The Futa Ring Ch. 02: Abuse of Power

The dreadful temptation to take that accursed ring to Fiona and demand she wear it again was almost too much for me. I worked through the five stages of grief, starting with denial that there was any reason not to surrender all sense of self in the cause of submissive ecstasy. Why couldn't I spend my days in loving worship of a virile goddess? I was even willing to share her, though of course I was her closest friend and would always be first amongst her many lovers. Wouldn't I?

But she had pulled the ring free of her finger, robbing me of that delirious joy! How could she betray me like that? How could she betray herself like that? For one brief moment we had achieved what all true lovers aspire to: we were two hearts made one, souls reunited at last after the great division at the dawn of time. And Fiona had chosen to rip us apart again, breaking my heart with such savage ease.

A vengeful part of me wanted to take the ring and wear it myself, to make myself the demanding goddess with Fiona on her knees before me, so she could understand how absolutely we belonged to each other. I wanted to see her eyes blazing with unfiltered adoration, her devoted mouth kissing every part of my magically transformed body. I would...

And yet, that wasn't what I wanted. None of it was. Power play is not my thing. Equality, respect, freedom: these are what I am and what I love. I had thought the ring would be an adventure, something Fiona and I could enjoy together. - But maybe we still could? Surely wearing the ring for a quick session once a week (maybe twice?) would be okay? We could swap it around too, for variety.

Except how long had Fiona worn it? Five minutes? Half an hour? I had no idea, for it had seemed but an instant, yet it had knocked me completely for six. For days. Weeks!

I crashed again, cycling between an almost suicidal depression and hatred of the ring and of my own folly. How arrogant I had been! To think that I, so ignorant of the world of magic, could control something so powerful.

Until the day came when the suffocating darkness seemed to ease, and evidence of life beyond the walls of my flat no longer seemed so intolerable, and I ventured out into the sunlight once again. And though it would be a few days yet before I remembered how to smile, my heart was healing almost as magically as it had been broken.

*

"Are all magic rings cursed?" I asked, not really expecting an answer. The old man as usual seemed fast asleep, and I was the shop's only customer. Winter's chill penetrated even that timeless magic space, the brush of cold air almost a caress as if from a ghostly snow queen.

He chuckled. "Ringmakers make rings to hoard and multiply their wealth and power. Of course their precious rings are cursed! Don't want rivals - let alone ignorant fools - stealing that wealth and power for themselves."

It made sense. "But this," I said, showing him the futa ring, "is just a kinky sex thing, isn't it?"

He opened his eyes to glare at me. "It's over four thousand years old, forged in Akkad by Naram-Sin himself. Two great rings he made, one imbued with transformative virility and inductive command, and the other with seductive enchantment and profound invisibility. Worn together, they made him unstoppable, a great emperor of the ancient world."

Sumerian history wasn't my strong point, but I remembered that Naram-Sin, beloved of the moon god, had declared himself to be a god. "Wasn't he cursed by the gods?"

Perhaps I imagined it, but for a moment the old man looked almost impressed. "Naram-Sin's hubris led him to challenge Enlil. But the elder god was not fooled by such trivial magic, and he stole the rings from the Akkad's fingers."

I stared at the ring with renewed fascination. It seemed such a simple piece of jewellery, and yet the old man said it was woven with the fates of ancient gods and empires.

Transformative virility and inductive command. "The description I found says nothing of this history." I opened the book to show him. It was an old, maybe eighteenth century drawing of the ring with a paragraph detailing its transformative power. ("... whereupon, she will be both man and woman, yet, in all ways, superior to both, and desired by all,...")

The old man snorted. "Another fool like you, playing with magics she couldn't begin to comprehend." He stood and winded through the shop to a bookshelf in a shadowy corner. (In truth, the shop is all shadowy corners.) "The ring is cursed. It was made for a man to wear, and for no other man than Naram-Sin himself." He eased a thin book out from between ominous leather-bound tomes. "But all men are fools, thinking only of themselves."

He grinned lecherously as he held the book out towards me. Written in gold along the narrow spine was 'Qudāsu Ella-Mê'. "What will you give me for this?"

I didn't even know what it was, but I was intrigued all the same, and I could certainly guess what he wanted. The tent in his pants was clue enough. I sighed. Why did coming to this shop always seem to end with me selling my body? "I'll let you come on my tits."

"Make me, with your mouth, and it's a deal."

"Fine," I muttered. I undressed and dropped to my knees, scowling at the proffered member.

*

It was with the lingering taste of his cum in my mouth, and the subtle yet persistent fragrance of the same emanating from my breasts (that I had cleaned as best I could with tissues, which is to say not very well at all) that I made my way down to the station and boarded the train south. This time, thankfully, there was no crowd, and I had a table to myself, and a book to read.

