Rings of confirmation

by BRK   

Lovers Edwin and Uri are in Paris, wandering the busy banks of the Seine, when they are offered a pair of supposedly magic rings.

This commission and the essential rules of the yes/no rings are inspired by the thread started by BiBiComte on the interactive erotica site chyoa.com.

Edwin blew out an annoyed breath as he jogged to catch up to his overeager boyfriend, Uriah, who seemed to be on a crazed mission to find and gush over every poseur canvas-dauber, chiseling stall-seller, and random Parisian couple he saw along the entire length of the Seine. He was showing no signs of flagging, either, and Edwin was seriously wondering what would happen when they ran out of Paris to gush over. Probably he’d keep going when they got to the city limits and go on chasing delightful encounters with colorful locals all the way to the effing Alps.

Edwin didn’t get it. And not because he was (as one of Uriah’s catty friends put it) “as curmudgeonly as he is stupidly handsome, in that aristocratic way that’s better experienced in a full-length oil painting than actually encountered in person.” Sure, he looked like a sleek and polished young aristocrat, the kind you got in movies and TV shows about a pretty, disorganized woman who knows more about tractors than tea sets who ends up beguiling the stuck-up noble scion with the permanent sneer and conveniently chiseled abs. Real rarified nobles, Edwin was sure, tended to like ancient cities, and venerable cathedrals, and needless ceremonial pageantry, and bridges built before the dawn of time and all—probably because they constituted clear evidence of their ancestral superiority.

Edwin was not on that page. For him? It was a river. They had rivers in Maryland. And old buildings. Maybe their buildings weren’t that old, but that was probably a plus, infrastructure-wise. Catching sight of Notre Dame looming over them, he found himself wondering what the toilets were like in the nonpublic areas and shuddered.

“Uri, wait up!” he called to his mercurial lover, the stiff high-end shopping bags he was carrying in his right hand from the morning’s outing in the Galeries Lafeyette banging awkwardly against his legs as he trotted toward him. Uri, who at present was leaning dangerously over the balustrade some twenty feet ahead, tossed him a boyish grin that caught Edwin’s heart all over again with his bright-eyed, vulpine beauty. The wind whipped around his heap of sandy-blond hair and seemed to burnish the smooth skin of his cheeks, making him look very much the adorable, sexy-cute, man-loving mess he was.

Uri seemed about to tease Edwin for not keeping up when a nearby stallseller’s cry—”Anneaux magiques! Rings of magic!”—caught Uri’s attention. Immediately, Uri whipped his head in that direction, a delighted look on his face.

“Ugh, come on,” Edwin said in disbelief, half to himself, as Uri took off. He hurried to catch up, the wind seeming to rush with him as he went, happily rippling through his zipped-up red windbreaker and the loose, lightweight linen trousers he liked to wear while touristing.

The stall Uri had found was set apart from the others, and, in its isolation, barely amounted to anything compared to the larger vendors they’d seen. These were typically laden with books, paintings, and touristy knickknacks. Peering over Uri’s shoulder, he saw a single bare tray with a lining of thick black foam slotted for rings. Most of the positions were empty, and some of tatty bijoux that were present looked like they’d seen better days. The seller himself seemed old and mostly well-kept, yet still somehow came across as seedy in some subliminal way, as though he’d lived a little too long and was now coasting through a protracted denouement.

Edwin looked around them. The bankside was busy in the brisk, breezy sunlit afternoon, with lots of folks admiring the views and patronizing the other traders, but none of the customers or passersby were coming anywhere near the outcast stall they now stood at. A French couple passed close by, ducking their faces in their collars, and Edwin was sure that they were hiding their snickers at the stupid, credulous Americans.

“Come on, Uri,” he prodded, turning back to his partner. “There’s a café up the steps here you haven’t tried. It’s on the touring app! Best cappuccino art in the Latin Quarter!”

Uri ignored him. He pointed toward two plain bands that seemed like a pair, one gold and one silver. Interestingly, though unpolished they showed no scuffs or signs of actual wear, and seemed heavy-enough looking they might be the metals they appeared to be, not just plate. “What do these do?” he asked excitedly.

The stallseller’s milky eyes brightened. For a wonder he seemed to have all his teeth, despite seeming slightly decrepit. “Ah! These are strong magic,” he said in hesitant, halting English. “Ask questions, yes? This one make answer yes,” he said, indicating the gold one, then aimed his gnarled finger at the silver one. “This one, no.” He made the “no” sound French—non.

