Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 441: Camilla’s Cleavage as Master’s Pillow

Camilla's eyes flickered open in shock. The truth of her role crashed over her once more: enslaved. Devoid of rights. Without a voice. Merely accepting whatever I offered. She gulped deeply—face heating to a deeper crimson—before averting her stare.

"Whatever... Master provides..." she murmured, her tone quivering from the rush of yielding.

I raised her chin—compelling her to lock eyes with me.

"It's fine," I replied, my voice gentler now, nearly tender. "You can share it with me. What is it you desire?"

Camilla wavered—then ran her tongue over her lips, her words faint yet sincere.

"Master... I'd also enjoy some chicken fries..."

I inclined my head—deliberately, pleased—and shot a wink toward Angela, Mira, and Lisa.

"Alright," I announced. "I'll head out to fetch the items. You all remain here. Look after Nicole. Relax. I'll return shortly."

I began to move off—already pivoting toward the cave entrance.

Camilla's fingers darted forward—seizing my wrist with a soft yet insistent hold.

"Master..." she uttered swiftly, her gaze sparkling with sly intent, with ravenous need. "Allow me to accompany you... to assist in bearing the load. As your slave... this is my duty. Please."

I halted.

I gazed at her from above—noting the scheming intent masked by her obedience. She yearned to trail after me. Yearned to witness. Yearned to uncover the source of the food—how I conjured chicken fries and cheese pizza from nowhere while other survivors struggled for untainted water or unspoiled meat.

Comprehension dawned on me right away.

She remained Drake’s spouse—still bound to their devised scheme. She sought information. The hiding spot of the supplies. Evidence. Bargaining power.

I nearly berated her—nearly stressed that slaves follow orders, they don't request.

Yet then it came to me.

Drake and Megan—still concealed nearby, beyond those trees. Indicators blinking on my world map display. Near. Dangerously near. Murmuring. Scheming.

A notion ignited—keen, devious.

I grinned—gradually, like a hunter—and bent close so her ears alone caught my words.

"Very well," I whispered into her ear. "Come along then, slave. Stay close. And don't force me to haul you by that plump rear if you lag."

Camilla quivered—her eyes gleaming with what she believed was undetected victory.

"Yes, Master," she sighed, promptly matching my pace at my side.

We proceeded to the cave opening—her heels tapping unevenly on the rock, skirt still bunched high, rear cheeks branded crimson and bouncing with each stride.

From behind us:

Mira lifted her gaze—our eyes connecting for an instant. She read the expression on my features. Grasped it. Offered the slightest inclination—full of faith, wordless—then focused again on Nicole, drawing her child nearer beneath the cover.

Angela grinned slyly—shadowed, aware—already grabbing an extra blanket to lay across Lisa’s legs as if preparing for an spectacle.

Lisa ran her tongue over her lips—staring at Camilla’s undulating hips.

"Grab extra fries on the way back," she shouted our way. "We'll require stamina for what's coming."

I offered no reply.

I emerged into the waning light—Camilla clinging snug to my flank, her robust thigh grazing mine per step, as if fearing she'd stray in the strange landscape. Her enormous breasts mashed against my arm, tips rubbing through the flimsy red material with each breath. The gown remained pulled up from before—scarcely hiding the bottom swell of her backside—and the warmth from her pussy seeped onto my side where it touched.

Beyond the closest bunch of twisted pines, two forms stirred—faintly discernible, yet clear on my overlay.

Drake—crouched behind the sturdy trunk on our left, form hunched, jacket merging with the wood.

Megan positioned beside the tree concealing Drake.

Ideal.

I reduced my speed on purpose—steering Camilla until we stood mere inches from the trunk, near enough that one full inhale would waft her excitement's aroma directly to them.

Camilla’s breasts collided firmly with my back as I braked abruptly. A quiet, husky "Ahmm..." escaped her—part groan, part startled cry—her tips dragging across my shoulder blades via my shirt.

I rotated gradually—confronting her directly, shielding the tree from her sight, but ensuring the position exposed all to Drake and Megan.

I elevated her chin using two fingers—drawing those deep, shiny eyes to meet mine.

"Camilla..." I breathed, tone deep and gravelly, volume just sufficient to travel. "Master's struggling to restrain himself anymore. Why not aid Master... right now? If you please me... I could even grant you... a fine treat."

Her pupils dilated hugely—inhalation catching sharply, causing her vast breasts to heave like swells. She remained unaware of their presence—unaware her spouse lurked under three feet off, peering through the foliage. Her thoughts whirled; it showed in her parted lips, in her squeezing thighs.

Offer her form openly here?

Or devise a reason—postpone, divert, gain moments to discover the true origin of the provisions?

Ere she could choose, I acted.

My palms fell to her hips—clenching tightly—then ascended, coarse and claiming, enveloping both huge breasts over the dress. I kneaded—firmly—thumbs tracing her thick, hardened nipples till they protruded like projectiles against the scarlet cloth.

Camilla inhaled sharply—"Mas... Master..."

I stayed silent.

I plunged my face into her cleavage—nose buried in the plush, heated cleft, breathing in the earthy, briny aroma of her flesh blended with subtle fragrance from the pre-apocalypse gathering she'd attended.

She jerked—spine curving, fingers clutching my shoulders unsure if to repel or draw me in.

"M-Master...!" she mewled, voice breaking, legs chafing together desperately. "Here...? Out... in the open...?"

I rumbled against her flesh—incisors nipping the top curve of one mound.

"Here," I declared, volume set for the concealed observers to catch each syllable. "Right damn here. Drop to your knees, slave. Take your Master’s cock in your mouth till I'm spilling down your gullet. Demonstrate your thanks for the meals, the shelter, the protection. Prove you're valuable to retain."

Camilla’s legs wobbled faintly—she steadied on my shoulders, shaking fiercely. Her pussy dripped so much the scent filled the air—dense, womanly essence wafting up.

I avoided glancing at the tree.

No necessity.

I could vividly picture Drake:

Expression contorted in rage—jaws grinding till his dentition pained—knuckles whitened in tight fists, jacket straining over his back as he resisted charging forth to yank her away.

Observing his spouse—his formerly haughty, gala-bound spouse—groaning like a harlot, breasts bursting from her attire, tips rigid and pleading, legs glossy from her excitement as she readied to kneel for another.

And Megan—adjacent to him—panting heavily, blouse yawning wide, tips piercing the dark lace, legs clamped as she despised her own dampness from the view.

I trailed one palm along Camilla’s spine—grasped her rear once more—squeezed till she moaned stronger, pelvis thrusting ahead.