Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks

Instantly, the Magical Tool materialized in my palm; it was in the form of a ring.

Without hesitation, I pictured the blueprint of a futuristic drone that moves and changes like a bird that is in the air. The Magical Tool was transformed by my command, conforming to the visual I had imagined. So it went its way.

The device changed its shape, its surface flowing as if it were molten.

First, the wings were revealed—the wings, scar, and talons of a bird of prey were reminiscent of the creature, but made of a different, lighter, and stronger material.

Maybe a composite or some alloy without a name I had.

The torso was lengthening and its diameter was decreasing until it was a sleek fuselage, but it was not reflecting the light; rather, it was absorbing it. A stealth design.

The tail got stable, and it was now two separated vertical fins, both had small lights that were flickering—sensors, embedded.

On the other hand, a remote came into view, a small screen lit up, its interface was as clear and simple as if it were always with me.

The drone was making a soft, low, and almost inaudible humming that suggested it was in standby mode.

I simply ignored the humming and went on with my work.

I quickly launched it into the air with just one motion of my wrist.

The drone was propelled forward just like a bullet from a gun.

No, even faster.

Mid-flight, it adjusted its wings, angling for optimal aerodynamics, and then it was gone—a black line against the blue, its speed insane.

The remote screen was updating in real-time, a meter that was showing numbers that made my jaw drop:

MACH 1.2.

MACH 1.5.

MACH 1.8.

It was not only super-fast but also faster than sound, an unseen hunter that was slicing the air.

On the remote, the drone’s cameras were zooming, focusing, and they were targeting that place.

The helicopter was still far away, a small dark point against a light blue sky; however, the drone was moving forward quickly.

The distance counter on the screen plummeted:

5 km.

3 km.

1 km.

And then—there.

The drone slowed, matching the helicopter’s speed, hovering just outside its rotor wash. The feed was crystal clear, the image stabilizing as the drone’s AI compensated for the wind. I could see everything.

A military-grade Black Hawk, its dark green paint job marked with faded insignia. The side door was open, and inside—

Four men.

All of them were dressed in completely black tactical gear, wearing helmets with visors, and having their rifles hanging on their chests. Their faces were not seen, but their stances were on a high level of military soldiers.

Not simply any soldiers. A commando unit.

One of the group was using his radio to talk. The wind carried his voice away, but his face showed that the matter was serious. The other person who was looking at the gun was getting ready with his hand movements that were smooth and very typical of the occasion.

Who in the name of God are these guys?

The aircraft swung to the side, going down toward a valley—not merely a valley.

A citadel.

The drone moved, taking a step backward to get a larger view of the site, and my stomach flipped.

The location was a base that was not easily identifiable. The whole place was enclosed by a huge metal fence, at least twenty feet in height, which was topped with coiled razor wire that was sparkling in the sunlight.

Observation towers were standing at every corner, where guards with rifles were positioned, and their guns were reflecting the light. Along with the fence, there were motion sensors and security cameras, and their red lights were blinking.

And inside?

Row after row of modern wooden houses.

Not huts. Not shacks.

Luxury.

They were both two-story buildings, with big glass windows, solar panels on the roofs, and outdoor verandas that were nicely furnished with chairs and tables.

Right through the compound was a main thoroughfare which was paved and smooth, and on both sides, there were street lamps. People walked from one house to another—men, women, and children—who were all wearing neat and modern clothes. Some carried tablets, others pushed strollers.

What. The. FUCK.

This wasn’t just a military outpost.

This was a colony.

A hidden one.

This was a high-end futuristic concept for a base that has been nestled in the middle of nowhere; it was like a piece of the future was lying sideways inside the past as I absorbed all its elements unseen and noiseless, the drone with a satellite on its back, the sun being reflected by the parabolic surface, cables going underground, the generator making its low regular breathing and the power lines that were going into the earth like veins.

Not far were the jeeps, loaded with weapons, waiting to work and standing straight in their spots next to the hangar with their wheels covered in old mud, and their machine guns reflecting the light. The old and worn-out pads with faded and dirty letters were the ones used for landing; the mark HQ-7 was barely distinguishable under the dust.

And then I saw the fields.

The houses were surrounded by rows of crops that seemed to go on forever—corn, wheat, fruits, and vegetables that I had never seen before, all of them were growing in a very orderly manner and being watered by a system of pipes and sprinklers.

People wearing simple but durable modern clothes were walking between the plants and taking care of them. Some of them had handheld devices and were doing such things as checking the ground and controlling the water supply.

How long have they been here?

Months? Years?

This wasn’t a temporary camp.

This was a permanent settlement.

I needed answers.

I lowered the drone from above, just enough to escape the enemy’s sight. Without much effort, I changed its shape—its wings folding, its body getting lighter, twisting till it was not a sky terror but something smaller and less dangerous.

One that did not attract any attention.

A mouse.

Definitely the stealthiest one out of the stealthiest materials, with a surface resembling the fur, with tiny red eyes that were very bright initially, but then they dimmed to the same level as those of the real ones. It ran ahead with a natural, unbelievable manner as if it had always been alive.

The feed changed to sound and video, the drone’s ultra-sensitive mics catching an indistinct whisper, timid footsteps, and soldiers clanking their equipment.

The mouse-drone easily navigated through the houses with no sound coming from its tiny paws on the ground.

The first voices it picked up were civilian—a woman and a child, their words soft but clear:

”—harvest next week, if the weather holds.”

”Mama, can I go to the stream after?”

”No, sweetie. Not until the soldiers say it’s safe.”

Soldiers? Safe from what?