Ring of Truth Blog

Ring of Truth

by obohobo

Warnings

Please take note!

The text in this story contains erotic material and is expressly written for adults only.

MF MC.

If you are underage or offended by such material -or- if viewing this file is illegal in your locality, then leave, close or delete this file-story now.

This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to persons living, dead or otherwise is purely coincidental, etc.

Copyright 2005

Prologue

After finding the Ring of Truth and learning a little of its properties, I, Dr. Derek Meeks, decided to keep a sort of diary, a 'blog' of events surrounding its use in my life. At the same time I added excerpts from the leather book that came with the ring so they would be readily readable. For the time being I am keeping the information in a protected file on my computer and, for reasons that will become obvious to anyone privileged to view them, I do not intend to print them out until I, like the previous owner, decide to put the ring in some safe place. That may not be for many years hence.

Dr. Derek Meeks.

P.S. (Later). I have now decided to anonymously publish an edited version of the blog together with the excerpts from the book on a site I visit frequently and get much pleasure from reading the stories it contains. Names of people (including my own), and places have been changed but otherwise this is an honest account of my experiences with the ring. I have tried to write each blog as a readable narrative and have concentrated on the sexual aspects mainly because I know that it what readers visit this site for and because they brought me the greatest pleasure. I hope it will do the same for you.

Blog 1. Finding the ring

12th July 2004

"I promised Mrs. McCready you would help her move into her new house. You don't mind do you Derek?" It was typical of my mother to volunteer me without asking first.

"But I planned on going over to Sandswick this afternoon mother," I protested.

"Oh there'll be plenty of times you can go there. You've still two months left before you start work and the woman really needs someone strong to help her clear all the old stuff from poor Miss Read's old house. Finish your breakfast, I said you would be there about nine and it's past that now. You were up late this morning." There was that hint of disapproval in her voice. "I expect she'll get you something for lunch and you can get a takeaway for dinner. I'll be at the bridge club until late."

I groaned and complained but there was no getting out of it. Mother was adamant that I should help and despite all my arguments, insisted I go. It wasn't that I really objected to helping, and I didn't dislike Mrs. McCready, if fact she was quite a pleasant woman, but I did object to being put in a position where I would be obliged to help whether or not I wanted to. The last few months had been stressful in the extreme but after many nights of burning the midnight oil, I was able to complete the research needed for my thesis. It worked out and I finally obtained my doctorate. I am now fully entitled to call myself Dr. Derek Meeks. Mother even got the photo of me wearing my mortarboard and gown in the local paper. For the time being though I just wanted to relax and make the most of the free time before I took up a research post at Dunchester University where I had spent the last five years as a student. It is only ten miles away which meant I could and did live at home for the first four years of my course and save my accommodation expenses, but during that time I was never free of mother's influences. When I successfully obtained a grant and sponsorship for my post graduate research I was able to afford a room on the campus but at the start of the new term I shall move into a house my predecessor in the post now occupies. His new job is taking him abroad for several years.

Glumly I walked the few hundred yards along the road to the fifteenth century house that had been Miss Read's home for as long as anyone could remember. The seemingly frail, bent old lady lived alone and had survived until one morning soon after her ninety-eighth birthday, the milkman noticed the previous day's milk hadn't been taken in. He alerted the police and they called her younger sister's son, Robert, who found Miss Read lying abed. She'd died peaceably in her sleep. Her will left the house and contents to be shared between all three of her sister's children but none of them wished to live in the damp, inconvenient old house. After dividing up any furniture and belongings that were deemed worth keeping, the remainder was left and the house put up for sale.

To Jean McCready, the building was a delightful example of a framed Tudor house. She loved the way the top storey overhung the ground floor and the quaint carvings on the ends of the protruding floor beams. "It will need a lot of money spent on it to get it habitable by modern standards and of course there are restrictions on what you are allowed to do with an old building like this," the estate agent had warned her, but money wasn't a problem. She had money in her own right and the inheritance from the death of her husband made her quite wealthy.

"She can afford to pay a firm to come in a clear the whole place," I muttered as I sauntered along still cursing my mother for involving me, more so because she'd sent me to work while she went and played cards with her friends. The front door, accessed by two stone steps directly from the pavement was wide open and a hire skip stood coned off in the road with a layer of rubbish already covering the base. Climbing the steps I peered inside and called out, "Mrs. McCready!"

"Come in Derek, sorry I didn't mean to impose on you like this but your mother insisted and wouldn't take no for an answer. Please feel free to go if you have other things planned. If you haven't then I could certainly use the help. I'll pay you of course. I intended to go to the employment people to get someone but Miriam said…well you know your mother." The woman gave an impish grin.

