Laresa lay curled on the pillows that served as her bed when she was inside of the ring, her body relaxing even though her mind was spinning a thousand miles a minute. He'd lied to her, after all the time he'd held her ring, making her perform his disgusting and obscene duties with little mercy as to her wishes, knowing the rules specifically said that lying would snatch the ring from his grasp and send her back on her voyage through time and space, he'd done it anyway.
And thank the Gods in all the heavens for small favors.
The man had been a pig, both in demeanor and in actions. He had to be one of the worst whose hands she'd fallen into during the years she'd been trapped in this ring. He'd used her body foully, she thought, shifting her hands down her naked sides and over her slender thighs, remembering how often he would bring her so close to her pleasures and then not allow them to happen, how he'd ordered her to never touch herself to bring herself to orgasm. How many years had she suffered his touch, how many years had her body been deprived the pleasure it was capable of giving.
But no more, she thought, her fingers slipping between her slender thighs and finding the wetness between, hidden by the soft white blonde curls that covered her sex. She traced one finger over her flesh, twitching when it grazed the hard bud of her clit. Her head fell back against the pillows, the moonlight curls of hair that covered her head flowing down around her and over the pillows to lie on the floor of the ring. Her bare breasts jiggled as she pleasured herself, her nipples growing harder until she reached up with wet fingers to pinch and twist those pale pink buds.
Her breath grew short, her hips rising against the caress of her fingers, feeling two stretch the delicate flesh of her wet cunt, sliding inside to twist and thrust until she could feel the sweet climax just within her reach. With her eyes shut, she thought back to other masters who had used her, flipping through them like an index in her mind until she found the visage of the one she sought, a dark knight who would seek her out after every win he had, whether it be for property, reputation, or valor.
She pictured him now, his dark face between her pale thighs, teasing her with sly touches of his tongue until she would beg him to finish her, her body like quick silver in his hands, undulating desperately. He would, finding her clit with his hot lips and tongue, his fingers thrusting into her until they seemed little more than a blur, and she would come over his mouth, her juices tasting of the sweetest of nectars, their scent that of cinnamon, sandalwood and musk.
She felt it now, that tightening that triggered the climax, a massive reward for the time she'd spent servicing an ill kempt cowboy. It was so close, so desperately, agonizingly close.
And then she felt the warmth that heralded her calling and the pull of the ring that forced her to obey.
"NO!" she cried, feeling her body turn to the gray smoke that signified her change.
New York City—October 1929
Ryan Richards stared down in dismay at the body that lay on the street in front of him and then glanced up at the tall building above him. Another jumper, he thought sadly, bending down to check for a pulse, though there wasn't much of a hope for one.
That's when he saw the ring. It was a pretty piece, bright gold with an amazingly big stone that winked in the sunshine of the cold autumn day. It might fetch him a decent price if he could find the right market for it. With the hands of a professional thief, which is what he was, he pulled the ring off the quickly cooling fingers of the corpse, standing to greet the cops that were just pulling up with their sirens howling.
"Another bloke trying to see if he could fly," he said, sliding his hand into his pocket, the ring tucked securely in his fist.
"It's the damn stock market, that's what it is. All those people who lost all that money don't think they have anything left to live for. I think they lost their mind too." One of the cops started shooing away the crowd of people that were gathered to see the carnage, the other bent over the body, checking for a pulse before lifting up the man's jacket and covering his face with it, just as the newsmen pulled up with their huge cameras and flashing lights.
"Yeah," Ryan said, ducking his head a little in his coat as if he were cold and backing away from the scene. In his business it was always better to keep his face out of the newspapers. He pulled up the collar, disappearing into the crowd and down an alley, heading for home.
Home was a small one room flat on the fifth floor of a rickety old building. The elevator barely ever worked, the rats were as big as small cats, and he could hear his neighbor snoring through the thin walls. But it was cheap, close to where his hunting grounds were, and the neighbors didn't give two shits about what he did.
