Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks

Chapter 442: Megan Draws the Gun

I kept rubbing Camilla’s thick, round ass in slow, possessive circles—fingers digging deep into the soft, yielding flesh through the thin red dress, kneading the still-stinging handprints I’d left earlier like I was marking my territory all over again.

Every firm squeeze made her plump cheeks jiggle, her hips twitch forward involuntarily, and her breath hitch in short, slutty little moans that she couldn’t quite swallow.

”Mas... hmm... aah... wait...” she whimpered, voice cracking with a mix of protest and raw need, her thick thighs rubbing together frantically as fresh, hot slick leaked down her inner legs in sticky trails.

The dress was bunched so high now that her bare cunt was on full display—swollen lips glistening, clit peeking out like it was begging for more abuse.

I chuckled low, dark, satisfied—leaning in to nip at her earlobe. ”Wait? You think you get to say wait when your cunt’s dripping like a faucet for Master? No, slave. You spread. You moan. You take whatever I give you.”

Before she could respond, a voice exploded from the shadows behind the trees—sharp, furious, laced with the kind of authority that came from months of holding a broken camp together.

”THAT’S ENOUGH, YOU BASTARD!”

Megan burst out from behind the pines—gun already drawn, both hands locked in a steady two-handed grip, barrel aimed dead-center at my chest. Her once-crisp cop uniform was a mess: shirt half-unbuttoned from the heat and haste, black lace bra peeking out, nipples hard and dark against the fabric like she was fighting her own body’s betrayal.

Her chest heaved—rage and something hotter flushing her cheeks, thighs clenched tight under her pants as if the sight of Camilla’s degradation had stirred something she hated admitting.

Drake emerged right beside her—suit jacket torn and filthy, face a mask of cold, simmering fury, his expensive watch still glinting mockingly on his wrist despite the apocalypse. His eyes were locked on Camilla—on her marked ass, her dripping thighs, her flushed, humiliated face—and his jaw was clenched so hard I could see the muscle twitch.

Camilla froze solid against me—body going rigid like she’d been electrocuted. Her eyes snapped wide open—shock slamming into her like a freight train.

She realized in that split second: Drake had seen everything. Seen her moaning like a desperate whore while I pinched and mauled her fat tits through the dress. Seen her ass marked bright red from my slaps. Seen her cunt glistening, thighs slick, hips grinding shamelessly against my hand like she couldn’t get enough.

Her cheeks burned a deep, mortified crimson—shame crashing over her so hard her knees nearly buckled. She tried to yank her dress down—fingers fumbling, trembling—but it was too late. The damage was done.

”Drake...?” she whispered—voice small, trembling, horrified, her accent thickening with panic. ”You... you saw...?”

I let my hands fall away from her body—slow, deliberate, almost theatrical—turning toward them with an expression of perfect, feigned surprise. Brows raised high, mouth slightly open, eyes wide like I’d genuinely had no clue they were hiding there the whole time.

”Officer Megan...” I said calmly, voice steady and almost reasonable, like we were discussing the weather. ”What are you doing? Pointing a gun at me? After everything we talked about back at the camp?”

Megan’s grip on the gun tightened—knuckles turning white, barrel steady despite the tremor in her arms.

”Bastard... this is enough,” she snarled, voice low and venomous, stepping forward with measured cop strides. ”Camilla—come over here. Right now. You don’t need to do anything. You don’t need to degrade yourself for this piece of shit. Drop the act. We’re taking what we need and getting out.”

Drake nodded—sharp, angry—his eyes never leaving Camilla, but his voice strained with a mix of fury and something almost pleading.

”Wife... come here,” he said, voice low and strained, gesturing sharply with one hand. ”I’m sorry. I made you do that. Don’t worry—I won’t blame you. You did a good job. We found out his location. That’s all that matters now. Come on—get away from him before he touches you again.”

Camilla hesitated—one heartbeat, two—her eyes darting between me, Drake, and Megan like she was caught in a trap of her own making. Then, with a shaky breath, she stepped away from me.

Her heels sank into the soft dirt as she walked over—slow, unsteady, like every step was a betrayal. The dress was still hiked up around her hips, ass cheeks marked bright red and glowing in the fading light, her cunt glistening obscenely with every movement.

She stopped beside them—standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Megan and Drake—head bowed low, cheeks flaming hotter than the sunset, arms wrapped tightly around herself like she could hide the shame dripping from her thighs.

I crossed my arms—pretending anger now, letting my voice harden with just the right amount of outrage.

”Officer Megan... are you trying to loot my supplies?” I asked, letting the edge creep in, sharp and accusatory. ”I didn’t expect this from you. Not after everything. I offered you a fair trade. Food. Shelter. Safety. And this is how you repay it? Pulling a gun on me like some common thief?”

Megan’s lip curled—disgust and fury twisting her features into something almost feral.

”I’m not trying to loot your supplies,” she snapped back, voice rising, gun barrel unwavering.

”I just want you to share them. That’s all. But you—you’ve gone too far, Dexter. Taking people as slaves? Forcing them to kneel and beg? Making them spread their legs and moan like animals in heat just to survive? You’re not a savior. You’re a fucking predator. A monster who gets off on breaking people.”

I turned my gaze to Camilla—slow, deliberate, letting the silence stretch until it was thick and uncomfortable, my eyes disappointed, almost hurt.

”Camilla...” I said quietly, almost gently, like the betrayal stung more than the gun. ”So all this was your plan. You offered yourself as my slave... just to find out where my place is. Where are my supplies? To lead them right to me.”

Camilla lifted her chin—stubborn now, shame hardening into cold defiance, her voice trembling but sharp.

”Hmph...” she scoffed, crossing her arms over her massive tits, the motion only making them strain harder against the dress. ”Otherwise... why would I be willing to be your slave? You think I enjoyed it? You think I liked moaning for you like a cheap whore while my husband watched?”