"It's okay Mrs. McCready…"

"Jean please." The dumpy woman with the ready smile took my hand and shook it. "It makes me feel old to be called Mrs. by someone as old as you. I'm only forty-one for heavens sake!"

"Okay Jean, I'm here and I'll do what I can to help. No need to worry about paying me. I sort of figured it was to be voluntary work or mother wouldn't have suggested it." I couldn't help smiling at the woman clad incongruously in blue overalls wearing bright yellow rubber gloves and a red headscarf. There were already dirt smudges on her face. "What's to be done?" I asked as I donned my old white lab coat. By the state Jean was in, it wouldn't be white for long. Jean gave me a quick tour and at once I could see how neglected the place had been for many years. Threadbare carpets covered the floors, wallpaper hung in tatters from the walls and over all there was a dank musty smell. Jean's mind though, saw things as they would be after she had worked on the place.

"I want to do as much as I can myself," Jean told me, "There'll be lots I can't do but the place will feel more mine if I do what I can and in any case, who knows, clearing a place like this might yield some treasures. Perhaps there will be some things I can take to the Antiques Roadshow and have one of the experts tell me it is worth a fortune." I laughed with her at the thought of her appearing on the TV show with some little trinket that was held in awe by a bespectacled presenter. By then we were on the upstairs landing. "The first job will be to get the roof repaired and for that the workmen need to get into the attic. Rain comes through in several places and that's made the house quite damp. All I can see by peering over the ledge are a few boxes. I've bought a stepladder but it needs someone with a bit more height and more spring in their bum to get through the trap door to see what's in there."

"Someone like me?" I questioned. She laughed.

An hour later I had an extension lead in the attic with a vacuum cleaner and a quartz halogen light plugged in. "There's a good wood floor with lots of boxes, some wood, some cardboard. Rain's made some places damp. Where it's dry the place is covered with dust." I called down. "I'll Hoover the boxes a bit and pass them down to you so you can sort through them."

By lunchtime we had a pile of boxes in what was the lounge. While Jean went to the nearby baker's for sandwiches, I made tea and started looking through the boxes. Many were discarded clothes, papers and oddments of china. Some, where the roof had leaked, the water had got into the material and the clothes were covered with mould, others were surprising dry and in good condition. We laughed and joked over our finds while we drank our tea. I declined the offer of a box of old rag dolls. "You might want them in a few years time," Jean suggested.

"Not much hope of that at the moment," I replied.

"No one special at the university then?"

"Nope. I don't really seem to get on with girls. Seem to say the wrong things at the wrong time. In any case for the last few months I been well and truly worked off my feet to finish my thesis."

Jean wanted to keep the paperwork, mainly old letters and bills, in case there was something interesting historically concerning the house but much of the stuff went straight into the skip. Nearly at the end of our break, I forced open a wooden chest containing various items of jewellery. The lid was locked but the joints at one corner had given way so I pulled the end off and tipped the contents on to the floor. Delightedly Jean and I picked them over. Amongst the items I picked out a small cardboard box no bigger than a pack of playing cards. Inside nestled a signet ring and a small leather book. From the start I sensed something strange about the ring. The metal still gleamed silver whereas all the other silver jewellery in the box was tarnished to blackness but at first I just put that down to it having been inside the little box. The band was about 6 mm wide and inscribed with writing that I thought was possibly Persian but which was unintelligible to me. Affixed to the band was a squarish block with scalloped edges and only about 8 mm on each side in the centre of which sat a small, slightly iridescent, greenish-yellow stone. There was nothing ostentatious about it and in fact most people hardly notice that I am wearing it. It looks like an ordinary ring that could be bought cheaply in any market. I slipped it on my index finger and held out my hand to show Jean.

<<"…these beads are beautiful. I guess from the colour they must be amber because they wouldn't have plastic to fake them from if they are as old as they look. They're really nice.">>

I was astounded. I heard Jean talking in my head but her lips weren't moving and she was engrossed in sorting through the jewellery.

<<"That's a nice looking broach. Bet the mount is silver and will set off the blue stone when it is cleaned up.">> Jean looked up and saw the ring on my finger and perhaps the look of bewilderment on my face. <<"Goodness he looks a little pale. Hope we haven't overdone it today. I guess he's not used to manual work.">> To my eyes the stone seemed to gently twinkle like the green neon on my computer when it is working but certainly not as brightly as that. "You okay?" she asked in a normal voice and then she saw the ring and took my hand to see it more closely. "That looks nice on you. Keep it Derek. I don't think it would suit me." We put the remainder of the jewellery in another box ready for Jean to take home and stood to stretch our legs. We'd been sitting on the floor during our lunch break. "I suppose we ought to get a little more done. I can clean these things later," she suggested, "You feel like carrying on?"

