Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks

Chapter 444: Drake’s Lustful Mistake

I looked at her—then at Drake—then at Camilla.

Then I smiled—slow, cold, almost pitying.

"Alright," I said quietly. "Search. Tear it apart. Go ahead."

Megan blinked—thrown.

"You’re... letting us?"

I shrugged—one shoulder, casual.

"Why not? You’ve got the gun. You’ve got the numbers. You’ve got my newest slave standing right there with you, ready to point out every hiding spot she thinks she saw. Go on. Look. Dig. Break whatever you want."

Drake narrowed his eyes—suspicious.

"You’re too calm," he said slowly. "What’s the trick?"

I chuckled... in response, " So what do you expect me to do.... "

"Motherfucker..." he snarled again, taking another step toward Angela, hands flexing like he was already imagining grabbing her.

"Tell us where the supplies are. Right fucking now. Otherwise, maybe I’ll take something else instead. Your women look like they know how to please a man. Maybe it’s time they pleased someone who isn’t a coward hiding behind tricks."

Nicole whimpered, terrified—burying her face deeper into Mira’s chest.

Mira’s voice cracked like a whip. "Don’t you dare look at them like that, Drake. Don’t you fucking dare."

Angela didn’t flinch. She tilted her head—slow, predatory—lips curling into a dangerous, amused smile. "Try it," she purred, voice velvet over steel. "Come closer. See what happens when you reach for what’s mine."

Lisa cracked her knuckles—eyes locked on Drake like she was already picturing the snap of bone. "One more step," she said softly, "and I’ll break every finger before you even touch her."

I turned to Megan—gun still trained on my chest, her face pale, conflicted, guilt and duty warring in her eyes.

"Officer Megan," I said quietly, voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "Is this what you mean? This is your idea of ’sharing’? Letting him threaten to rape my women while you stand there holding the gun? This is your justice?"

Megan’s gun wavered—just a fraction—her face pale, conflicted. Guilt and duty warred in her green eyes.

"Drake—that’s enough," she snapped, voice cracking with strain. "Back off. Now. We’re not here to hurt anyone. We’re here for food. Not... not this."

Drake laughed—bitter, ugly, stepping closer to Angela anyway, ignoring Megan completely.

"Why?" he sneered at her. "He can play around with my wife—pinch her fat tits, slap her ass red, make her moan like a bitch in heat—why can’t I? Fair’s fair, right? He took what’s mine. Maybe I’ll take what’s his. Maybe I’ll bend one of these sluts over right here and—"

Megan was in a dilemma about what to do next.

I moved.

No warning. No monologue.

The magical tool materialized in my palm in a silent shimmer of blue light—cube unfolding, edges sharpening into a sleek, razor-edged knife in less than a heartbeat.

I slashed—once, clean, surgical—horizontal arc at chest height.

Drake’s scream tore through the cave—high, animalistic, shattering— as both his hands dropped to the stone floor with wet, meaty thuds, severed cleanly at the wrists.

Blood sprayed in bright, arterial arcs—splattering the mats, the crates, Camilla’s bare thighs, Nicole’s blanket. The stumps pumped rhythmically—crimson jets pulsing with every frantic heartbeat.

"AAAAAHHHH—MY HANDS—! FUCK—MY FUCKING HANDS—!"

Drake collapsed—knees buckling—staring at the bleeding stumps in dumb shock, mouth gaping in a silent scream before the pain hit full force and he howled again, rolling sideways, blood pooling fast beneath him in a dark, spreading lake.

Camilla screamed—"NO—! DRAKE—!"—dropping to her knees beside him, hands hovering uselessly over the gushing wounds, blood coating her fingers, soaking the hem of her red dress. "No—no—no—please—!"

Megan’s gun snapped toward me—shaking violently now.

"You—!" she yelled, voice cracking with panic and horror. "You fucking monster—!"

I activated Eternal Vitality—skin shimmering with faint blue energy, body turning impenetrable, bullets bouncing off like rain on steel.

I lunged—faster than human—closing the distance in a single blur.

My left hand clamped around the barrel of her gun—twisting it upward and out of her grip with a metallic screech that made her gasp. She stumbled back—off-balance—, but I was already on her.

I shoved her down—hard—her back slamming into the stone floor with a grunt of expelled air. I pinned her wrists above her head with one iron grip, knee pressing into her stomach to keep her flat, the confiscated gun now in my right hand, barrel pointed casually at the ceiling.

Megan thrashed—furious, terrified—legs kicking uselessly.

"Let—go—!" she gasped, voice hoarse. "You cut his hands off—! You—!"

I looked down at her—calm, cold, almost bored.

"You pointed a gun at me," I said quietly. "You let him threaten to rape my women. You sent Camilla in here to moan and spy and betray me. And now you’re surprised I ended it?"

Megan’s eyes filled—tears of rage, guilt, fear.

"We just wanted food..." she whispered, voice breaking. "For the kids... for Paul..."

I stood—slow, deliberate—gun dangling loose in my hand.

"You could’ve asked," I said. "I offered. Fair trade. Bodies for safety. You chose this instead."

I turned to Lisa—voice calm, commanding.

"Lisa... grab Megan. And this bitch Camilla. Hold them. Don’t let them move."

Lisa moved like she’d been waiting for the order.

She grabbed Megan’s wrists—wrenching them behind her back in one smooth motion, knee digging into the cop’s spine to pin her face down on the stone. Megan grunted—struggling—but Lisa was stronger, faster, merciless.

At the same time, Lisa reached out with her free hand—grabbing Camilla by the hair—yanking her head back hard enough to make the woman yelp.

"Stay," Lisa hissed, voice venomous. "You wanted to play spy? Now you watch what happens to traitors."

Camilla sobbed—loud, hysterical—"Drake—! No—no—no—please—!"—but she didn’t fight. Couldn’t. Blood coated her hands, her dress, her knees where she knelt in the spreading pool.

Drake was still screaming—high, broken wails—body convulsing, blood pumping in weakening spurts from the stumps.

"Shut him up," I ordered—flat, emotionless.

Lisa kicked him once—hard—in the ribs. The impact cut off his scream into a choked gurgle. His eyes rolled back—body slumping sideways—and he fainted, blood still oozing sluggishly from the clean cuts.

Camilla screamed again—"NO—!"—lurching toward him, but Lisa yanked her hair harder, forcing her to stay on her knees.

"Stay down, whore," Lisa growled. "You don’t get to comfort him. Not after you moaned for Master while he watched."