I love rings. These days, for years now, I have been wearing at least nine rings on my fingers. Usually, only the little fingers are ringless. I even ornament my two thumbs with rings. The sight of my hands rattles many gullible people. I think my be-ringed fingers are a beautiful distraction. My right ear-lobe has had six holes for six ear rings for the last twenty-six years. When I was a ripe rebellious fourteen years, I shocked my mother by showing up home with these piercings in my ear. The holes are enough for six ear-studs that carry letters to spell my first name STELLA. My left ear-lobe has only two holes. Over the years, I have refashioned what pieces I stuck in my eight ear-holes, but ear rings have tended to reign. I heard of clit rings, labia minora rings, belly-button rings, nipple rings, nose rings and tongue rings. All these rings were too adventurous for me to get. The thought of piercing those body parts gave me the jitters. But the king of all horrors was this penis ring I once saw on my potential partner. It was worn just below the mushroom-head of his pistol. Not one to restrain my curiosity, I asked my excited partner why he wore a ring on his ding. Shocked by his explanation that the penis ring controlled the size of his erection from becoming unbearable, I asked how often he removed the ring. I never remove Mr. Kufuru from my member. I have worn him for twenty-two years, my partner explained. Banange, I have never lost interest in copulation faster than I did that night. I flung my clothes back onto my body and ran out of that room, leaving Mr. Kufuru and his bold owner too stunned to chase after me. Imagine the dirt under and around that penis ring... as well as the different canals it has entered. No thank you. Although I love rings, some rings give me the creeps.
Posted on: Sun, 09 Nov 2014 15:23:56 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015