Eternity Ring

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****Please Read This First****

Although I am posting this story in the ‘Lesbian sex’ category it’s a love story, not a sex story and there is precious little sex in it. There’s just enough, in my view, to keep it out of ‘non-erotic’ so, if you’re looking for hot girl-on-girl action you will be sorely disappointed and I advise you to look elsewhere.

So, please, when it comes to time to vote – and I urge everyone to vote on all the stories they read – don’t mark me down because there was insufficient sex. You were warned.

As ever, my gratitude goes out to Estragon, my esteemed editor, OneWhoAdores for plot advice, and MartiniMan who also provided valuable assistance. Thanks guys!

On with the story….

Chapter one – in which they find the ring.

“Ah, Rhonda, I’d like you to meet Jessica. She’ll be joining the team as your assistant and I’d like you to show her the ropes.”

Rhonda looked up from the collection of Aztec artefacts she was busy labelling to see Malcolm, the museum director, standing at the door to the room. He was accompanied by a tall, leggy blonde and, immediately, Rhonda’s hackles went up. For months, even with working insane hours, she had been struggling to meet deadlines and, time after time, her pleas for an assistant had been turned down with the limited budget cited as the reason. And now, without one iota of consultation she was having this… clotheshorse… foisted on her. She knew she was being unfair, she knew she was letting her prejudices get the better of her, but from the stiletto heels to the Barbie pink hairgrip in her strawberry blonde hair, this woman had ‘bimbo’ written right the way though her like Blackpool rock. What was worse was the way in which Rhonda hadn’t been brought into any part of the selection procedures. What was Malcolm thinking of?

“I thought we hadn’t got any money in the budget for new staff,” Rhonda stated testily.

“Ah, yes, well, err…,” Malcolm was obviously flustered, “perhaps if I could have a private word. Jessica, if you would be so kind as to just wait here for a moment.” He took Rhonda by the arm and led her to a quiet corner.

“Yes, there’s no money in the budget and, yes, I’ve turned down every staff request you’ve made but that’s why I thought you’d be glad of a little help.”

“Help? Yeah, I could do with help but who the hell ever heard of an archaeologist in four-inch heels, a micro skirt and a boob tube? Who is she and why has she been chosen when there are so many good candidates crying out for work?”

“She’s Jessica Poulton, sole daughter of Lord Poulton, the CEO of MegaCorp. Lord Poulton has just made a very generous donation to the facility, very generous indeed, and, whilst employing his daughter wasn’t exactly a precondition of the donation, he did make it clear that he would be upset if we couldn’t find a way to accommodate her.”

“OK, OK. I get the message,” Rhonda said with a sigh. “Money talks, as always. So, the bimbo, does she know anything about our work?”

“Please, Rhonda, she’s not a bimbo. I wouldn’t have countenanced accepting her is she wasn’t properly qualified. Of course she has a degree in archaeology. She graduated from East Wessex last year; only a lower third, I’ll admit, but it is a degree.”

“And did East Wessex also get a ‘generous donation’ around about the same time?”

“I really couldn’t say, although, come to think of it, their new library complex was only opened recently.”

“And what about fieldwork? Has she done anything practical?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“So, let me put all this together. Daddy’s little girl comes of age and for some daft reason she thinks she’s Lara Croft or something. God knows why, archaeology is hardly a common fantasy job. Anyway, her indulgent father then starts pulling strings, makes lots of tax-deductible ‘generous donations’ and she ends up here. Heaven help us when she finds out that this is the real world and not Tomb Raider.”

“Rhonda, you’re so cynical, but, yes, that’s about it, I suppose.”

“Fabulous. And, having accepted your thirty pieces of silver, you chose muggings here to babysit her.” Rhonda’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Come along, don’t be like that. She may not be the brightest star in the firmament but at least she wants to work here.”

“Unlike all the highly qualified postgrad students whose job prospects currently involve flipping burgers or stacking shelves at Tesco, I suppose.”

“Rhonda, please, if you knew how hard it is to raise funds in this day and age…. With her father’s money in the bank we might even be able to afford to keep this place open. And, if he can be persuaded to make another donation, we would be able, at long last, to think about some fieldwork. If we had some money in the bank we could, dare I say it, manage an expedition to Peru next year and, if such an expedition were to go ahead, I’m sure we’d give due consideration to those who had made the effort to assist in fund raising.”

