Paper Clip Ring Novels & Stories

"I'd love to Nicole, that would be unbelievable!!" She walked over to the table, opened a drawer, and got something out – it looked like some kind of small silver, ringed contraption. Is it another chain, I silently wondered. She walked back toward me, looking me right in the eye. She dangled the contraption in front of my eyes. It appeared to be comprised of several steel rings, seven or so, that were fastened together with thin straps of leather. It was dark, but to my eyes it appeared the steel rings were of differing sizes, getting smaller from one end to the other.

spoke to the heart of the paperclip’s journey, a testament to the power of patience and presence. Ren, with her keen eye for detail, noticed the subtle changes in the paperclip’s position. She was intrigued by the idea that it might have a story to tell, a narrative that transcended words. Her addition to the spiral, the faint loop of pencil scratches, linen unfolding, and someone exhaling after remembering, was a tribute to the paperclip’s silent communication. She named it “Bend Me Gently,” a gentle reminder that even the most fragile things could withstand the test of time if treated with care.

The thick silver rings mounted on each one had a sinister purpose but that was the whole point. Next was the princess plug. It was made of what appeared to be surgical steel and was teardrop-shaped with a tapered stem that flared out to a large base. In the base was a dark red gem. It was obviously glass. Knowing where George kept the lube she applied some to the plug and some more to her asshole.

“I’m dying to know what kind of mystery lies behind those hair clips.” The two stepped forward, and Wensley went first. She picked up the hair clips carefully, examining them with great focus. But after a while, she frowned, clearly puzzled, and returned them to their place with a shrug. “No clue at all. Your turn.” Miranda took the clips into her hands. They were cool at first touch, but slowly warmed in her palm—clearly finely crafted, with gemwork of exceptional quality. The twin clips were designed as entwined flower vines, delicate yet sturdy, able to interlock and separate with ease.

Not with my bare hands. I opened the drawer again, grabbed a clean tissue, then used the edge of it to push the pink glitter clip into the bag. The little thing slid slowly across the bottom of the box, making almost no sound. When it finally dropped into the ziplock, its glitter caught the light from my desk lamp. Pink. Cheap. Small. Issa’s. I sealed the ziplock tight. Inside the plastic, the clip did not look like a four-year-old’s hair accessory. It looked like a bullet someone had just placed in my palm.

She said. “Please for the boys now.” I asked and they packed all the ones on the table and brought in another set. These ones were filled with studs, clips, ice, rings. The rings caught my attention. “Please get me the most recent design for rings that just came out.” The attendants brought them out and laid them in front of me. It was hard to choose, they came in sets for three rings per a pack. I bought two different sets and decided to ask for another thing.

I opened it and stared down at the contents, my eyebrows wriggling up and down. A vibrating cock ring? Black, sober, made of top quality silicon, but still a double ring with a padded triangle that ended in a tapered ribbed tip. The power button was on the back of the pad, right by what looked like the lid to a gap for a clock battery and the tiny plug for the USB charger.

It was cool and heavy in her palm. “Open it,” he said. His voice was a low rumble, like stones grinding together deep in the earth. It vibrated through her, settling in her bones. She fumbled with the tiny clasp. Her fingers felt clumsy, too large for the delicate mechanism. Inside, nestled on a bed of black satin, was a thin silver collar. It was delicate, almost like a choker necklace, but there was no mistaking its purpose. In the center, soldered to the band, was a small, perfect silver ring, an O-ring. It was beautiful and terrifying all at once.

"Good," Shannon said, as she began to rip the package open. The black leather ring, fell to the bed just below Ron's balls. It was less than in inch wide, and had 4 holes closer to one end, and a about a half inch long rod protruding near the other end, obviously to be inserted through one of the eyelets. Shannon picked it up and experimented with how it hooked together. "I don't get it, Rick's was just solid rubber that rolled down over his dick. How does this stay together?"

"I'm looking for something lasting." She reached past me — close, closer than necessary — to adjust a bolt on the shelf behind me, and when her hand withdrew, something small and hard pressed briefly into my palm before disappearing. I closed my fingers around it without looking down. "The indigo will last," she said. "If you're careful." I thanked her and moved on. Maren followed. I did not open my hand. We were three stalls away before my fingers could identify it by feel: a ring. Small. Thin band. And threaded through it, folded to the width of a fingernail, a strip of paper.