To the Egyptian Museum

The Morning Shift – A Return to Shadows

The sun peeked through the Alps, the early morning light spilled through showering the towering glass façade of the Egyptian Museum, long, golden fingers ran across the polished marble floors. The air smelled of aged papyrus, lemon-scented cleaning agents, and the faint metallic tang of ancient relics—familiar, comforting, a world away from last night Breeding Hunt debauchery.

Stefano adjusted his tie in the reflection of a display case, his dark eyes flickering with something unreadable. The Osiris ring sat heavy on his finger, its power muted—for now. He had spent the bus ride sealing away the worst of his abilities, locking the incubus hunger behind layers of self-control. He needed to blend in again, to play the part of the unassuming museum archivist.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun.

The First Test: Marina – The Haughty Receptionist

Marina’s high heels clicked against the marble like a metronome counting down to Stefano’s patience. She was already at her desk, her platinum blonde hair swept into a severe updo, her blood-red nails tapping impatiently against the keyboard. Her blouse—silk, expensive, deliberately unbuttoned just enough to showcase the swell of her massive breasts—strained with every breath.

Stefano smirked.

Perfect.

“Stefano,” she drawled, not bothering to look up as he approached. “You’re late.”

He wasn’t.

But Marina had made it her personal mission to dump every tedious administrative task onto him ever since Dmitry, her construction tycoon husband, had stopped fucking her.

“My apologies,” Stefano murmured, his voice smooth, his fingers brushing the edge of her desk. The Osiris ring pulsed, its energy a whisper against her mind. “I didn’t realize you were waiting for me.”

Marina’s fingers stilled on the keyboard. A faint flush crept up her neck.

“I—I wasn’t waiting,” she snapped, but her voice lacked its usual venom.

Stefano leaned in, just slightly, letting the scent of his cologne—dark, expensive, predatory—wash over her. “Of course not,” he murmured. “But since I’m here… why don’t you let me help you with those files?”

The ring glowed, just for a second.

Marina’s pupils dilated. Her lips parted.

“Y-yes,” she breathed, her fingers trembling as she pushed a stack of paperwork toward him. “That would be… helpful.”

Stefano smiled, taking the files. “Good girl.”

Marina shivered, her thighs pressing together beneath the desk.

---

---

The Intervention: Antonio – The Loyal Friend

“Madonna Santa, Stefano, you’re letting her walk all over you again.”

Antonio’s voice boomed across the atrium, his heavy security boots thudding against the marble as he strode over. He was a bear of a man—broad-shouldered, thick-bearded, his uniform stretched tight over muscles earned from years of hauling drunk tourists out of the exhibits.

Stefano turned, feigning surprise. “Antonio. You’re early.”

“And you’re too damn nice,” Antonio grumbled, shooting Marina a glare. “She’s been dumping her work on you for weeks.”

Marina bristled, her momentary daze shattered. “I do not—”

“Save it, principessa,” Antonio cut her off, waving a hand. “We all know you’re just pissed Dmitry’s too busy banging his secretary to pay attention to you.”

Marina’s face flamed. “You—!”

Stefano suppressed a smirk.

Antonio clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, brother. Let’s get coffee before the tourists swarm.”

As they walked toward the staff lounge, Antonio studied him. “You’ve changed, Stefano.”

Stefano raised a brow. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Antonio’s dark eyes narrowed. “You stand taller. Talk smoother. Even Marina flinched when you spoke.” He grinned. “Nice to see you out of that slump.”

Stefano chuckled. “Maybe I just got tired of being pushed around.”

His rugged friend laughed, shaking his bald head. “Whatever it is, keep it up. Maria’s been asking about you, you know.”

Stefano’s fingers twitched.

Maria.

Antonio’s wife.

His lover for the last three years.

The guilt was a dull knife in the middle-aged archeologist's ribs.

“Has she?” Stefano kept his voice light.

“Yeah,” Antonio sighed, rubbing his beard. “Says you’re the only one who listens to her ravings.” He snorted. “Probably because you’re not too busy chasing Swedish girls half your age, eh?”

Stefano’s jaw tightened.

Antonio didn’t know.

The trusty security guard didn’t know that Maria had seen him, her husband's cock buried deep inside a Nordic beauty's cunt, busy doing a thorough search up the slutty homewrecker's tight pussy for anything suspicious... Those girls—blonde, lithe, young enough to be his daughter, Miranda, a brilliant university student.

Antonio didn’t know that Maria had sobbed in Stefano’s arms that night, her voluptuous body trembling with betrayal.

The trusty security guard didn’t know that Stefano had comforted her. No, not just that. His best friend had been more than a shoulder to cry on.

Maria had used Stefano's cock to get even, the voluptuous milf had impaled that fat ass, those sinful kept parading on family dinners, on her husband's best friend with vengeful lust.

"I don't know if I exploited Maria's weakness to get over Jessica, my own wife's cheating streak..."

