The Futa Ring Ch. 04: An Exchange of Rings

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“Sweet Persephone,” he murmurs in my ear. His cock is hard and presses between my cheeks through layers of cotton and wool. “I cannot wait. I must have you now.”

My priorities are different, but I can multitask. “As you wish, Professor,” I say, parting my legs and lifting my skirt. I bend over, leaning on the table with the translations in front of me.

His hand glides up between my thighs to explore my bare pussy. Not only am I without knickers, as usual, but I shaved specially for him. “Oh, you naughty girl.”

“Yes, sir,” I agree, pushing back at his hand and the penetrating fingers that brush roughly against my clit.

His other hand strays higher. “And what precious jewel is this?” It’s the smallest plug in my collection, but also the prettiest, and seemed appropriate. “You would seduce the devil, sweet girl.” Which was kind of the point, not that Professor Stephens needed to be seduced, and not that Professor Stephens is the devil, though his ex-wife may disagree.

Except right now I’m more interested in reading. He has printed out the photos I e-mailed him and stapled a page to each with his translation and comments.

The main text is in Latin, and scribbled at the top of one page is: “Pliny the Eldar?” Mostly it is a retelling of the myth of Gyges, the shepherd who discovered the gold ring in the bronze horse, and used its power of invisibility to seduce a queen and become king.

Professor Stephens, who has a first name but I prefer him without, undresses while I read. I hear the distinctive sound of unrolling latex, and then the sheathed member is between my cheeks, then between my thighs. I reach down to guide it within, and the professor grabs my hips, his initial thrust overeager and uncomfortable.

I’m not indifferent to having his cock in me. Although average in length, the professor has a welcome girth, and I feel very pleasantly filled. “Be gentle, sir,” I cry softly. “It’s so big!”

He was never actually my professor. We met at a conference in Italy, in Turin, on Aegean and Anatolian Culture and Civilisations, and bonded over frozen yoghurt – and later we bonded over pasta and too much wine, and later still we bonded between the sheets in his hotel bedroom. I’m pretty sure I was not the first student to succumb to his charms. I certainly wasn’t the last.

I was young and inexperienced. His sophistication (and the kinky thrill of fucking someone old enough to be my father) seduced me, and his ardour and stamina made up for what he lacked in inventiveness and honesty. If nothing else, our short, sweet affair taught me what to look for in a real relationship.

I shift position slightly, so that his thrusting cock brushes against the right places. “Oh sir, your cock feels so good in my tight pussy.”

Within the main text are short extracts in Ancient Greek. Next to one, the professor has scribbled, “c. 400 B.C. – Xenophon?”

I read aloud. “‘Naram-Sin worshipped Sin, father of all the gods, and it is with his great power over the hearts and minds of men -‘ Hold on. Whose great power? Naram-Sin’s? Or Sin’s.” Sin was the Akkadian god of the moon.

Professor Stephens pauses. I feel pleasantly stretched. “Sin’s, I think. Or maybe the moon’s. It wasn’t clear.”

We resume our respective occupations. “‘- as well as its transformative nature – ‘ Hmm. Maybe the moon.” For is it not the moon that turns men into wolves and maddens them with primal lust? “‘- that he forged his ring of silver.'”

The professor has settled into a steady rhythm, deep and powerful, and it takes an effort to hold myself still enough to read. “‘But it is with Ea’s mischievous nature -‘” Ea was another Akkadian god, the god of magic and enchantments and craftsmanship, which makes sense. “‘- that Naram-Sin forged his ring of gold.’ Huh. So, not the sun god then.”

“No,” he says. He halts his thrusting, and eases out – but he is not finished. His fingers grasp the jewelled plug and pull it slowly from me. “I simply must have this sweet ass of yours.” A heartbeat later he is positioned and seeking entry.

“But sir,” I cry, “you are too big!” Not that I make any effort to stop him. My complaints are practically scripted. The experienced professor having his wicked way with an innocent student. The idea of me as an innocent virgin is comical.

The word ‘virgin’, crossed out, catches my eye. I read carefully. “‘The curse of the gold ring is not merely a craving for one’s own semen -‘” I have to laugh. The professor’s aversion to his own cum is so intense that he always refuses to kiss me after I give him blowjob – whether he comes in my mouth or not. Clearly the original author was of a like mind. “‘- though such a humiliation must surely dissuade all but the most amoral of us. Rather it is the consequence of parthenogenesis – a most unnatural pregnancy! – that certainly no man would deem acceptable.'”