“Look after her for a year, get her to persuade daddy istanbul escort to pony up some more wonga, and, in return, I get to go to Peru; is that what you’re saying?”

“I wouldn’t start packing your suitcase quite yet but, put it this way, without her father’s money, none of us are going anywhere. Anyway, it won’t be forever. As you say, she must have some Tomb Raider fantasy; I’m sure she’ll get bored rigid when she finds out what the job really involves. Look after her for me, maybe even butter her up a bit, and, when she goes, I’ll see what I can do.”

Rhonda looked across at the blonde and sighed deeply. For all her misgivings she understood the realpolitik of fundraising in the current financial climate. If employing this bimbo was what was needed to keep the research institute alive and, with it, the promise of her dream trip to Peru, then so be it. Rhonda pushed her misgivings to one side and, together, they went back to where Jessica was waiting and started the induction process.

“It’s not as if she’s got two brain cells to rub together,” Rhonda complained to her friend, Chris, as, that evening, they shared a quiet pint or two together in the saloon bar of the Golden Ball.

“Never mind her brain, what about the bod? Is she pretty? Does she make you hot? Do you dream of introducing her to illicit Sapphic pleasures? Would you shag her?”

“Sex, sex, sex, that’s all you gay boys think about. Would I shag her? Nah, not my type. Ok, so I’ll admit that she’s certainly eye candy and she has got the cutest little tush, but I want someone I can talk to afterwards.”

It said a great deal about Rhonda and Chris’s relationship that they could have this conversation at all. Rhonda was an out lesbian and had been since the age of fourteen. Whilst she wasn’t exactly a separatist, she was bored and exasperated by the way most men seemed fascinated by her sexuality and would focus on nothing else. Chris, an equally out gay, made a refreshing change from all this. They had been thrown together when they had shared student digs as freshers and now, nearly a decade later, they were still firm friends. He, at least, was free of the clichéd responses; he didn’t want to “watch” nor was he convinced that she could “cured” by meeting a “real man”, a viewpoint she had heard far too often and found deeply insulting. It wasn’t just the clichés, her real bug-bear were those who thought that being a lesbian was all she was, who never went past that to see her as a human being.

Anyway, even if she did secretly fancy Jessica a little bit, her gaydar hadn’t detected the slightest sign of any interest. Rhonda was not one of those who got off on seducing straight girls; she knew from bitter experience all about those who dabbled, those who played at being ‘bi-curious’, those who just wanted to ‘try it once’ or fool around with other girls so as to make themselves more alluring to men. No, there were plenty of other fish in the sea without getting involved where she wasn’t wanted.

The next few weeks confirmed Rhonda’s worst fears. Jessica was, indeed, a total airhead. Her knowledge of archaeology was sketchy at best and, without her father pulling strings in the background, she’d struggle to get a job on the checkout counter at the local supermarket, let alone a university research facility. Her main topic of conversation seemed to be her boyfriend, Jeremy, and what they did at the weekends. From Monday to Wednesday she’d rehash the previous weekend’s activities, while Thursday and Friday were spent anticipating the next. Rhonda found Jessica’s endless wittering about West End wine bars, hooray Henries, and all night parties tiring in the extreme. Worse still was the way that Jessica seemed to worship Jeremy and was, forever, singing his praises. It seemed that he was some hotshot in the world of banking and well on his way to being a millionaire. Other than that her main occupation was avidly reading ‘Hello’ and ‘OK’ magazines and she would comment endlessly on the comings and goings of the celebrities portrayed within.

But, to Rhonda’s mind, far worse than her mindless gossip, were Jessica’s limited aspirations. All Jessica’s dreams seemed to revolve around Jeremy and Jessica seemed to think that the most important thing she could do was to be his wife and helpmeet, or, it would seem, personal slave. Even Jessica’s quite genuine, if rather amateur, interest in archaeology was secondary to this. Jessica explained that, once they were married, she would be far too busy being his wife to keep up a career of her own. Just as with her magazines, Jessica seemed unable to define herself except through the comings and goings of other people.

So, driven to distraction by her wittering, Rhonda assigned Jessica to the easy, if repetitive, jobs, the ones she could be left to do on her own, and by doing so, she was able to free up more time for her to spend on the real work.

