Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks

Behind us, Drake had stopped at the edge of the tents—watching. Not moving to stop her. Just... staring. Empty.

I marked him again on the map—double flag. Something wasn’t right. But later.

Right now—

I turned Camilla’s chin up with two fingers—forced her to meet my eyes.

”You understand what ’slave’ means?” I asked—low, intimate. ”Means you spread when I say. Suck when I say. Take it in every hole—ass, cunt, throat—until you’re leaking and crying. Means you call me Master.”

”Means your tits, your thighs, that fat Mexican ass—all mine. Means you watch me fuck the others and beg for your turn. Means no more choices. Just obedience. And in return... You eat. You sleep warm. Your kids eat. You live.”

Camilla’s pupils blew wide—breath hitching.

”Yes, Master,” she whispered. ”I understand.”

Megan made a disgusted sound—but she didn’t interfere.

I looked at Mira—still holding Nicole close.

The crimson flush on Mira’s cheeks hadn’t faded—in fact, it burned brighter, scorching her skin as Angela’s voice purred that single, loaded word: ”Master.” Right in front of her daughter. Right in front of everyone.

Mira’s fingers twitched at her sides, her breath hitched, but she didn’t dare protest. She couldn’t. Instead, she offered a tiny, stiff nod, her chin dipping just once in silent, humiliated acceptance. The air between us crackled with the weight of it—her submission, my dominance, and the unspoken understanding that she was now just another piece in this game.

Angela’s smirk was a blade, sharp and dark, her crimson lips curling as her gaze raked over Camilla’s body like a predator sizing up prey.

She didn’t even bother hiding it. Her eyes lingered on Camilla’s overflowing cleavage, the way her tight dress clung to every curve, the way her hips swayed with each step.

”God, I can already taste her,” Angela murmured, low enough that only I could hear, but loud enough that Camilla’s breath hitched. She knew.

They all knew. Angela’s fingers twitched, as if she were already imagining sinking them into Camilla’s flesh, pulling her close, claiming her mouth—or something far more intimate.

I tightened my grip on Camilla’s waist, my fingers splayed possessively over the swell of her Mexican ass, the fabric of her dress doing little to hide the heat of her skin beneath my palm. She was mine to touch, to tease, to own—and I made sure everyone in that room understood it.

My thumb traced slow, deliberate circles over the curve of her cheek, feeling the way her muscles tensed and relaxed under my touch.

”Let’s go back,” I said, my voice a rough murmur against the shell of her ear. The words were simple, but the promise beneath them was anything but. Camilla shivered, her nails digging into my forearm just for a second before she forced herself to relax, to play the part of the obedient, willing prize.

My attention flickered to the World Map Function, the glowing interface casting eerie blue light over the scene. Just as I suspected, we weren’t alone. Two figures moved in the shadows, tracking us with precision.

Drake. And Megan.

But they weren’t together—Drake kept to the left, his movements calculated, predatory. Megan mirrored him from the right, her approach quieter, almost hesitant.

A cold smile tugged at my lips. This was no coincidence. Camilla’s plan, no doubt—to lead me straight to my own territory, where her husband could ambush me, seize the supply, and leave me bleeding in the dirt. Classic. Predictable.

But Megan? Now she was the wildcard. Was she here to save Camilla? Or was she after the same thing as Drake—power, control, the thrill of the betrayal? Human hearts were fickle things, easily corrupted. After everything, I doubted even Megan’s so-called values would hold up under the right pressure. Not when the stakes were this high.

I didn’t give a damn either way.

My fingers curled, my grip on Camilla’s ass turning deliberate, punishing. I squeezed, hard enough to make her gasp, her hips jerking forward before she could stop herself. ”Aaaaah—!”

The sound tore from her throat, high and needy, and I chuckled, low and dark, as her face burned with humiliation. ”Walk faster, mi reina,” I murmured, my breath hot against her ear. ”Or do you want me to give you a reason to scream?”

Behind me, Nicole’s voice was a sharp whisper, thick with shock. ”Mom... are you seriously with Dexter? Is that—is that true?” The disbelief in her tone was almost palpable, her eyes wide as she stared at Mira, searching for denial, for anything that would make this twisted reality disappear.

Mira didn’t look at her. She couldn’t. Her blush had spread down her neck, her shoulders trembling as she gave another tiny, shameful nod. ”Y-yes,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Nicole’s gasp was loud in the charged silence. ”Mom! He’s married! What about Angela? Doesn’t she—doesn’t she mind?” Her voice cracked, her gaze darting toward Angela, as if she expected the woman to fly into a rage, to scream, to fight.

Angela didn’t.

She laughed.

A rich, throaty sound, dripping with amusement as she turned her head just enough to catch Nicole’s horrified stare. ”Oh, sweetheart,” she purred, her voice like honey laced with arsenic, ”why would I mind?”

She stepped closer, her hips swaying, her fingers trailing up Mira’s arm before sliding over to cup her chin, tilting her face up to meet her gaze.

”It doesn’t matter to me,” Angela said, her gaze unwavering. ”Not really. Even if you were to stand beside your mother as my husband’s wife, even if the world tried to rewrite what we’ve built, I know where his heart lies.”

She took a slow breath, her words deliberate, each one carrying the weight of years spent in quiet certainty. ”He would never leave me. Not for titles, not for whispers, not for anything.”

A bitter smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, fleeting but sharp. ”Because, unlike that bastard Jack, who left without so much as a backward glance, my husband knows what it means to stand by someone. He knows what it means to choose—and he’s already chosen me.”