On the other hand, I’m sure there are men who would do anything for the chance to clone themselves. Not Professor Stephens, I guess, who is giving my ass a vigorous pounding.

I porno izle am one of those rare women who adores anal sex. There’s something so deliciously naughty about it, but also I love the intense friction of a thick, smooth cock slipping through that tight ring of muscle. (And it’s so much better without a condom, not least because the sensation of cum pulsing deep into me has on occasion triggered a wonderful orgasm.)

There are two margin notes in English where a previous reader attempted a translation. The first of these goes: “The gold ring bestowed on him not a true invisibility, that is, not a transparency alike to water fresh from a mountain spring, but rather a profound invisibility that tricked the eyes of any that saw him, so that one might both observe him and be entirely unaware of doing so.” Beneath this is the witticism, “I could say the same of most of my colleagues.”

The second note goes: “Then Enlil sent one to dawn and one to dusk, saying, no one may be master of both. Only in an exchange of love may silver and gold be united again.” Next to which, the professor has scrawled with obvious sarcasm, “How romantic!”

He stops abruptly, breathing heavily. “Take your top off,” he instructs, “and get on your knees.”

I do as he says. I’ve read enough for now anyway. The condom is pulled off with a loud elastic snap, and I find myself facing a very urgent cock. It tastes of latex and lubricant, but it’s not my mouth he wants. I lean back slightly as he aims it at my breasts, and a great spurt of cum splashes across my left, even hitting my nipple. “Mmm, thank you, sir,” I say, even as another spurt hits my neck and chin.

I have mixed feelings about this. It’s not that I particularly want him to lick my breasts clean, it’s knowing that he wouldn’t if I did. It’s knowing that having seen his cum on my face he won’t try to kiss me again – and he is, annoyingly, a great kisser.

Except, for once, there’s someone I’d much rather be kissing.


Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about Cat Lady. Did she know what the ring was when she bought it for me? Given that it must have been expensive, and that I was a complete stranger, why would she buy it for me? And just how had she disappeared as quickly as she did? Almost as if she had slipped on a ring of invisibility…

She had, I think, been wearing a ring. I hadn’t paid attention at the time, but I’m increasingly convinced it was none other than the Ring of Gyges, Naram-Sin’s gold ring. Has she enchanted me with it? Is that why my heart quickens each time I replay our kisses in my head?

Am I in love? It’s not like with Fiona, which has always been more about fun and friendship than romance, and even when she wore the silver ring it was an emotional hammer rather than this subtle creeping of affection. Nor is it like with any of the men I’ve loved, and now I wonder if I ever truly loved any of them.

Is it even possible to love someone you barely know? Someone you’ve only met twice, and very briefly. I dare say it’s just a crush, one that will fade in the light of day.

But that ring – I’m very curious about that ring…


The address Lady Catherine gave me is in the village where my friend Sasha lives. I lived there with her for a few years also, and it surely can’t be a coincidence. But given that there are only about fifty houses there, and none of them are called ‘The Mansion’ (or indeed merit such a title), it’s not the most useful direction. Google has been no help either, redirecting me to various stately homes within a fifty mile radius.

But I can’t help recalling a magical night, once upon an equinox, that may or may not have happened (except I have proof it did). A storm had driven me through the night, lost in the forest, to the door of a turreted mansion that I had often glimpsed from afar. A mansion whose existence both Sasha and Google denied.

Is it possible they are one and the same?

By chance, or a quirk of fate, it is equinox again when I set out from Sasha’s. I am wearing the necklace with the three hearts, just in case, and retracing my steps, this time in sensible footwear. (The choice between six inch stilettos and bare feet is, I discovered, sometimes a tricky one.)

I skirt the forest for a mile or two, until I find the river and follow it upstream until all sight and sound of civilisation is forgotten. Indeed, I’ve started to fear that I’ve ascended too far, but then I see it. A scarlet ribbon tied to a tree. “Thank you, goddess,” I whisper. One can never be too careful.

Five minutes later I am in sight of the mansion. It is a beautiful building, though so overgrown with moss and weeds, almost drowning under a crimson-leaved creeper on the left, that it’s almost a surprise that its windows are all intact.

Eric answers the door. I’d forgotten just how huge and ugly he is. I step back, half fearful he will try to strangle me again. “The witch,” he grumbles.

“I’m not a witch,” I remind him calmly.

“Smell like one.”

I shrug. “Um, does amatör porno Lady Catherine live here?”