He had enjoyed ruining Antonio's wife, left the sweet milf with a gaping asshole every weekend.

"No, it was Maria who seduced me. If that fat assed bitch really wanted to stay faithful to her husband, all she had to do was push me away when I 'overplayed' my hand."

The memory was still fresh in his mind...

---

The Seduction – A Wife’s Silent Rebellion

The Obelisk and the Swedish hottie

The Egyptian wing of the museum was always deserted after rush hour, its towering artifacts casting long shadows under the dim emergency lighting. Stefano leaned against the railing of the second-floor balcony, his fingers drumming an idle rhythm as he kept watch. Below, the rhythmic slap of flesh against flesh echoed through the cavernous hall, punctuated by breathy moans that bounced off the ancient stone.

Antonio, the married security guard, had the blonde Swedish tourist pinned against the base of the Thutmose III obelisk, her toned legs wrapped around his waist, the young woman's designer dress hiked up around her hips. The girl—Linn, or Lena, or some other Nordic name Stefano couldn’t be bothered to remember—clawed at Antonio’s uniform shirt, her manicured nails leaving red trails down his chest.

"Faster," she gasped, her accent thick, her blue eyes glazed with lust. "God, yes, just like that—"

Antonio grunted, his thick fingers digging into her thighs as he pistoned into her, his wedding band glinting under the museum’s low lights. Stefano smirked. The man had a wife at home—Maria, the kind of Italian beauty who still turned heads after a decade of marriage—and yet here he was, rutting like an animal against priceless history.

A noise from the hallway made Stefano stiffen. Footsteps. Light, quick—feminine.

Shit.

Maria.

The Interception

Stefano moved before he could think, his body sliding between Maria and the scene below just as she reached the balcony railing.

"Stefano?" Maria blinked up at him, her dark brows knitting together. "What are you—?"

Her gaze flickered past him, toward the muffled sounds of her husband’s infidelity. Stefano didn’t give her time to process.

"Maria!" He grinned, wide and disarming, and before she could react, he pulled her into a hug—one hand sliding around her waist, the other just brushing the curve of her ass. She stiffened, a soft "Oh!" escaping her lips as his fingers lingered, warm and possessive, on the swell of her hip.

"You look incredible tonight," he murmured, his lips close to her ear. "Antonio never told me you were coming for a late tour."

Maria’s cheeks flushed, her full lips parting in surprise. She should have slapped him. She should have shoved him away, demanded to know what was happening below. But Stefano felt the moment her body betrayed her—the slight hitch in her breath, the way her pulse jumped under his fingertips.

"I—I just came to bring him dinner," she stammered, her voice unsteady. "He forgot it this morning."

Stefano’s thumb traced slow circles over her hipbone, his touch just shy of inappropriate. "Lucky man," he said, his voice low. "Though if I were him, I wouldn’t forget anything about you."

Maria’s breath hitched again. Behind them, the sounds from below grew louder—Linn’s high-pitched whine, Antonio’s ragged groans. Maria tensed, her eyes darting toward the railing.

Stefano tightened his grip, pulling her closer. "Ignore that," he murmured, his lips brushing her temple. "Just some tourists getting handsy with the exhibits."

Maria swallowed hard. "Stefano, I—"

"You’re too good for him," Stefano whispered, his hand sliding up to cradle the back of her neck. "You know that, don’t you?"

For a heartbeat, Maria wavered—her loyalty warring with something darker, something hungry. Then, with a shaky exhale, she leaned into his touch.

Stefano smiled.

Checkmate.

The Reckoning: A Vengeful Wife's Retribution

Saving his best friend's marriage?

Antonio burst through the basement door, his breath ragged, his uniform shirt clinging to his sweat-slicked chest. His zipper gaped open, the metal teeth still uneven where he'd yanked it up in haste. He didn't even notice the gun lying abandoned on the concrete floor—the one he'd dropped in his frantic scramble to appear presentable.

Maria stood motionless by the reception desk, her hazel eyes tracking every damning detail: the smear of lipstick on his collar, the way his belt buckle was fastened wrong, the faint scent of some floral perfume clinging to his skin. Her fingers tightened around the Tupperware of cold lasagna she'd brought him, the plastic creaking under her grip.

Stefano watched from the shadows, his pulse quickening as Maria's demeanor shifted. There was no screaming, no tears—just a slow, terrifying calm settling over her like a shroud. Her gaze flicked past Antonio to the stairwell, where the petite Swedish blonde emerged moments later, her lips swollen, her hair mussed. The girl didn't even glance their way before disappearing into the women's bathroom.

Maria exhaled through her nose, a soft, controlled sound. Then she smiled.

"You forgot your gun, amore," she said, her voice sweet as poisoned honey. She nudged the weapon with the toe of her pump. "What would your boss say if she knew you left it lying around?"

Antonio paled. "Maria, I—"

"Eat your dinner," she interrupted, shoving the Tupperware into his chest. "Before it gets cold."

