Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 458: Rifle Symphony Massacre

From the dark ridge overlooking the camp, I observed—jetpack purring softly on my back, hushed and primed. Beneath me, the horror played out in torturous slow motion amid the wavering fireglow.

Megan—still tied with coarse ropes binding her wrists and ankles—huddled against a crate, tears carving clear paths through the filth on her cheeks. She appeared utterly shattered. Yet her eyes still blazed with that defiant cop intensity.

Hailey crouched next to Paul—her dad—pressing a soaked rag to his burning brow. Paul’s leg was mangled: severed below the knee by a savage mountain lion, the ragged stump bound in grimy cloths saturated long ago with pus and gore.

The infection gripped him fiercely—fever raging through his body, skin flushed and jaundiced, breaths ragged and faint. Hailey’s fingers trembled while she dabbed his forehead, though her gaze flicked repeatedly to Megan—panic and rage battling across her youthful features.

Three rugged men—gaunt, desperate holdouts from the group’s early days—edged nearer to Megan. Their outfits hung in tatters, beards unkempt, stares alight with the raw craving born of endless hardship.

The tallest—marked by a jagged scar on his cheek, voice rough as stone—crouched before her, flashing a leer with stained teeth.

"Oh... I didn’t expect Officer Megan to be such a whore," he rasped, extending a hand to sweep hair from her tear-smeared cheek. She recoiled sharply—ropes digging into her wrists. "Look at you... tied up like a present. Been a long time since any of us had pussy. Real pussy. Not just our hands and memories."

The second man—stocky, thinning hair, tongue darting over parched lips—chuckled with filthy glee.

"Yeah... why don’t we take turns? Heh. It’ll be fun. Been dreaming about bending you over since you first barked orders at us, Officer. Bet that tight cop cunt feels even better than it looks."

The third—youthful, jittery—already groping himself through ripped pants.

"Fuck yeah. I wanna know how it feels to take a police officer’s pussy. Bet you’re real tight when you’re scared."

The camp’s women—mothers hugging kids tight—averted their eyes. Some muttered urgently to their men, yet none stirred to intervene. Survival had stripped away all else. Law. Shame. Unity. Vanished.

Megan’s words shattered—piercing, enraged, fearful.

"Don’t... even think about it," she growled, pulling hard against the bindings. "I’m a police officer. You touch me—you touch any of us—and I swear to God—"

The scarred brute bellowed a harsh laugh.

"Officer Megan... there is no police officer anymore. No law. No badges. Just survival. And right now... survival means we take what we want."

His hand lunged toward her—fingers targeting the ripped hem of her blouse.

Hailey leaped up—petite, ferocious—positioning herself as a shield between Megan and the thugs.

"Stop!" she shouted, tone quivering yet resounding. "You can’t do this! Have you forgotten? She’s the one who’s been protecting us! Giving us food when we had nothing! Risking her life every time she went out scavenging! And you—you’re just gonna... gonna—"

The scarred thug’s gaze shifted to Hailey—lazy, lustful. His smirk stretched wider.

"Oh... who’s this girl? Hailey, right? She looks nice... real nice. Young. Fresh. Bet she’s tighter than the cop."

He ran his tongue over his lips—boldly—advancing on her.

Hailey wavered—eyes bulging—but held her ground.

Paul—voice faint, broken by fever—rasped from his pallet.

"Hailey... come back... please... don’t..."

Hailey shot a look at her father—then at the men—doubt fracturing her determination.

Megan’s plea fractured—hushed, frantic.

"Hailey... get away. Please. I’ll... I’ll commit suicide before I let anything happen to me. Or to you. Just... run."

A nearby mother—gripping two toddlers—hissed under her breath.

"Quiet! Don’t look, babies. They’re just... playing. It’s nothing."

A young boy—around six—cocked his head.

"Mom... what is that uncle doing to the lady?"

The mother yanked him nearer—voice strained.

"It’s nothing. They’re just... playing. Go back to sleep."

The scarred thug cackled once more—grabbing for Hailey’s arm.

That proved sufficient.

I lingered on the ridge mere moments longer—witnessing the two women cinch ropes around Hailey’s wrists, hauling her away as she flailed and shrieked.

"Let me go! What are you guys doing?!" Hailey’s cry split with rage and dread, her slight frame writhing in vain. "She’s hurt! She’s bleeding—let me help her!"

Megan—ropes cutting deep into wrists and ankles—sagged against the tree. Her shredded shirt gaped open, revealing her black bra, bosom rising and falling with ragged sobs. Crimson seeped from her scalp where she’d bashed it against the trunk—once, twice—fiercely enough to tear flesh. Her stare had gone hollow, hopelessness devouring her final resistance.

The scarred man’s buddy—the balding creep who’d joked about "taking turns"—dropped down before her anew, smirking with chapped lips.

"Stop her," he snapped at Hailey’s captor. "I don’t wanna fuck a dead bitch. She’s still breathing—let’s keep her that way."

The twitchy one—still fondling himself—snickered with sleazy menace.

"Yeah... let’s see how tight that cop cunt really is. Been too long since I had anything warm."

Megan’s whisper cracked—hoarse, crushed.

"Don’t... even think about it..." she murmured. "I’m a police officer... you touch me... and I swear..."

The balding brute roared with laughter.

"Officer? There ain’t no police no more, sweetheart. No law. No badges. Just hungry men... and you."

Hailey wailed once more—lashing out, squirming.

"Stop! You can’t do this! She’s the only reason any of us are still alive! She gave us her rations! She went out every day—risked her life—while you all hid! And now you’re gonna—gonna—"

Paul—delirious, barely aware—dragged himself ahead on his lone sturdy arm.

"Hailey... come back... please... don’t... don’t make them hurt you too..."

Hailey peeked at her father—tears pouring—then at Megan.

"I’m not leaving her!" she bellowed. "You’re monsters! All of you!"

A close mother—clinging to two little ones—muttered desperately.

"Quiet! Don’t look... they’re just... playing. It’s nothing."

The boy—six or seven—tilted curiously.

"Mom... why is the lady crying? And why is that uncle touching her funny?"

The mother clutched him firmer—voice quaking.

"It’s nothing. Just... grown-up games. Go back to sleep."

I’d endured plenty.

In my hand, the arcane device unfurled—glossy, ebony, ruthless—morphing into an assault rifle with boundless rounds. Zero kickback. No meltdown. Pure, unrelenting annihilation.

BRRRRRT—!

Three swift volleys ripped into the scarred man’s back. His frame convulsed wildly as slugs shredded meat and skeleton. Gore burst from his front in vivid crimson arcs, drenching Hailey’s face and top. He lurched ahead once, shock glazing his eyes, before pitching forward into the dirt with a sodden smack, crimson gushing from six ragged chest wounds.

The balding scum whirled—jaws parting for a yell.

Too late.