Deep into the abyss

But the tattoo swirling on his lower abdomen wouldn’t let him stay focused. Its pulse grew insistent, a drumbeat in his core that demanded attention. “Hold that thought,” he muttered, standing abruptly, the excuse of needing a shower spilling out before he could stop it.

Rebecca blinked, the spell fraying, yet she still nodded, her cheeks flushed. His load was still dripping down her chin, yet it seemed perfectly normal for the slender redhead... She took a pale finger to her cheek, dragging her dad's tainted goop inside those luscious cocksucking pillow lips, “Ah, s-sure, Dad. I’ll… keep sorting t-these photos.”

The emerald eyed minx stood up, her toned legs trembled almost falling over, wet pussy-juice trailed down her thighs. Rebecca moved back to my desk, unaware of her own naked fat ass dragging along Stefano's throbbing cock as she smiled while shifting away from between her dad's legs.

Fuck, her memories were getting jumbled... Rebecca must have thought they were still rifling through the museum's polaroids. Well, it seemed no morning wood boner relief, for now. She giggled, with the corner of her eyes his daughter must have noticed both his raging boner and how hard her own father was ogling at her jiggling bubble but,

"D-do you need... Anything, anything else, daddy?"

Her voice was too soft, too pliant, and it sent a dark thrill through him as he retreated to the bathroom. Rebecca's charms were too dangerous. NO, she was in danger. The breeding urges, the ring's whispers threatened to overwhelm Stefano's sanity. He couldn't stay in the same room with her. The door clicked shut, and Stefano stripped down, the mirror fogging from the hot shower he didn’t walk into yet.

"What the hell..."

The tattoo was vivid now, its violet swirls snaking wider, alive under his skin. He pressed a palm to it, and the ring flared, dragging him back to the temple’s edge—shadows moved, priests chanted esoteric incantation, and a voice, deep and guttural, hissed:

Claim her.

Mold her.

His knees buckled, a rush of heat flooding his veins, sharpening his senses until he swore he could smell Rebecca’s perfume through the damn door.

He gripped the sink, muttering the ancient words that had burned into his tongue—Sanskrit, Aramaic, something older. The tattoo pulsed in rhythm, and his reflection shifted, eyes glinting gold for a split second, jaw harder, body leaner.

“F-fuck,” he growled, the ring’s power sinking deeper, rewriting him.

Stefano's mind flashed to Rebecca out there, sorting photos, her body so close, her trust so open. The memory hit like a ****: last week, catching her changing, her towel slipping, that perfect round ass bare before she pulled on those skimpy panties. He’d stroked himself then, ashamed but unable to stop, her emerald eyes catching his in the mirror, shocked but not angry. “Were you peeking, Dad?” she’d asked, playful, not pissed, and now the ring was twisting that moment, making it so vivid. He wanted her closer, wanted to see how far she’d go, how much of his daughter he could shape.

The shower finally roared to life, steam curling around him, but Stefano didn’t step in. He stood there, half-hard, the tattoo’s heat spreading, the ring’s whispers louder. Rebecca was still out there, waiting, maybe wondering why he’d bolted. The power was real, and it was hungry. So was he.