Uri beamed at the stooped old vendor. “Perfect!” he said. “May we?”

The old vendor smiled.”Mais oui!” he agreed, chuckling. Edwin groaned.

Pulling out the two rings, Uri fingered them curiously a moment, grinning to himself, then abruptly extended the silver one toward Edwin. “Go on, then,” he said, his bright hazel eyes shining with impish playfulness. “You’re the sourpuss, so you should have the ‘no’ one.”

“Your logic is flawed,” Edwin said patiently, resigning himself to becoming involved in Uri’s latest fancy (as always). “If I am the person who likes to answer ‘no’, the questioner needs to have the ‘no’ ring.”

Edwin grinned wider. “Oh right! I ask something, and you answer ‘no’! I don’t need the ring for that, though,” he added, chiding his man with knowing affection.

“Agreed,” Edwin said tonelessly, though inwardly he was thinking that he actually found it exceedingly difficult to say ‘no’ to this man most of the time.

A mischievous eyebrow went up. “Maybe I want to change you,” he suggested.

Edwin gave him his smuggest smirk, and Uri rolled his eyes. “Okay, no,” he admitted, casting a lascivious glance at Edwin’s crotch. “Maybe a little,” he added slyly as he slid the ‘no’ ring on the ring finger of his right hand. It seemed to fit perfectly, which surprised Edwin slightly—Uri had long, rather thick fingers.

If Edwin were at all insecure about his manhood he might have been upset at that latter remark. Edwin, however, happened to possess a thick eleven-inch wang that Uri craved with an almost unseemly passion. Which meant the comment’s only significance was that Uri was an effing size whore. Edwin’s smirk became a notch sharper and almost unbearably smugger.

Having thus claimed the ‘no’ ring, Uri held out the gold ‘yes’ band in the direction of Edwin’s right hand. Edwin went to lift his right hand, hefting the forgotten shopping a few inches before he remembered. He put out his left hand instead for Uri to slip the ring onto.

“Ah! Ah!” the stallseller broke in suddenly. “Hands important. Eh, left hand, know, yes? Right hand, not know.”

Edwin eyed him sidelong as Uri slid the ‘yes’ ring on Edwin’s finger, not sure what the man was saying. Left hand, no, yes? What did that mean? “Is that right,” he said blandly.

He glanced at his hand, still cradled in Uri’s. The gold ring felt heavy and cold, and yet there was a weird, barely perceived sensation of concealed heat that seemed to come from just beyond the surface of the metal.

Uri was now very happy, which warmed Edwin’s heart like it always did. “I feel like we just got engaged,” he enthused. “Though, of course, you hate folderol like weddings, right?”

“Not at all,” Edwin said. The spectacle of a grand wedding would perfectly inaugurate the next phase of their lives, though their dream weddings were different enough they hadn’t gotten around to ironing everything out yet. He was surprised Uri would say such a thing.

For the merest split second Uri looked faintly confused, and then it washed away and Uri grinned. “Uh huh. And you so want our wedding bands to be these cheap magic rings from a Parisian street vendor, right?” he taunted, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He liked to ride Edwin for being a snob, which he wasn’t—not really. “That’s your dream, right, babe?”

“Not even a little,” Edwin answered honestly.

The stallseller spoke up, perhaps wanting to correct the “cheap” part of the assessment. “Ah, you pay now, yes?” he said.

Edwin turned to him. Remembering he was wearing the ‘yes’ ring, he offered the old vendor a crooked smile. “Oh, but we’ve already paid, haven’t we?” he joked, reaching for his wallet.

The stallsman blinked once and smiled the gratitude of a well-remunerated trader. “Yes, yes, of course. Have a lovely day!”

Edwin paused in mid-reach for his back pocket, brows drawing together. The old man didn’t want their money? That certainly didn’t jibe with his experience of Paris so far.

Uri was hugging his arm. “Thank you so much, babe! I’ve always wanted a magic ring. You know what I’m going to do with it?”

“No idea,” Edwin said distractedly. He was still frowning at the old stallseller, who was smiling at them both, happy as a clam. He distinctly remembered not paying the guy and joking that he had. But he also remembered forking over five hundred fucking euros from his now much depleted wallet, the old sod pocketing the bills with an alacrity that bordered on prestidigitation.

Uri propelled them slowly away from the stall along the wide riverbank promenade, Edwin going with him but not entirely present. Uri was ebullient, still hugging Edwin’s arm, but Edwin was still deep in thought. The unfamiliar condition of sudden, parallel memories was new and unsettling; and him being inextricably certain about both was the weirdest part. How could that be? How did he know both things were true?