She turned on her heel and walked away, her wide hips swaying deliberately, the click of her heels echoing through the empty museum. Stefano caught the way her fingers trembled—not with grief, but with something far more dangerous.

Antonio stared after her, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. "Stefano, what the fuck do I do?"

Stefano took a long drag of his cigarette, the ember glowing in the dim light. "Pray," he said simply.

The First Taste of ****

The following Saturday, Stefano found himself standing outside Antonio's apartment, his knuckles hovering over the door. He shouldn't be here. He knew he shouldn't be here. But Maria had texted him an hour ago—"Antonio’s in Genoa. Miranda’s at a sleepover. Come over."—and now here he was, his cock already half-hard at the thought of what awaited him.

The door swung open before he could knock. Maria stood there, barefoot, wearing nothing but one of Antonio's dress shirts. The fabric barely covered her thighs, the top buttons undone to reveal the swell of her breasts. Her dark hair was loose around her shoulders, her lips painted a sinful red.

"You're late," she murmured, grabbing his tie and yanking him inside.

The door slammed shut behind them. Maria pushed him against it, her hands roaming over his chest, her nails scraping through the fabric of his shirt. "You knew," she whispered, her breath hot against his neck. "You watched him fuck that little bitch. She could have been his daughter for fuck's sake! Stefano, w-would you cheat on your wife with someone Rebecca's age?"

Stefano swallowed hard. "Maria—"

"Don't," she hissed, grinding against him, her heat searing through his slacks. "Just fuck me. Ruin me. Make me forget he exists."

Her mouth crashed against his, all teeth and tongue and vengeance. Stefano groaned into the kiss, his hands sliding under the shirt to grip her bare ass. She wasn't wearing panties.

Maria broke away, panting. "Bedroom. Now."

The Broken Marriage. Vengeful Corruption

Maria's bedroom smelled like lavender and betrayal. The framed wedding photo on the nightstand watched as Stefano pushed her onto the mattress, as she spread her legs and hooked her ankles around his waist.

"No condom," she ordered, her fingers working his belt. "I want to feel it. I want him to smell you on me when he fucks me next."

Stefano's cock throbbed at the thought. "God, Maria—"

"Don't talk," she snapped, guiding him inside with a sharp roll of her hips. "Just give it to me."

The first thrust punched a moan from her lips. Maria arched beneath him, her nails raking down his back, her thighs clamping around him like a vise. "Harder," she demanded, her voice breaking. "I'm not some fragile little girl—fuck me like you mean it!"

Stefano obeyed, slamming into her with enough **** to shake the bedframe. Maria's head tossed back, her cries muffled by the pillow she bit into. Every snap of his hips was a punishment—for Antonio, for herself, for the years of neglect and lies.

"Yes," she sobbed, her body tightening around him. "God, yes—fill me up, Stefano. Let him taste you when he licks me clean—"

The image sent him over the edge. Stefano came with a groan, his hips stuttering as he spilled inside her, his forehead pressed to her shoulder. Maria clenched around him, milking every last drop, her own climax wracking her body in silent, shuddering waves.

For a long moment, the only sound was their ragged breathing. Then Maria laughed—a low, dark sound that sent a shiver down Stefano's spine.

"Next Saturday," she murmured, tracing idle circles on his chest. "Same time. And Stefano?" She tilted her head, her smile sharp as a blade. "Don't ever feel guilty."

Outside, a car alarm blared. Somewhere in the city, Antonio was oblivious.

His marriage was over.

And Maria?

She was just getting started.

---

And now, the voluptuous milf always needed her share of weekend booty calls, Maria had become an anal addict whore-wife hungry for her husband's best friend, lusting for Stefano's throbbing cock deep in her fat ass.

"Who am I fooling? I wanted it as much as she did. We were both getting cheated on, it is completely fair to square the deal."

All to save his buddy's marriage... Right? Stefano was too lost in his own thoughts to realize the conversation had already moved to the day's evening plans.

“You should come for dinner,” Antonio said, oblivious. “Miranda’s home from university this week.”

Stefano’s pulse spiked.

Miranda.

Antonio’s daughter.

The spitting image of her mother at that age—slender, dark-eyed, innocent yet curious. Stefano had spotted the raven haired beauty spying on them while her mom got that fat hungry ass split on his cock...

“S-sure, I’d love to, I'll see you later then” Stefano lied, stuttering while his mind was busy planning.

For some reason, Antonio's daughter had kept quiet about her mom, Maria's affair.

"Poor Miranda, she is stuck between a cheating father and an anal slut mother, I guess the young minx fears tearing apart her family by exposing either side. And in the midst of the chaos I get to fuck her mom's ass as stress relief... Never thought Antonio's daughter would have a voyeuristic streak."

The Osiris ring burned against his finger. Maybe he could involve Miranda more... With his new hypnotic charm, setting up a threesome shouldn't be too hard, right?

Well, for now Stefano still had to do his job as a tour guide though.