The landlord was a lazy, cheap son of a bitch who didn't turn on the heat until the middle of November. So his room was always cold. He walked into the small room, stopping to pick up the blanket that he kept over his one kitchen chair and throwing it around his shoulders. It felt colder inside than it did out.
Then he sat down on the ratty sofa that had come with the place and was also his bed and pulled the ring out of his pocket. Turning it around in his hand, he looked for any kind of marking to show when it was made. The inside was smooth gold, soft from wear, polished by time. He slipped it on his big hand, amazed that it actually fit his wide finger. Holding it up to the light, he admired the dark stone, watching it glimmer.
It might fetch a good price. He could take it down to the broker on Sixth Street, Louis Haggle's place. Louie always got him a decent price and never squealed to the cops that his merchandise might be procured in some illegal manner.
Ryan went to pull the ring off, meaning to put it in his pocket and see what he had around that could possibly be edible. He yanked on it, but it wouldn't budge. Spitting on his fingers, he twisted the ring around, getting it slippery in his saliva and went to try again.
Instead, he watched, fascinated as a puff of gray smoke rose in the air, coalescing into the form of a beautiful woman.
"Whoa," he whispered, jumping up off the sofa and stepping back and away from the woman, his hand raised. "Who are you?"
"My name is Laresa, Master. You have called me from the ring."
He looked down at his hand as she gestured towards it, staring at the ring. The gem, once bright and glittering, was now dull and lifeless. "You're telling me that you came from this ring? How is that possible?"
"I am a genie, Master. The ring is my home when I am not serving my master. Would you like to hear the rules governing my service?"
Ryan was just staring at the almost naked woman who was standing in his living room. She was small, her head coming barely to his mid chest. But her curves proclaimed her all woman, with nicely rounded breasts that were barely covered by the thin vest that left her stomach bare to his eyes. A round purple gem could be seen, winking from her navel. Her legs were encased in sheer bloomers, allowing the lines of her legs to be clearly seen. Her hips were covered in a more opaque fabric but in the light from the window, he thought he caught a faint glimpse of the outline of her sex between her legs.
"Huh?" he said, looking back up into her face and finding himself lost in the amethyst color of her eyes.
"Would you like to know the genie rules, Master?" Laresa said, her tone a little harsh. He'd interrupted her in the middle of having her first orgasm in a century's time and he couldn't get his head around to grasp who she was? She had the right to be a little annoyed.
"Oh," he said, "ah, yeah, sure. Fire away." Ryan walked around the girl, his eyes roaming over every line and curve.
Great, Laresa thought. Another pervert. "I cannot bring anyone back from the dead, Master. I do not have powers that great. I cannot force someone into loving you. I cannot change episodes that deal with wars or major events. I cannot..."
"Sounds like you cannot do a lot of things. What can you do?" He let his hand reach out and touch her hair, feeling the warm silk of it curl around his fingers.
"What would you like me to do, Master?" Laresa said, feeling his fingers playing in her hair, one hand stroking down the line of her back.
"I'd like a steak and baked potato," Ryan said, his hand trailing across her ass, and giving one globe a firm squeeze as if checking it for ripeness.
"Your wish is my command, Master," she said, blinking her eyes and staring over at the table.
Ryan smelled it first. That wonderful meaty smell of steak cooked perfectly, seared on the outside and pink and juicy on the inside. Turning his head, he did a double take, his hand dropping from the girl as he stared at his kitchen table.
What had once been scarred formica was now heavy oak, gleaming and honey colored. A cushioned leather chair sat in front of it. Bone china was placed in front of the chair, along with a platter that was covered by a sterling silver dome. Candles were lit and wine was breathing in a silver wine bucket while crystal glasses gleamed.
"Holy moley," he breathed. Walking carefully over to the table, he reached a shaking hand out to touch the chair first, pulling it away from the table and sitting down slowly. "Fuck me. It's real," he whispered.
.... There is more of this story ...