And then, one day, it all changed. Jessica had settled in and, despite her limitations, she could be relied upon to do the slow and steady job of bahçeşehir escort cataloguing. With this in mind Rhonda set her the task of sorting out an old bequest. A local bigwig, Lord Breck, had died back in the sixties and, as part of dealing with his estate, the contents of his attic had been donated to the museum in lieu of death duties. Rhonda suspected that the museum staff had known at the time that this was a stitch-up because, for all those decades, the collection of tea chests had been left in a corner in the basement without so much as a formal inventory. Now the space was needed for a new x-ray machine and, rather than just chuck the whole lot in the skip, Rhonda tasked Jessica with making a comprehensive list, of sorting the wheat from the chaff. Together they went down to the basement and removed the dustsheets that had covered the collection for so long. What they found was a long row of tea chests, each bulging with odds and sods, the most obvious being a set of golf clubs standing proud above the rest. Together they hauled them out into the centre of the room.

“But it’s all just junk!” Jessica complained.

“Did you think you were going to get Tutankhamen’s tomb from the get-go?” Rhonda replied quite crossly.

“No, but this… this is just rubbish!”

“How do you know? Have you sorted through it all? Have you examined each piece and assessed whether it’s rubbish or not? No? Well, that’s what I’m asking you to do. No, that’s what I’m telling you to do.”

“But I really thought….”

“I don’t care what you really thought. I don’t care about your schoolgirl fantasies. This is where it gets real. It’s not Tomb Raider and you’re not Laura Croft. Real archaeology is the hard graft of sorting through rubbish looking for the good bits. If you don’t want to do it, then I know plenty of PhD students who give their right arm to be in your place.”

“Please, Rhonda…,” Jessica had tears in her eyes.

“Oh, just get on with it.” And with that Rhonda stormed off.

Two hours later Rhonda’s temper had subsided. She had been a little harsh. The poor girl had been right, it was all just rubbish and Rhonda had been mean and unsympathetic and now she was beginning to feel guilty about it. On a more practical level, an upset Jessica would end up crying to daddy who, in turn, would withdraw his funding and that would put paid to any chance of Peru. As such it was incumbent upon her, both as a decent human being and for the sake of her career, to go and make peace. She went back down to the basement and over to where Jessica was still working away.

As Rhonda approached she could see that Jessica was actually doing a decent job. She had cleared some space on the table and was making a number of distinct piles. Jessica looked up with her puppy-dog eyes, and Rhonda felt even guiltier at her earlier outburst.

“My, you have done well,” she said, turning to the first pile and looking through it. “You were right, of course, it probably is all rubbish but you never know.”

“No, you were right. It’s not all rubbish, even if most of it is. I did find one or two bits that might be interesting,” Jessica admitted. “There’s this jewellery box, for example.”

Jessica picked up a black lacquer box with an intricate inlaid mother-of-pearl design and handed it to Rhonda who opened it up and looked inside where it was equally elaborate and well crafted.

“This is nice, isn’t it? If I had to guess I’d say eighteenth century and from the Far East. Of course, I’m no expert on this sort of thing; we’ll have to take it to Mark and see what he makes of it. It doesn’t really fit with the rest of the museum’s collection so we’ll probably end up selling it but, even so, it’s a useful find and the money will come in handy for the institute. Was it empty when you found it?”

“No, it was full of this jewellery.” Jessica pointed to one of the piles on the table. “I’ve had a look through and it’s all costume, nothing of any value and, trust me, I do know this one.” She looked at Rhonda and they exchanged a smile, each acknowledging that this was one area where Jessica did have some expertise. Perhaps the earlier row had cleared the air a bit.

“But there is one piece that doesn’t quite fit with the rest,” Jessica went on. “This,” she picked up a golden ring with a dark stone that she had placed aside from the main pile and showed it to Rhonda, “it’s not like the others, it’s far better made, for one thing. What’s more, I don’t recognise the stone. At first I thought it was an opal but it’s weird. I mean, every time I look at it it’s a different colour. Do you remember those “mood” rings you used to get when we were kids?”

“I was never much into rings,” Rhonda replied.

“No, I guess not,” Jessica continued. “And then, there’s the setting. It looks a bit like gold but there are no hallmarks or anything. Here, have a close look.”

She held the ring under the big magnifying lamp and, together, they examined it. Rhonda reached out and took it from Jessica bakırköy escort and, as she did so, the tips of their fingers touched. Suddenly Rhonda wasn’t looking at the ring anymore but at Jessica’s fingers, so slim, so elegant, so manicured, so pretty. What they really needed was… and, before she knew what she was doing, she had slipped the ring onto the fourth finger of Jessica’s left hand.