"Yes, fine. Who knows what else we might find up there? Maybe some more dolls!"

We climbed the stairs again but all the while I kept hearing Jean's voice in my head commenting on the jewellery and what she might do with it and what it might be worth. Twice I turned around to see if she was actually speaking but she only looked at me in surprise. Could I really be hearing what she was thinking? Could it be the ring? No, that would be too much like magic and magic didn't exist. My scientific training tried unsuccessfully to find another explanation. I could test if it was the ring by removing it. By now I had ascended the stepladder and had my hands either side of the opening ready to spring into the attic.

<<"Nice arse. Wonder what his prick is like. Giggle. It'd be nice to have a nice young prick in me again. Oh you are a naughty girl to think that!">> The words in my head shocked me so much that I very nearly didn't make the jump into the attic. "Careful Derek," Jean warned, "You sure you're okay?"

"Fine. Wasn't thinking what I was doing."

<<"I hope he is. Probably not worked as hard physically for a while. Perhaps I'd better not push him too much. Don't want Miriam…">> I slipped the ring into my pocket at that point and Jean's voice in my head ceased. The boxes from immediately around the trapdoor had now all been removed but there were still a few at the far end of the attic. Below me I could hear Jean clearing one of the bedrooms. I slipped the ring on again but couldn't hear Jean until I pushed the stone against the floorboards more or less above where she was. I could hear her thoughts but at a very much reduced level, a level so low that I almost had to stop breathing to hear them. Oddly, when I switched on the vacuum cleaner the voices in my head were just as clear as it was when the noisy machine was off. It seemed as if outside noises didn't affect my ability to receive messages, whereas internal noises like coughing and heavy breathing would. "Can I project my thoughts to her?" I wondered. So far I had seen no evidence of it. Standing at the trapdoor I tried to send a thought message to ask her to come to the steps but nothing happened although I could hear her discussing with herself was to do with the peeling wallpaper. "Better take the ring off for a bit," I told myself, "Otherwise I won't get much done. Even as I cleaned the attic and moved the remaining boxes to near the trapdoor, I couldn't help wondering how the ring worked and what difference it might make to my life. My thoughts also kept returning to the remark Jean made about wanting my prick. Now, instead of thinking of her as a woman old enough to be my mother, well nearly, I began to wonder what she was like under the overalls she'd been wearing all day. Yes, she was short and a little plump but well endowed in the tit department. From her comment, 'it'd be nice to have a nice young prick in me again,' I guessed she still got horny. Maybe there was a chance I could get my prick into her. It had been a few months since I'd last fucked a girl and I'd certainly never had one as old or as plump as Jean.

By mid-afternoon I had the attic clear and went down for a cuppa and look through the latest boxes but there was not too much of interest for me. Mainly papers and old clothes and a few children's toys but they had been well used and were rather battered. "You're not wearing the ring," Jean commented.

"I didn't want to damage it," I lied but put it on again. We sat cross-legged on the floor drinking the last of our tea. The tail ends of my lab coat had opened so I knew Jean could look directly at my crotch and from her thoughts I knew she was assessing my potential. <<"He looks to have a decent bulge there. Is that all prick or is just the way his trousers hang? Wonder if I could get a little feel of it. Giggle.">> In return I began to appraise her body. She certainly wasn't a beauty queen but she was by no means unattractive. Thinking these thoughts caused my prick to stiffen and from her thoughts I knew she noticed. Ineffectually I tried talking about the things we'd found and moved myself so the budding erection didn't show as much. Once again I tried to see if I could project my thoughts but with no result.

By four o'clock we'd both had enough. My once white lab coat was near black down the front and Jean's overalls were filthy. "Let's call it a day, Derek. Would you like to come to my place for a meal? There's a couple of steaks in the freezer," she suggested.

"I'm filthy. I ought to go home and shower and change."

"I do have a shower at my place, you know," Jean laughed, "And we could pick up a change of clothes at yours on the way. I'm just as dirty as you so I'll need a shower too." <<"Wouldn't mind showering with him like I did with Ted. He seems interested in me from the way he keeps looking at my tits.">>

"Okay, you persuaded me," I grinned wondering if I would really be able to shower with her. I knew she thought about it but I couldn't think of a way to bring it about.

