>>5268
>vixen and hubby have moved to the couch by the time you return
>heart fluttering, you peek under the napkin
>...damn
>ring's still there
>guess nobody's having their second dessert tonight
>you slip it back on and go to pull the usual trio of after-dinner espresso shots
>a lovely chat over coffee later, you rise to walk her to the door as any good hostess should
>and when she clasps your hands for the parting peck on the cheek, you feel her thumb brush over your ring
>"Well then," she says, "have a safe trip home."
>Huh?
>your eyes flick down between her breasts
>where the lowest point of her chain, hitherto hidden by angle of view, is revealed to bear a golden ring
>a golden ring that looks exactly like the one presently around the fourth finger of your left hand
>without another word, vixen pivots and struts back down the hallway as though she owns the place
>dead silence aside from her footsteps and your heart's sudden thundering under your throat
>and just before the lounge door closes the brief, sharp hiss of her skirt's side zipper
>your pussy knows that sound as surely as Pavlov's dogs recognized his bell,
>and so suddenly you're struggling to draw breath to pant with, pulse-drum beating time behind your clit,
>as with shaking hand you pull off your ring and raise it so that the light catches its inner rim,
>where you know what you'll see engraved, no question-
>yet instead: a simple, perfect little heart
>next to today's date