Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 439: Camilla’s Ambush Plan

At the fringe of the tents, Drake had come to a halt—observing. He made no effort to intervene. Simply... gazing. Devoid of expression.

I noted his position once more on the map—dual markers. Something felt amiss. That could wait, though.

For the moment—

Using two fingers, I lifted Camilla’s chin—compelling her to hold my gaze.

“Do you comprehend what ‘slave’ signifies?” I inquired—softly, confidentially. “It means you open wide when I command. You pleasure orally on my order. You receive it in every opening—ass, cunt, throat—until you’re dripping and sobbing. It demands you address me as Master.”

“Your breasts, your thighs, that voluptuous Mexican backside—all belong to me. You witness me with the others and plead for your chance. No more decisions. Only submission. In exchange... You get to eat. You rest in comfort. Your children are fed. You endure.”

Camilla’s pupils expanded dramatically—her breath catching sharply.

“Yes, Master,” she breathed. “I comprehend.”

Megan uttered a sound of revulsion—but she refrained from stepping in.

I glanced at Mira—still cradling Nicole protectively.

The deep red blush staining Mira’s face lingered—it intensified even more, searing her flesh as Angela’s voice uttered that potent, charged term: “Master.” Directly before her child. In front of the entire group.

Mira’s hands clenched at her sides, her respiration stuttering, yet she avoided any objection. She was unable. Rather, she provided a small, rigid inclination, her head lowering briefly in quiet, mortified concession. Tension hummed in the space among us—her yielding, my authority, and the implicit realization that she had become merely another element in this scheme.

Angela’s grin cut like a dagger, keen and shadowy, her red lips twisting as her stare swept across Camilla’s form like a hunter evaluating quarry.

She made no attempt to conceal it. Her gaze dwelled on Camilla’s abundant bosom, how her fitted gown adhered to each contour, the manner in which her hips moved with every stride.

“God, I can already savor her,” Angela whispered, quietly enough for just my ears, yet sufficiently audible to make Camilla’s breath falter. She was aware.

Everyone was aware. Angela’s digits flexed, as though she envisioned plunging them into Camilla’s body, drawing her near, seizing her lips—or something much more personal.

I increased my hold on Camilla’s midsection, my hand spreading dominantly across the curve of her Mexican rear, the material of her outfit offering scant barrier to the warmth of her skin under my touch. She belonged to me for caressing, for tormenting, for possessing—and I ensured all present grasped that fact.

My thumb drew languid, intentional loops along the roundness of her hip, sensing how her muscles stiffened then eased beneath my contact.

“Let’s return,” I stated, my tone a gravelly whisper near her ear’s curve. The phrase was straightforward, yet the implication lurking below was far from simple. Camilla trembled, her nails pressing into my arm momentarily before she compelled herself to loosen, to embody the compliant, eager trophy.

My focus shifted to the World Map Function, the luminous display projecting an otherworldly azure glow across the setting. As anticipated, we had company. Two silhouettes advanced through the gloom, following us with accuracy.

Drake. And Megan.

Yet they didn’t travel as a pair—Drake stuck to the left flank, his actions precise, hunting-like. Megan echoed him from the right, her path more subdued, somewhat reluctant.

A chill grin pulled at my mouth. This wasn’t happenstance. Undoubtedly Camilla’s scheme—to guide me into my own domain, where her spouse could strike, capture the resources, and abandon me wounded on the ground. Typical. Foreseeable.

But Megan? She represented the unknown factor. Was she present to rescue Camilla? Or did she pursue the identical goal as Drake—dominance, command, the excitement of treachery? The human spirit proved erratic, readily tainted. Given all that transpired, I questioned whether even Megan’s professed principles would withstand proper duress. Not with stakes so elevated.

I cared little regardless.

My digits clenched, my clasp on Camilla’s rear growing intentional, corrective. I compressed firmly enough to elicit her gasp, her pelvis bucking ahead before control returned. “Aaaaah—!”

The cry escaped her lips, piercing and desperate, and I laughed, deeply and ominously, as her features flushed with embarrassment. “Hurry your steps, mi reina,” I breathed, my exhalation warm against her ear. “Or shall I provide cause for you to cry out?”

From behind, Nicole’s words came as a keen murmur, laden with astonishment. “Mom... are you truly involved with Dexter? Is that—is that accurate?” The incredulity in her voice hung heavy, her eyes broadened as she fixed on Mira, seeking refutation, for any element to dispel this warped circumstance.

Mira avoided her gaze. She was incapable. Her flush had extended to her throat, her frame quivering as she delivered yet another minuscule, degrading nod. “Y-yes,” she confessed, her tone scarcely audible.

Nicole’s inhalation echoed sharply in the tense quiet. “Mom! He’s wed! What of Angela? Doesn’t she—doesn’t she object?” Her pitch broke, her attention flicking to Angela, anticipating an outburst, a shout, a confrontation.

Angela remained unmoved.

She chuckled.

A full, husky laugh, saturated with delight as she angled her head slightly to meet Nicole’s aghast look. “Oh, darling,” she cooed, her timbre like syrup infused with venom, “why should I object?”

She advanced nearer, her pelvis undulating, her hand gliding along Mira’s limb before drifting to grasp her jaw, raising her visage to align with her own.

“It holds no significance for me,” Angela declared, her stare steady. “Not truly. Even should you position yourself next to your mother as my spouse’s partner, even if society sought to alter our foundation, I recognize his true allegiance.”

She drew a measured inhale, her phrasing purposeful, each syllable bearing the burden of long-held assurance. “He’d never abandon me. Not for status, not for rumors, not for any cause.”

A sour smirk graced her lips’ edge, brief yet incisive. “For, unlike that rogue Jack, who departed sans a final look, my partner comprehends loyalty. He grasps commitment—and he has already selected me.”