I love visiting the British Library. I spent many hours there when younger, doing my research into goblins and other creatures of myth. The thrill of handling a book that's a hundred years old or more, tied up with ribbon like a Dickensian Christmas present, is almost better than sex. Holding Qudāsu Ella-Mê in my hands gave me that same thrill, that same reverent sense of ancient knowledge, but even better, because it was mine.

Berwick Law and Torness passed by me unnoticed as I flicked through the pages, mesmerised by writing and illustrations. It was entirely handwritten, and by many different hands and in many different languages, some that I could only guess at. Here and there a scholium, a note in the margin, sometimes even in English. One such even had me wondering if Tolkien himself had chanced upon the book: "Plato supposed two magic rings, and here there are. A gold ring (sun?) conferring invisibility, and a silver ring (moon?) conferring power and influence. Men are too easily corrupted by power."

But if the writing was largely impenetrable, the illustrations spoke clearly. Beautiful huge-breasted women surrounded by admirers. Clothed for the most part, with merely a suggestion of what might be hidden; but some images were bolder, showing scenes of orgies, the central figure in each case a futanari, magnificently endowed.

One such towards the end was entitled 'Kitty's Revenge'. The passage next to it was in English too.

*

All my life I was the younger son, overshadowed by an elder brother who would inherit all. The house, the estate, the title. He received the best education, wore the finest clothes, went to all the balls, while I wore cast-offs until the unhappy day a commission was bought for me and I went to war, an ensign in a red jacket far from home. Weeks of being sick at sea, or marching wearily between battles of such violent chaos they scarred the soul, were brightened by the discoveries of drink and the pleasures of sex.

But such encounters were fumbling and hasty, and without real passion, for the women who trailed the army offered themselves to one and all for coin. Suffice it to say I left home a boy and returned a man. Indeed, I returned as a lord of the manor, for not only had my father passed away in the interim, my brother had earned himself a grave on a far battlefield.

For the first time in my life, there was no one to order me about. I was my own master, and though my mother disapproved of my ways I cared not. Her maidservant Jane, on the other hand, whose breasts I adored, having spied on her often as a boy through a spyhole in the wall of her chamber and glimpsed them often, I was determined to claim. I charmed her with praise and with gifts, until she allowed me to peel away her garments and expose her virgin flesh.

Ahh, though Jane was older than me by far, I was the experienced one. I taught her the ways of the flesh, and made a real woman of her, but her breasts were my special love and I would have her hold them as I thrust between, working to a victorious end.

Soon my eye caught other fancies, though. There were many young women working on my estate and not one escaped my attention. Married or not, it mattered not. Lizzy the milkmaid was pregnant with her second, her belly round almost to the bursting, when I led her unprotesting into the hayloft. They seldom protested much. After all, I was their lord and master. Better to yield to the pleasures I offered than incur the wrath of my displeasure.

But I loved it when they did. It's such a thrill to take someone against their will - not by force, which is a brute's game, but by demonstrating their inferiority. "I am married, sire," Kitty had cried, though quietly for fear others would hear. She would have run if I hadn't held her, one hand holding her wrists tight, the other teasing a nipple through her shirt. I whispered in her ear, "Would you have me put him in the stocks and whipped?"

Kitty surrendered quickly thereafter, and despite her whimpered protestations I introduced her to an ecstasy she had never before experienced. The look of shock on her face as she convulsed beneath me was exquisite beyond words. In the following months I used her in ways that her husband could not have dreamed of.

It was Kitty who discovered the ring, in a secret compartment of the four-poster in my great-grandmother's bedroom. I snatched it off her immediately, worried that she might steal it. It was a silver ring set with a white crystal, and though it slipped easily onto my finger, once there it was painfully uncomfortable. I tore it off in disgust and threw it at Kitty. "It's yours," I said, "if you can bear to wear it."

"Thank you, sire," she said. I had given her gifts before, though never a ring. I watched as it settled on her finger, sure that at any moment she would react as I had. But her reaction was quite different.

Had she not been lying naked on the bed right in front of me, I would not have believed it. She moaned with a sudden lust and spread her legs as if to invite me to take her again. The evidence of our recent coupling was all too apparent. But she pleasured herself, with her own hand, something she had never done before, and I was startled by how swollen her nipples were suddenly.

Indeed, it seemed to me that her breasts were larger than I remembered. I had always found them disappointingly small - but no longer. So distracted was I by this wondrous enlargement that some time passed before I noticed that Kitty's hand was stroking a cock, one that she had certainly never possessed before.

