Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks

Chapter 443: Drake’s Desperate Supply Hunt

Drake’s face twisted—anger flashing hot and raw across his features. He stepped closer to her—protective, possessive—his hand hovering near her shoulder like he wanted to pull her away but couldn’t quite touch her yet.

"Camilla—don’t worry about him," he said, voice low and urgent, eyes flicking to me with pure venom. "He’s just a loser now. A desperate man with a few tricks and a big mouth. Have you found his supplies? Tell me you saw where he keeps it all."

Camilla shook her head—quick, frustrated, her thick thighs still trembling from the earlier abuse.

"I don’t know..." she admitted, voice tight. "But he somehow has a comfortable bed inside that cave. And a lamp—working, bright, like it’s plugged into something. He was just taking me to bring some food back... chicken fries, pizza, all that. Said it was a secret."

Drake’s eyes narrowed—calculating, greedy, a flicker of triumph cutting through the anger.

"So he stored his food outside somewhere..." he muttered, glancing toward the rocky outcrops beyond the cave. "Hidden stash. Smart. But not smart enough."

Megan shook her head—sharp, certain, her gun still trained on me as she stepped forward.

"No. That’s not possible," she said firmly, voice carrying the weight of a cop who’d seen too many cons.

"How can he stash them outside? Anyone might stumble on them. Animals could destroy them. The weather would ruin half of it in a day. It must be inside that cave. He’s fooling you—playing games, stringing us along like puppets. Think about it: a bed, a lamp, food he can just ’go get’ whenever he wants? It’s all in there. Hidden. Stocked. He’s been laughing at us the whole time."

She turned the gun barrel slightly—still aimed at my chest, but her eyes flicked to Camilla for a second.

"Step aside, Dexter," Megan ordered, voice steel. "We’re going in. We’re taking what we need. No more games. No more slaves. No more of your sick power trips. Camilla—lead the way. Show us the cave. Show us where he keeps the real stash."

Camilla hesitated—eyes flicking to me for a heartbeat, a flash of something unreadable in them—then nodded once.

"Yes... Officer," she said quietly, turning on her heel.

Camilla started walking toward the cave mouth—her red mini-dress still bunched obscenely around her wide hips, thick thighs rubbing together with every swaying step.

The bright red handprints I’d left on her brown ass cheeks glowed like fresh brands in the fading orange light, jiggling softly with each movement. Her heels clicked unevenly on the rocky ground, cunt still glistening between her legs, slick trails shining down her inner thighs like she’d been edged for hours.

Megan’s voice cut through the quiet—sharp, authoritative, but with a faint tremor underneath.

"Dextor—move along," she ordered, gun barrel steady on my back. "Nice and slow. No sudden moves. Hands where I can see them."

I raised both palms slightly—casual, almost bored—then started walking. The barrel followed me like a shadow, cold metal inches from my spine.

We stepped inside.

The cave’s amber lamp still glowed low from its spot near the back wall, casting long golden shadows across the wide sleeping mats, the neatly stacked (but now suspiciously empty) supply crates, and the faint trickle of water into the natural basin.

And there they were.

Mira, Angela, Lisa, and Nicole were chatting together.

The second they saw us, the air shifted.

Lisa took one step forward—instinct—eyes narrowing at the gun.

Mira’s arm tightened around Nicole. "Officer Megan... what are you doing?" she asked, voice low but steady, maternal steel underneath the shock. "Put the gun down."

Angela’s gaze slid past me—locked straight on Camilla. Her smirk turned razor-sharp, venomous.

"It’s this bitch..." she drawled, voice dripping with contempt. "And her useless husband. Look at her—dress still up around her waist, ass marked like a whore’s, cunt dripping down her legs. You really thought you could play us, Camilla? Thought you could spread for my husband, moan like a slut, and then stab him in the back?"

Lisa’s fists clenched—knuckles white. "Betrayed us for what? A few cans of food? You were ready to suck his cock right outside—begging for it—and now you bring a gun in here? You’re pathetic."

They weren’t worried about me getting hurt—not really. They knew what I could do. They’d seen the jetpack. They’d felt the power humming under my skin. But the betrayal still burned. Camilla had moaned for me. Called me Master. Let me mark her. And now she stood there with a gun pointed at us.

Megan’s face flushed—guilt flashing across her features for the first time. The gun wavered—just a fraction—but stayed up.

"We’re not here to harm anyone," she said quickly, voice rough but earnest. "I swear. We just... we just want you to share some of your supplies. That’s all. You’ve got beds. Lamps. Food. Water. We’ve got kids starving out there. Paul is dying of fever. We’re not thieves. We’re desperate."

Drake—silent until now—stepped forward, eyes scanning the cave like a man who’d already won.

"I’ll look for the supplies," he said flatly, already moving toward the crates.

He searched around the cave, looked beneath the bed, and even pulled the mattress away, but there was nothing but a few folded blankets.

He froze—then spun toward Megan and Camilla, face twisting.

"Maybe he was telling the truth," he muttered, voice tight with frustration. "Those supplies must be hidden outside somewhere. In the rocks. Under a tarp. Somewhere close."

Megan shook her head—sharp, certain—gun still trained on me.

"No. That doesn’t make sense. How can he stash real food—chicken fries, pizza, Coke—outside? Animals would get it. Rain would ruin it. Someone else would find it. It has to be in here. Hidden compartments. False walls. Something. He’s playing us."

She turned the barrel slightly—eyes locked on mine.

"Where is it, Dexter? The real stash. The crates. The food. Stop fucking around. Tell us—or we start tearing this place apart."

Drake cursed, "Goddamn it. He must have moved it."

Angela laughed—low, mocking, leaning back against the wall with her arms crossed under her bare tits.

"Wow. You really thought you had him," she purred, eyes glittering. "You sent your little slut in here to moan and spread and spy... and all she got was a red ass and a wet cunt. Pathetic."

Lisa stepped forward—slow, dangerous—eyes locked on Camilla.

"You called him Master," she said softly, voice venomous. "You begged for his cock. You came on his fingers right outside. And now you stand there pretending you were just playing along? You’re not even good at lying."

Camilla flinched—shame flaring hotter—but she didn’t back down.

"I did what I had to," she snapped. "For food. For survival. You’d do the same."

Megan’s gun wavered again—guilt and anger warring on her face.

"Enough," she barked. "We’re not here to argue morality. We’re here for supplies. Dexter—last chance. Tell us where the real stash is. Or we start breaking things. Starting with that lamp. Then the beds. Then we search every inch of this cave until we find it."