“C’mon, c’mon, guess,” Uri said, confusingly.

Edwin’s breath caught in his throat as he turned to look at his hand, then his lover. What had the old geezer said? Left hand know, he heard in his head. Know, not no (which, he had noted at the time, the old trader had earlier said differently, like non).

If you wear it in the left hand, you know, his brain parsed out. You know.

“Know” what, though? Edwin looked at his hand again, pulse escalating. But there could only be one answer.

He glanced up at Uri’s happy face, unable to help noticing the silver ‘no’ ring… on his lover’s right hand. The hand where you didn’t… know.

Uri was still waiting for him to take a stab at Uri’s intent vis-à-vis the ring. He needed to get a grip—and, given that he somehow actually had a real magic ring, he needed to choose his words attentively. “Let’s see, given that it’s you…” he mused. His smile became a leer, because he did know his cock-hungry lover very well. “Are you, my dear Uri, planning to use your so-called magic ring to make all the hot guys extra-hung?” he asked.

Uri beamed at him. “I am!” he said. He winked. Clearly he did not believe his ring was actually magic, not having gotten the double-tracked memory that had proved it to Edwin, but was typically diving deep into the roleplay of his current game like he always did. “I totally am,” he repeated with a slutty lick of his upper lip.

Lust shot through Edwin as they walked, despite the public setting, and his always-responsive cock chubbed considerably in the warm, snug confines of his boxer-briefs. Uri’s mouth could be very distracting in many situations. “You have such an amazing tongue,” he heard himself say. “So talented and… elastic…” Then, remembering the inexplicable magic ‘yes’ ring, he added carefully, “Don’t you, babe?”

Uri’s grin was pure smarm. “You know I do,” he answered slyly, and suddenly… Edwin’s memories of Uri’s delicious deep-tongue kisses and very proficient blowjobs were supplemented by a second track of altered memories in which Uri’s tongue had been longer, stretchier, and even more skilled at making Edwin cum screaming. There were entirely new memories, too, with nothing corresponding to them in the old timeline, full of secret deft-tongue blow jobs in restaurant coat rooms and public hidey-holes, as though neither of them could get enough of Uri’s considerable oral gifts. Shockingly, there were even rimming sessions where Uri had driven him into frenzies Edwin was certain he had never experienced in the old reality. It hadn’t been a thing before, but it sure was now. In fact, his anus was still tingling, thanks to a post-breakfast encounter that very morning in the fancy hotel room shower—one that had gone on so long the hot water had started to ebb toward tepid before Uri had finally let him cum his brains out.

Edwin felt his cheeks heat suddenly against the cool, steady breeze like the flash of a ground-eating forest fire. His cock swelled even further, straining valiantly against the soft, resilient cotton of his briefs and the slightly sturdier fabric of his trousers.

Edwin’s id was begging him to push this fucking-with-reality thing further, and, overwhelmed with the sudden influx of new, deeply prurient memories, the rest of his love-addled, hormone-sodden mental apparatus wasn’t inclined to argue.

Uri was watching him, waiting. They stopped in the middle of the promenade, Edwin looking his lover right in the eye. “I know what you’re going to do,” he said. “You’re going to pretend like your magic ‘no’ ring is real and give random hot guys you see ridiculously big wangs, aren’t you?”

Uri grinned. “And of course,” he answered, hazel eyes twinkling, “I’m going to start with… that guy over there!”

He pointed at a solitary, well-proportioned man in an olive-colored jacket and boot-cut jeans leaning against the balustrade, his back to the river, watching the people walk by. He certainly met the criterion of ‘hot guy’, Edwin judged, with flowing dark hair and gallically handsome features.

Uri rushed over to him, dragging Edwin with him. “Excuse me,” he said to the handsome man, “your cock is smaller than your forearm, isn’t it?” Uri shook his head as he spoke, as if to influence the man into giving the “correct” answer.

“Uri!” Edwin said, shocked. He was about to apologize to the man, but the stranger was giving Uri an apologetic look.

“Pardon,” he said, unconsciously shaking his head once, just slightly, apparently in mimicry of Uri. “Je ne parle pas anglais.” He shifted his weight, and Edwin’s attention was drawn to the subtle outline of his schlong in his loose-cut jeans, which, once you knew to look for it, clearly reached down to his knee and sported an impressive wristlike width. Edwin had noticed it before, and some part of his mind had been busy imagining what Uri’s extra-adept tongue would do with that monster.