There are men who enjoy the pleasures of other men, but I am not one such. The thought of touching another man's cock fills me with revulsion, but Kitty's cock does not. It is a thing of beauty. Her new breasts too are perfection, and to have witnessed this miraculous transformation is a blessing indeed.

I was a vile man before, shallow and cruel, obsessed with meaningless pleasures when the only thing in the world that truly matters is serving my mistress.

"Fuck me!" she'd growled, working her cock with one hand and tugging on her nipples with the other.

I'd leapt into action, driving hard into her sweet centre and exulting in her cry of joy. How many times we had come together before, but never with such unbridled passion. Again and again she shouted crude instructions without a care for who might hear us. "Like that, yes! Faster! Faster!"

Until with a scream of pleasure she climaxed, and produced a wild fountain from that magnificent cock that put to shame my own feeble emissions a moment later. An urgent and inexplicable hunger to taste it overcame me and I dived down onto Kitty's cream-covered breasts, devouring every trace like a starving cat while lavishing due attention on her proud nipples, sucking on them joyfully. The throbbing of her still-hard cock against my belly was proof that our journey into pleasure had only just begun.

*

Kitty's revenge indeed. I guessed that Kitty, unlike Fiona, had felt no compulsion to remove the ring and return to her former life. Why live as a powerless servent, subject to the whims of a capricious master, when you could instead have a life of luxury and pleasure?

It was utterly extraordinary! A ring that no man could wear, but a woman could, except that it transformed her into a futanari and made all around her subservient. But it wasn't a kinky sex ring; the futanari thing was entirely accidental. Magic made by a man, for a man, instead warping woman's flesh into a virile fusion of male and female.

What was it the old man said? Transformative virility and inductive command? Had Naram-Sin been cursed with a tiny cock, perhaps, and used magic to overcome this shortcoming? Or had Akkad been a place where a man was measured by the number of women he kept on the go? Bearing in mind that the other ring had conferred invisibility and seductive powers, maybe no one had been safe from his ravishment. It was a wonder he found time to be an emperor, given the non-stop fucking.

"There must be a way to control it," I muttered. "Control the magic, or it controls you." Hah, as if I knew anything about it. I couldn't even visit a magic shop without getting screwed one way or another.

But maybe? Could I? Or would even attempting it lead to an overlong life of fishing in dark pools beneath misty mountains?

I texted Fiona: "What do you think?"

Her reply, mere seconds later: "No!!"

I snorted with suppressed laughter. No context or anything, just an immediate emphatic negative. "You're probably right," I replied.

*

I'm not a witch or anything. I know nothing about magic, but I do keep bumping up against it. I've done and seen things that most people would dismiss as utterly impossible, that even I question by the cold light of day.

I perched naked on the edge of my bed, facing a long mirror, the magic ring between my fingers. Most importantly, I was alone.

I'd developed a theory. If I wanted to wear the ring without becoming a slave to its demanding nature, I would have to learn how to resist and even overcome its transformative effects. I would have to learn how to deny the compulsion to fuck everyone and everything. And I couldn't, like some modern Odysseus, lash myself to the mast and revel in the Siren's song.

"What was it like?" I'd asked Fiona, once I could trust myself to speak to her at all.

"Like a Class A drug," she said. "It was only seeing how messed up you were that gave me the strength to take it off."

Drugs. Only a fool like me... and I was alone. No one to rescue me if I went too far. No safety net. No restraints.

No ambition. No lust for power.

Just willpower, arrogance, and an insatiable curiosity.

What could go wrong...

Everything.

I slipped the ring onto my finger, and studied myself in the mirror. Nothing happened. I counted to a hundred, and still nothing.

And then - ohh... a surge of pressure quite unlike anything I had ever experienced. A tingling warmth that swept out from my womb to my extremities. Without conscious thought my hands were on my swelling breasts, my fingers massaging aching nipples. My clit was throbbing urgently too, though it was soon hidden by the cock sprouting above it as if forced out by the building pressure within.

What an ugly thing it was, and yet so demanding of attention. I knew if I just wrapped my hand about it and stroked it gently, I would be rewarded with a pleasure unlike any I had ever known. I knew that if Fiona had been there with me, nothing could have kept me from thrusting deep into her sweet pussy and giving her the fuck of her life.

"No!" I screamed, and tore the ring from my finger. It was like a power cut in the middle of a Sybian ride. I was almost in shock from the abrupt loss of excitation, not helped by the withering sensation of reversed transformation. One moment imbued with divine strength, the next a pitiful humanity.

A Class A drug indeed! It took all my strength to stop myself snatching the ring up again and yielding to its dreadful lure.