We chatted about the house and the finds as she drove the five miles to her home. She showed me the shower and asked, "Would you like to use it first? Don't be too greedy with the hot water though. The tank is rather small."

"Ladies first," I replied.

"No guests first."

We argued as to who should go first for a minute or so until I jokingly asked, "Would you like us to shower together then?"

The smile left her face and her expression became serious and rather blank looking. I thought I had committed a faux pas but quietly and seemingly finding it difficult to get the words out she answered, "Yes Derek, I would like to shower with you." <<"What made me say that? I know I wanted to but I don't want to appear to be a slut or taking advantage of him. I couldn't seem to stop myself….">>

I could tell from Jean's thoughts that she was confused but I decided to keep the advantage. "Come on then, I'll undress you and you can undress me. Let's have a little fun after all the hard work." Taking her hand I led her into the bathroom and started unbuttoning her shirt. Her thoughts that came through to my mind were still very confused. Deep down she wanted to shower and have sex with me but had grave reservations about doing it with the son of her friend, doing it with a young lad, doing it with someone she would see frequently in the future. Seeing her hesitation, I tried to reassure her. "I'm not a minor you know Jean. I'm twenty-six for heavens sake and I do have a little experience. I want to do this as much as you so let's pretend I'm just a toy-boy you've hired for an hour or two. Forget that you know my mother or that we'll be working together again in the morning. Let's live for the moment." She seemed surprised at my insight into what was worrying her and relaxed. Before long we were both naked and looking each other over. For my part I was very pleased at the sight of Jean's plump body and her good sized tits that had hardly started to sag. "You're very nice Jean," I said awkwardly as I gave her a hug and pressed her breasts to my lower chest and her head to my shoulders.

"You're not so bad yourself, tall guy," she giggled and then pushed herself away and took a quick look at my equipment. >>"Nice sized prick and big balls, already half hard. Hope he can use it later.">> Her thoughts came to me as we stepped under the shower and washed each other.

To Jean it must have seemed that I knew just the right tricks to stimulate her. Verbally she just came out with "Oooh's and aaraah's" but her mental instructions were far more precise. <<"Rub the underside of my breasts, now the nipples… massage my bottom…now my slit… play with my clit…">> I responded to all these messages and brought her to a noisy climax even before she started to wash me. When she did, she paid special attention to my prick, which was now rock hard. <<"Hope he'll put this in me…mustn't rub it too hard so he comes and can't get it up again… young lads can often get it hard quickly so perhaps it won't matter… perhaps I can give it just a little suck ...">> I felt her lips around the head and knew I would soon shoot my load and warned her. For a moment she seemed worried and her thoughts told me it was because she wanted it in her and then <<"Well if he's so close, it won't be much of a fuck so I might as well finish him off and try again later.">> Her mouth took my manhood deeper and she sucked more vigorously until I could hold out no longer.

"If that's a sample of what older women can do, I want more of them," I said to myself.

Finally we finished washing and drying ourselves. Jean, I knew, enjoyed the experience as much as I did but inwardly she was confused, guilty and apprehensive as to what we had done. I tried to reassure her as best I could but still the guilty feeling remained. We didn't dress properly but she loaned me a plaid dressing gown of Ted's and wore a flowery one herself. Ted's was a bit short on me but it covered my prick with just a little to spare.

For a while our minds were largely concerned with preparing and eating the meal but in any spare moments both of us thought about what happened earlier and how it would affect our relationship. After the washing-up was done and we sat drinking tea in the lounge, our thinking once again turned to sex. My prick started to rise from the visual stimulation of seeing the tops of Jean's tits where her gown had opened. Putting my arm around her, I kissed them. Instinctively she started to push me away, and almost as quickly pulled me to her.

<<"I want it in me this time…I can feel it hardening…hope he wants to…">>

"Jean? Would you like us to go into the bedroom and do it properly?" I whispered in her ear.

"Yes," she hissed back, "Yes please."

I wasn't a virgin but I'd only had fucked a few girls and none aroused me like Jean did. This was partly due to way her tits bounced and her arse wobbled as she walked. I couldn't resist giving her bum cheeks a playful smack as we went into the room, which brought a little squeal from her. My arousal was also very much stimulated by hearing her raunchy thoughts as I ploughed into her and for the thought instructions as to what she liked me to do. The movements that seemed to suit her best also inflamed my passions but even so I took longer than usual to ejaculate into her, probably because it was the second emission in a relatively short time.