He snorts in obvious amusement. “Sometimes.”

I have no idea what that means, but he allows me to enter. The dull, heavy thud as the door shuts behind me echoes through the hall. I glance around, half expecting to see Eloise examining me, the way a predator examines her prey, but she is after all a creature of the night, and there are warm sunbeams piercing the cool, still air within the mansion.

Eric is not a man of many words, or even really a man of few words. Or a man at all, for that matter. He is, however, a master of the kitchen, and I am soon treated to a perfect cup of tea and a bowl of some meaty broth.

I eye him warily, hoping he will not demand payment. I have never met a man who was too big for me – and not in the way Professor Stephens is ‘too big’ – but, as I said, Eric is no man.

“So,” I say eventually, “is she here?”

She answers me herself, kissing me with unfiltered passion. It occurs to me obliquely that she has been here for a while, watching me, I just didn’t notice. Mostly I’m thinking how soft her lips are compared to the roughness of her feline tongue. I’m discovering how sharp her teeth are and drowning in her musky scent.

I’ve kissed other women, but never like this. I’ve kissed men, but never like this. As if time itself is waiting for us. As if the missing piece in the jigsaw of my life has just slotted into place. “Is this love,” I ask, “or enchantment?”

“Is there a difference?”

Lady Catherine moves to kiss me again, but I need to understand. “Love is from within; enchantment from without.”

She rolls her eyes. “Only a human would assume these are distinct. But, if you must know…”

I tense up as she slips the ring from her finger, in anticipation of the emotional crash as my false love is exposed to cruel reality, and it does seem as if I can see her more clearly now, rather than through some kind of Star-Trek-style filter.

If anything, she is more beautiful now. Her dark hair is in fact jet black, her eyes an unusual green, and she is older than I imagined. How I could fail to notice her… And anxious too, as if as fearful as I of my reaction.

Her gold ring is the partner of my silver, set with a white crystal. “Don’t touch it,” she says.

“Sorry,” I say quickly. “I didn’t -“

“It’s okay,” she says just as quickly. “But it would hurt you if you did. As long as the silver ring is yours, the gold is forbidden.”

“But you took the silver from me!”

“To keep it safe for you – here.” Lady Catherine takes the box from her pocket and hands it to me. “I would dearly love to wear it, but I would have to give away the gold to get the silver, and I am reluctant to do that.”

I am suddenly struck by the picture we must make, two women inexplicably in love and holding precious rings. How romantic… “No one may be master of both,” I say. “Only in an exchange of love may silver and gold be united again.”

Lady Catherine nods. “An exchange of love, yes. But do you love me, Ali? Enough to be mine forever?”

It was too much, too fast. “Wait! I know nothing about you.”

“You humans!” Lady Catherine growls with frustration. “Always overcomplicating things. What does your heart tell you? I knew the moment you brought the ring back that you were the one.” She pulls me close for a kiss, and I melt into it.

“Okay,” I say when we break for air.


There’s no signal at the mansion, nor any more direct route back to civilisation, so I retrace my steps back to Sasha’s, where I can phone Fiona and wait for her. More importantly, it’s a night all to myself (Sasha is away in Europe) to question my sanity. Am I really, in effect, willing to promise myself eternally to a woman who I barely know and who isn’t even human?

“You’re going to promise yourself eternally to a woman who you barely know and who isn’t even human?” echoes Fiona the following morning.

I nod.

“But you’re not even into women.”

I shrug helplessly. “I’m into this one.”

The ceremony will be at midnight, so we have time to shop for a dress – not a wedding dress, obviously. Even if we could find one at short notice, it would be a pain carrying it through the forest. And anyway, I would feel ridiculous wearing white. Especially in the company of people who have all given me orgasms one way or another.

No, a tasteful but barely legal red dress and a pair of rhinestone-studded stripper heels will suit me far better.

Not once does Fiona question my sanity, which is why she is the only person I would ever dare bring with me. “Is it safe?” is all she asks, to which I have no answer.

The sun has just set as we arrive at the mansion. The sky is clear, and the moon is two days from full. Someone has lined the road with great gothic candles, the window sills too, and rose petals of many colours are strewn everywhere. Fiona laughs. “It’s like something out of The Addams Family.”

It anal porno is, and yet this is for me. For the first time in my life, I think I understand why people cry at weddings. Where else does the fantasy of eternal love coexist with the real world. Who knows what tomorrow will bring, but tonight is forever.

