Stay, the main talk could be interesting

You decided to stay at the library. So maybe you weren't a nerd anymore like this crowd. But you still loved fantasy, local history and so on. The main talk was by the local semi-famous professor at the college. Could be interesting, you told yourself.

You were just about to head back to the main room when you heard a strange noise. Like a deep groan.

You looked up... and saw them.

The man was tucked away in a darker corner, where fewer people wandered. A shadowed lounge nook near the back wall, half-hidden behind a leaning bookshelf and a standing lamp with a red silk shade. He lounged like he owned the place. Mid-thirties, maybe early, two-day beard, sharp jawline, eyes like warm steel.

He was surrounded by three women, each one of them attractive and fit, probably early twenties all of them. One sat beside him, running her fingers through his hair. One stood behind him, her hands casually stroking his shoulders through his shirt. The third was in his lap, kissing him a few times, laughing.

You watched them discreetly for a few seconds, wishing you were him. He had to be rich, hung or probably both... The girls didn’t just follow him, they needed him. You could feel it in the way their bodies curved toward him, in the glazed lust in their eyes.

Then you noticed the ring.

He wore a ring. You noticed it only because of the text in the ancient book, and because the firelight hit it just right. Thick, black iron, ancient-looking. It didn’t look like jewelry per se, and the guy didn't wear anything else.

You shaked your head and walked away, letting the lucky guy enjoy his harem in peace. The main talk was starting.

The professor was interviewed by a pierced girl with purple and jet black hair about witches and with-burnings in this region. He mentioned that three centuries ago, a dark wizard had conquered these lands and taken witches for slaves. Apparently. You didn't believe that for a second.

During the break, you wandered, and ended up going toward the east wing. The shelves were taller, the lights dimmer, the air heavier. You weren’t looking for anything, just avoiding the people for a while.

But you heard a giggle. You peeked around a bookshelf.

There he was again. The man, and his girls.

This time he was seated in an old velvet reading chair. One of the women, a redhead, maybe mid twenties now you saw her closer, was on her knees between his legs. Her red hair moved in a way that betrayed her secret. She was sucking his cock. The other two flanked him. One held an open book, the book you had read earlier. She flipped it open on random pages and read aloud, clearly amused, her voice playful and theatrical. She treated it like a party trick, parodying the tone like she was reading a spell from a fantasy game night.

The man stirred suddenly. His eyes opened. A flicker of panic twisted across his perfect features.

"Don't," he said, voice low and strained. "Not out loud. Not that passage."

She laughed, thinking he was just being dramatic, and continued reading.

"...he who bears the seal shall command the tides of lust... and the flesh shall answer."

The ring began to glow, bluish.

You felt it before you saw it. A low hum, like pressure on your eardrums. The air thickened. The redhead moaned around his cock. He leaned back, eyes closed, ring hand resting on the armrest.

And then... it was as if his finger shrunk.

The ring slipped.

It tumbled from his finger, struck the wooden floor with a hard clink, and rolled in your direction. Maybe it had suddenly rejected him. Maybe the words from the old book affected it. In any case, it was no longer on the other man's finger.

You didn't even control your legs. They ran over by the themselves, and you bent down and picked it up.

It was warm. Vibrating. Almost alive.

The hum stopped.

You looked up, and the man screamed.

Not in pleasure.

In agony.

His skin wrinkled like burning paper. His cheeks hollowed. His eyes bulged. His dick shriveled into a small shrimp-like thing. The women screamed. The redhead fell back, covered in spit and panic. The one holding the book dropped it. The third shouted for help.

You pocketed the ring.

The man collapsed into the chair, now shriveled, trembling, ninety years old at least. A security guard came running. Someone called an ambulance. The women followed, crying, confused.