For a moment the two woman just stood there in silence, quite shocked at what Rhonda had done. They were still effectively holding hands under the lamp and Rhonda was suddenly aware of the heat it gave off.

“You silly thing,” Jessica said with a giggle. “What did you do that for?”

“I don’t know… look… I mean… I… sorry… I… I didn’t mean to. You had best take it off,” Rhonda said, flustered.

“It does look nice,” Jessica said, turning her hand under the magnifying light, enjoying the way the colours shimmered. “Oh well, I suppose I have to.” She held the ring with the fingers of her right hand and pulled. However, the ring refused to budge. “That’s funny, it’s stuck.”

“Stop messing around. It went on easy enough; it must come off just as easy.”

“I’m not messing around, it’s stuck.”

“Here, let me.” Rhonda reached for Jessica’s hand and pulled on the ring. Jessica hadn’t been messing around, it really was stuck.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Rhonda said as she once again tugged at the ring.

“Ow, you’re hurting me!”

“Sorry. Look, I’m not good with rings. What do you suggest?”

“Soap sometimes works. I’ll go to the loos and see what I can do.”

When Jessica hadn’t returned fifteen minutes later Rhonda went to find her. She was holding her hand under the cold tap and, yes, the ring was still on her finger.

“I’ve tried just about everything,” Jessica said as Rhonda approached. “Hot water, cold water, I’ve used half the soap in the dispenser and it really won’t shift.”

“Let me have another look.”

But, however much Rhonda and Jessica worked at it the ring was going nowhere.

“Look,” Rhonda said at last. “We’ve wasted enough time over this. It’s obviously stuck; we’ll have to leave it for a while. Are you OK with that?”

“What about… well, it’s not mine.”

“Yeah, I know but… no one’s going to miss it. When you finally get it off then you can give it back. In the meanwhile, it looks like you’re stuck with it, literally.”

“Thanks, Rhonda,” Jessica gushed.

“I’m not giving it to you. It’s just that the only options are cutting the ring or amputating your finger off and I don’t think we’re ready for either of those yet. Now, we’ve wasted enough time on this; let’s see what else you’ve unearthed.”

And the two women returned to the basement and carried on documenting the collection.

When Jessica came in to work the next day, and the day after, still wearing the ring, Rhonda began to write it off as one of those things. Not so easy to write off was the strange way that she suddenly found herself becoming more aware of Jessica, where she was and how she was feeling. It was nothing she could pin down but, for example, she just ‘knew’ when Jessica arrived for work in the morning. Rhonda’s rational and scientific mind put this down to her hearing, albeit subconsciously, the distinctive sound of the exhaust from Jessica’s Audi TTS. But then, at the Friday staff meeting, she suddenly had the unmistakable sensation that her shoes were too tight, that they were pinching. As Rhonda wore her “old faithful” pair of cherry red fourteen hole Doc Martens this didn’t make sense. However, she could feel Jessica squirm beside her and, when Rhonda glanced down, she saw Jessica slip off her shoes and wriggle her toes. Rhonda had to stop herself from sighing at the sense of relief as the shoes slipped off. This was crazy, it wasn’t her toes that were free, it was Jessica’s but, before she could follow this line of thought, she was distracted by Malcolm asking her a about progress on her latest project.

And then, far more disturbing, was the dream. On Sunday evening Rhonda had been to the pub and, to be fair, had sunk a few pints before returning to her flat around eleven at night. She had shucked off her clothes, given herself a quick wash, checked the alarm was set and collapsed into bed. Within moments she was drifting off into a deep sleep.

…please don’t be angry… please don’t be angry at me… you’ve had too much to drink… please! Please!… Ow! She recoils in horror as the fist strikes her temple and knocks her back onto the bed… half stunned she just lies there as he unbuttons himself, pushing his trousers to his knees revealing his rock hard penis… he’s coming for her… he grabs her by the ankles and rolls her over… he’s on the bed crawling towards her… his hands pin down her shoulders and he collapses on top of her… the reek of whisky from his breath… his hand groping at her panties… pulling them viciously aside… please… please… not there… please… his prick pushing against her backside, pushing, pushing… the pain as it breaks through, as he forces himself inside her, thrusting, invading, forcing himself inside… scream, bitch, scream, he snarls… she won’t… she won’t… she won’t… aaargh!!! Aargh!!! Please! Jeremy! Please! Stop… stop… stop… stop…

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