“That’s cheating, babe, he’s already that big,” he said. “Wait, let me try mine.” He cleared his throat and addressed the hot, uber-hung Frenchman. “I’m sorry, I’m secretly incredibly rich, aren’t I? Enough to buy a small countries, even if I don’t use it much?” He nodded his head, telegraphing his answer as Uri had done.

The man’s pretty eyes narrowed, his solicitude now shading into annoyance. “Pardon,” he repeated, a little more pointedly, nodding ever so slightly (whether to ape Edwin or mock him, he wasn’t sure). “Je ne parle pas anglais.”

Edwin’s eyes widened as memories of hidden, seldom-accessed accounts and vast unused trusts flooded through him. Strangely, he felt no impulse to go and spend it all, like he would have expected he would. Maybe the “I don’t use it much” clause was a predilection that the ring had included with the rest of the reality change.

Edwin smiled humbly at the prodigiously endowed man. “Je m’excuse. Passez une bonne journée.” Nodding at the man, they turned and headed down the riverside arm in arm.

“I guess I should pick someone who doesn’t already have an enormous prick next time,” Uri chuckled.

“Like me?” Edwin teased.

“Don’t you think eleven inches is big enough? That’s what you’ve always said before. The perfect length to nuzzle my throat, you said.”

It was, but Edwin couldn’t help being a little jealous of cock-to-the-knee guy back there. “Nope! I want you to make me even bigger,” he said truthfully.

“We’ll see. I never knew you were that super rich,” he added.

Edwin wanted to say, “I wasn’t until two minutes ago,” but of course he had been his whole life, according to his other memories. Good thing Uri hadn’t asked him if it was true he was loaded, or it all would have been undone. Fascinating, though, that with all that hidden loot his life was pretty much the same, apart from a more expensive windbreaker and nicer shoes. Seemed like the rings kept reality as close to the “before” version as possible.

The river was approaching a slight bend to the right, southwards. Uri, for his part, was working through what he was still thinking of as a game of pretend magic as they walked. “Maybe I should try more general statements,” he mused, looking up at Edwin. “Like, all Frenchmen are hung smaller than average, right?”

“Don’t be silly,” Edwin said. He thought about all the heavily packed crotches he’d noticed on this trip, mostly on the good-looking locals, his own half-hard cock flexing in happy remembrance. “Frenchmen are known for being very well hung.”

“That’s true.”

Edwin bit his lip. Something about that exchange was niggling at him, but he was not sure what. He almost felt like his own ring was encouraging him to think it through, wanting him to understand more. Maybe it likes me, he thought, amused.

“Anyway,” he said aloud, “you probably shouldn’t make blanket changes that might crack the foundations of spacetime or some shit.”

Uri chuckled. “Fair enough,” he agreed. Stopping them both, he faced Edwin with a loving and very horny smile. They were mostly alone, as if this stretch of the Seine was all theirs. “How about this: you aren’t the hottest, hunkiest, sweetest guy I ever met, and you don’t have the biggest dick and thickest balls I’ve ever seen, and you can’t cum bucketloads just from me eating your ass or sucking your giant dong like a hoover—right?”

Edwin shivered, getting off as always on the blazing lust he had always kindled in Uri from his extraordinary beauty, shin-length wang, and tireless ability ability to cum. It was all there in Uri’s adoring gaze, and his pride in knowing all of that was just for him. “But that’s false,” he said softly, watching Uri intently. He brought his man in close, their faces inches apart. “I am all those things.”

Ur’s pupils were dilating with need. “I know,” he breathed.

Edwin’s ever-troublesome half-chubbed cock was threatening to thicken all the way down to his ankle. Time was short before he needed to cum, many times over. He pressed his leg against Uri, letting him feel the length and heat of his enormous tool. A small whimper escaped from somewhere deep in Uri’s throat.

Leaning into Uri’s ear, he murmured, “I have another secret—one no one knows but you.” He tried to construct the best, most careful phrasing in his head, but his brain was melting with lust and he just went with the obvious. “I,” he said, “can teleport us back to the privacy of our hotel room.” Then he growled, “Can’t I?”

Uri’s breath was ragged against his cheek. He’d barely whispered the words “You know you can” before they were back in their luxurious suite, ready to make use of their extraordinary gifts as the Seine, now far below them, washed endlessly past into a new, slightly altered future.

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