I try to memorise every detail. Fiona gets her phone out and takes a hundred photos. “If these get magically erased,” she says loudly, not really talking to me, “I’m coming back later with a mob of angry villagers.”


We are wed within candles and beneath a canopy of stars, Fiona at my side, Eloise at Lady Catherine’s. Eric officiates, speaking more perhaps than he has ever spoken. The only reason Fiona is no longer gaping at him is that Eloise arrived, her cold beauty literally mesmerising. The memory of her fangs in my neck is still sharp.

“Dearly beloved,” Eric begins. “We are gathered -” Okay, he doesn’t actually, but I’m not listening. Lady Catherine’s bridal gown is gossamer thin and sparkling with a thousand tiny diamonds. From the waist down she has pitch black fur, and a black tail to match. It twitches excitedly.

Not for the first time I’m struck by how absurd this is – not that I’m marrying a werecat, or whatever she is, but that I’m getting married at all! I wonder if it’s too late to back out, to run away from the altar, back to a boring and relatively normal life. Become a lonely old woman, seducing innocent young students at conferences, and keeping cats for company.

Except that’s even more absurd. There’s only one cat for me, and she’s beautiful.

Eric’s brief, rumbling sermon reaches its climax. “Do you, Lady Catherine, choose to honour and love Alina X-” – it’s always weird hearing my full name like that; beside me, Fiona snorts with quiet amusement – “for all of time?”

All of time? Gosh. “I do,” she says, almost purring.

“And do you, -“

“Ali,” I interrupt. “Just Ali.”

“- Ali X-, choose to honour and love Lady Catherine for all of time?”

Gosh. And gosh. The moment. The decision. “I do.”


“To confirm this union,” Eric says, “there will an exchange of rings.”

Fiona has my silver ring. She hands it to me with clear reluctance, no doubt remembering its power flowing through her, transforming her. Eloise has Lady Catherine’s gold ring, and seems quite indifferent to it. She’s clearly intrigued by Fiona however.

An exchange of rings. An exchange of love. This moment is bigger than us. There are ancient magics swirling about us. Holding my ring makes me extra-sensitive to the auras in the air beyond the protective circle of candles. Once again I am out of my depth.

My ring. My ring to give away, to the woman I love.

We do it together. I slip the silver ring onto her left hand, and she slips the gold ring onto mine. Its power floods into me like water gushing from a subterranean spring, and for a few minutes it’s all I can do just to breathe, as if I am drowning from the inside. Because just how do you stop a river?

With a dam.

Just like so…

“Ali?” Fiona cries, her voice a screech of panic. “What happened? Where did you go?”

Go? Nowhere. “It’s the ring,” I explain. “Messing with your mind. Sorry. But I’ve got control of it now. I think.” It’s like a wall of pressure all around me. I wonder if this is what a submarine feels like.

“You’d better.”

Lady Catherine seems at ease with the silver. She hasn’t transformed, and I don’t feel a compulsion to worship her. At least no more than before.

“You may kiss the bride,” Eric says, bringing me back down to Earth.

I have a wife! More importantly, I am a wife!

My wife kisses me. She tastes like fire and steam. In a good way, not in an industrial revolution way. “I can’t wait to get you in bed,” she whispers in my ear.

I turn to speak to Fiona, but Eloise has led her away, and Eric is collecting in the candles.

“Well, I guess you don’t have to,” I whisper back, and kiss her again.


I’ve had sex with married women, but I’ve never had sex as a married woman. I’ve also never felt this nervous in a bedroom. Lady Catherine lets her diaphanous gown fall to the floor, but stops me from removing my dress and heels.

Her lips are on mine as she pushes me onto my back on the bed, kneeling between my parted legs. I stroke the soft fur of her thighs, and am unsurprised at the thick, heavy cock that presses against my belly.

I love futa cock.

“In me,” I tell her. “I want it in me.” I touch myself, testing to see if I’m wet – I am – and can’t resist tasting myself after. It’s incredible! I almost climax just from sucking my fingers.

Lady Catherine snares my wrists before I can plunge my fingers into my pussy for more of that glistening nectar. “It’s the curse,” she says. “Resist the temptation, unless you want to spend the rest of your life popping out little Ali clones.”

“Maybe I should take it off?”

“Not just yet.” Her cock presses for entry, and I do everything I can to speed her penetration.

There really is nothing like it. I feel so epically stretched, and to such extraordinary depth, excited along the full length of my vagina, sweet friction against my clit… “Yes,” I cry. “Yes! Fuck me!”

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