apartment, but of course that was never going to last forever. Unlike this curse.
"Hey!"
No, no, no. Shit.
A group of rowdy college guys had come around the corner across the street, and one of them had spotted her. "Hey sexy! Woo!" they were all whistling at her now, and she walked faster. If she could just get out of earshot before...
"Show us your tits!"
The curse came into effect for the first time. A shudder ran up her spine as something sort of silky moved inside her head. Obviously these were nice guys, and giving them a bit of a show wouldn't hurt anything. She was already unbuttoning her shirt as she turned back to face the group.
The guys fell silent as her black lacy D-cup bra came into view, but for a few mutters of "Holy shit." She finished with the buttons and reached up to her cleavage, popping the front clasp and setting her breasts free of their confines. Her nipples, large and pink, hardened as they met the cool night air. She flashed a grin at the stunned partygoers, then spun around, stuffing her tits back in and trying desperately to button up.
The ring was real. It was real magic. She'd known that already, of course, but now it hit her like a wave. She'd obeyed the demand without thinking. It had seemed like the most natural thing in the world. She wondered, not for the first time this week, what the hell she had gotten herself into by buying that horrible ring.
She could hear the guys whooping behind her, but the sounds were moving off. That at least was a relie--
"Hey, tits!" stopped her dead in her tracks.
A man had stepped out of one of the houses lining the street, leering at her with crooked teeth. He was probably forty, and although he was in good shape there was a quality about him that was vaguely and unpleasantly greasy.
Holly pretended not to hear him, but there was no plausible way she wouldn't have, and he was blocking her path. She tried to scoot around him, but he reached out and spun her around by the shoulder. "I saw you flashing those kids out my window. That was pretty hot, tits. Mind giving me a show?"
Well, not now that he'd asked, she didn't. She'd buttoned her shirt wrong , anyway. She undid the shirt for the second time in the last two minutes. Again her nipples hit the night air, and before she had a chance to clasp her bra again the man had reached out and taken a handful of her left tit. She recoiled and clutched her shirt closed as the asshole guffawed. "How much you want for sucking my dick?"
This was just a question, and so Holly was able to reply angrily. "I'm not a whore."
"Just a slut, huh?" He didn't wait for her to answer. "Come on in, I'll show you a good time you'll never forget."
Shit.
"Sounds like fun." She said, suddenly warming to the idea of heading inside.
"Dang! You are a slut!"
The greasy douchebag led her into his equally greasy apartment. It was a duplex, and the house that had been split had been hardly big enough to live in even without being divided in half. The door opened directly into the living room, and Chucklefuck headed straight for the sofa. He gestured to the floor between his legs and started fumbling with his belt. He worked at it for a moment, then threw his hands wide and wondered aloud, "Why am I doing this? Get over here and get my dick out, Tits."
Holly put her purse down by the door and slid worshipfully to the stained carpet, where she started undoing his belt. She had never gotten around to doing up her shirt and bra, so Chuckles reached down and gave her nipple a pinch. As Holly got to work on his zipper, the guy leaned over and pushed her shirt and bra over her shoulders. Without thinking, Holly shrugged them the rest of the way off, and kneeled there topless as she finally got the zipper down.
Chuckles wasn't wearing underwear, and his fat cock popped free with no assistance from her. it was greasy, like the rest of him, and she didn't relish the thought of sucking it, which was what he now ordered her to do, meaning that she did relish it now. She tentatively wrapped her lips around the head, and immediately she felt hands in her hair as Chuckles started fucking her face. His cock tasted musty and salty, but she didn't mind at the moment.
After about a minute of being used like a fleshlight, she found her head being pulled away from his crotch, trailing saliva. His hands moved to her waist, and she was impressed with his deceptive strength as he lifted her up to his lap. She was straddling him now, and once he had shoved her skirt up to her waist, she could feel her own saliva soaking into the fabric of the boy-shorts she always wore when she wore skirts. Chuckles sneered at them with contempt.
"The fuck are those? Girl with a body like yours got no business hiding behind boxer shorts. Girl like you shouldn't be wearing undies at all."
Suddenly the very notion of underwear was repulsive to Holly. She was glad she'd already shucked her bra, and she was filled with gratitude towards this man as he flipped her over onto her back on the couch and tore those horrible shorts from her body.
She was now naked but for her shoes and her bunched-up skirt, and the greasy man's eyes immediately went to her swollen pink pussy. She saw what he was thinking, and was about to object when he said it. "Get back up here and ride my cock."
He didn't fill her up as much as some of her exes, but he damn sure tried his hardest to make up for it with enthusiasm. He bounced her up and down on him so hard that her tits hurt from bouncing, and she fell off several times, which only prolonged the experience. After a few minutes he rolled over on top of her on the couch, yanking her legs up over his shoulders to give him a better angle as he mercilessly pounded her.
Chuckles hadn't included any orders about her enjoying the experience, and he certainly wasn't going to great lengths to ensure it. After ten minutes of jackhammer pounding, he made a face like a sneezing weasel and shuddered as he came inside her. It wasn't a problem, since Holly was on the pill and was fairly certain she couldn't get STDs anymore, but it was still insult to injury to feel him jizzing inside her.
Chuckles was still lying on top of her and gasping when the doorbell rang. Cursing, he jumped up, stuffing his flaccid cock back into his fly. It was still dripping cum, and droplets spattered across Holly's stomach. Holly hurriedly pushed her skirt down to her knees again, reaching down to snatch her shirt up before he stepped on it. "Can I, uh, use your bathroom?" she asked quietly.
"Yeah, sure, go ahead." She scuttled to the hall door as Chuckles finished buckling his belt. From the bathroom she could hear muted male voices, and she cursed under her breath. She got her shirt back on, buttoned right this time, and made a halfhearted attempt to flatten her skirt. It was badly wrinkled, and there was cum on it.
Thanks to the man's earlier comments about how she shouldn't wear underwear, it hadn't even occurred to her to pick up her shorts or bra, and her nipples stood out through the thin black fabric of her blouse. She definitely looked like she'd just gotten fucked. She contemplated climbing out the little bathroom window, but the keys to her apartment were in her purse by the door.
