Zeno is still oblivious...

Mara’s Corruption

The dishes clattered in the sink, the rhythmic scrape of sponge against ceramic drowning out the murmurs from the dining table. Zeno hummed to himself, blissfully ignorant of the corruption unfolding mere feet away. The water ran hot over his hands, steam fogging the kitchen window as he scrubbed—oblivious to how his father’s fingers now kneaded the plush flesh of Mara’s thigh beneath the tablecloth.

"M-Mr. Bianchi—“ Mara’s protest died in her throat as Ettore’s thumb pressed against the inseam of her leggings, the rough pad of his finger finding the damp heat between her legs.

"Call me Ettore," the old man purred, his voice layered with something darker—a guttural undertone that vibrated against Mara’s spine like a struck tuning fork. His free hand lifted a forkful of pasta to her lips. "Try this, bella. The sauce is... exquisite."

Mara’s lips parted—not of her own volition, but because her jaw had gone slack, her body responding to the hypnotic pulse thrumming through Nero’s possessed vessel. The fork slid between her teeth, the tang of tomatoes and something else—musky, primal—blooming on her tongue.

"Good girl," Ettore murmured, his knee nudging hers wider.

Mara whimpered, her thighs trembling as his fingers dipped beneath the elastic waistband of her leggings.

In the kitchen, Zeno whistled.

The Raven’s Surrender

By the time the plates were cleared, Mara had migrated from her chair to Ettore’s lap, her massive J-cup tits pressed flush against his chest. The old man’s hands spanned her waist, his thumbs tracing idle circles just beneath the swell of her breasts.

"Zeno," Ettore called, his voice dripping with false warmth. "Be a good boy and clean up. Your fiancée and I are... busy."

Mara giggled—a breathy, dizzy sound that didn’t belong to her. Her head lolled against Ettore’s shoulder, her pupils blown wide as Nero’s influence seeped into her synapses, rewriting her resistance into compliance.

Zeno blinked, his gaze flickering between his father’s hands and Mara’s flushed cheeks. "Uh... sure?"

The faucet roared back to life, drowning out Ettore’s next words—a whispered command that made Mara’s back arch, her nipples pebbling against the thin fabric of her sweater.

"Y-You’re so... hard," she slurred, her hips grinding instinctively against the bulge straining Ettore’s slacks.

Ettore’s grin was all teeth. "You have no idea."

The Cuckold’s Blindness

Zeno returned to find Mara perched on Ettore’s lap, the young woman's skirt hiked up to reveal the creamy expanse of her thighs. His father’s hand "rested" on her knee—fingers splayed, the old man's pinky brushing the damp cotton of her panties.

"Hey," Zeno chirped, oblivious. "What’d I miss?"

Ettore’s other hand "slipped", his palm cupping Mara’s ass with a squeeze that made her squeak. "Just reminiscing about my trip to Phnom Penh," he lied smoothly. "Your girl’s fascinated by my... adventures."

Mara’s breath hitched as Ettore’s fingers crept higher, his nails scraping the lace hem of her thong.

"O-Ohmygod," she gasped, her wide hips twitching.

Zeno beamed. "I’m glad you two are getting along!"

Ettore’s fingers hooked into her panties.

Mara moaned.

Zeno turned to grab a soda.