Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 462: The Trap is Set

The world map sprang back to life at my command, its holographic projection expanding in my view like a secret universe filled with glowing red points. Drake, Jack, Bill, and their makeshift ambush band were only two minutes away, their markers throbbing across the crowded woodland map.

They advanced in a disorganized, clumsy pack, crashing through the heavy pines, steps thudding loudly, breaths heaving audibly. They imagined themselves hidden. They were mistaken.

However, two other signals captured my focus—shining more vividly, racing swifter.

Megan and Hailey.

These markers dashed directly for the cave, carving a straight trail through the bushes, their speed wild and urgent. They trailed the men no longer. They surged ahead alone, bolting as though survival hung by a thread.

I refused to pull back into the cave.

Rather, I held position at the entrance, cool evening breeze grazing my skin. Angela molded her warm, bare form to my left, flesh still heated from before, breasts yielding softly on my arm, nipples peaked from the night's indulgences.

Camilla flanked my right, bare from the waist up, her huge Mexican breasts smeared with caked blood, plump rear still striped red from the whip, thighs glossy and shaky. Lisa positioned directly ahead, serving as flesh-and-blood barrier, fingers curled on her holstered pistol's handle.

From the rear, Mira and Nicole lingered in darkness, the daughter clutching her mother's side as if the world threatened to engulf her entirely.

Glimmers of fire danced among the trees—lanterns, torches—Jack’s crew at last shoving through the brush. Yet they refrained from rushing forward. They halted thirty meters distant, clustered in pine shadows like cowering hounds. Pants rasped harshly, eyes flicked nervously, fists clenched harder on weapons.

Then a lone shape emerged.

Bill.

Mira’s breath caught—"Bill..."

Nicole whispered the name in turn, tone tiny and hesitant, breaking—"Bill..."

Bill hoisted both palms empty, face mud-streaked, phony tears already gleaming in his eyes. His tone quavered with rehearsed sorrow.

"Mom... Nicole..." he called out, voice tuned precisely for peak pity. "I finally found you... I thought I’d lost you forever..."

Lisa reacted in a flash, planting herself squarely before me, form blocking mine, hand steady on her pistol. The warning rang obvious: stay back.

Bill halted mid-stride, eyes bulging at the armed guard.

Mira lunged forward on reflex, then checked herself, recalling my every instruction. Her jaw locked tight. Nicole clutched her mother’s arm harder, knuckles blanched, rage sparking past her terror.

Lisa’s words sliced the darkness—icy, even, authoritative.

"How did you find this place? Tell me right now. The truth. Or don’t blame me for what happens next."

Bill gulped deeply, throat working visibly, gaze bouncing among us. Then he recited the tale his father had hammered into him.

"It... it was Officer Megan," he stuttered, voice quivering perfectly. "She told me about this location. I begged her... I just wanted to see my mom... my sister... I didn’t mean any harm... please... I swear..."

Angela cocked her head, lips twisting into a hunter’s smirk.

"Okay... okay..." she cooed, tone laced with mock compassion. "Let’s go inside and talk. You must be tired, poor thing. Hungry too, I bet."

She flicked a wink my way—swift, discreet—intent unmistakable: lure him inside.

I dipped my head once, steady and confident.

"Okay," I said. "Let’s go in."

Mira and Nicole traded looks, both seething at Bill’s blatant performance, both aware of his scheme: survey the cave, cue the trap, guide Jack’s crew right to our stores. Yet they held their tongues—torn as kin between loyalty and treachery.

We retreated into the cave.

Bill trailed after, gaze flitting wildly upon entering. Neatly arranged beds topped with plush wool covers caught his eye.

The unwavering, brilliant lamp shone steadily, free of stutter or power hum. His stare hung there, ravenous and scheming.

He faced Mira, tone wretched and scripted.

"Mom... do you have anything to eat?" he pleaded, clutching his belly for effect. "I haven’t eaten in days... I’m so hungry... please... I’m begging you..."

Camilla knelt by the rear wall, still shirtless and blood-crusted, eyeing him with scornful lip curl. Words stayed unspoken, but disdain in her black gaze hung heavy as fog.

Angela advanced, voice oozing counterfeit kindness.

"Ohhh... so, Bill," she murmured sweetly, "I have to say—your acting skills are impressive. If my husband hadn’t already warned us, we might never have spotted a single flaw."

Bill blanched, raw terror twisting his face grotesquely.

"What... what are you talking about?" he faltered, retreating a pace. "I don’t understand... I just wanted to see Mom and Nicole... I swear..."

Angela chuckled darkly, viciously, closing in until nearly nose-to-nose.

"Bill... do you really think we don’t know?" she murmured gently. "That Drake, your bastard father, and the rest of your little ambush squad are outside right now—waiting for your signal to rush in and take everything? You thought you could just walk in here, play the poor lost son, and lead them straight to our supplies?"

Bill’s eyes bulged, jaws flapping uselessly like a stranded fish.

"How... how did you—?"

Lisa edged nearer, palm on pistol, tone hushed and lethal.

"Tell me," she murmured, "how do you want to die?"

Bill reeled backward, cry fracturing into sheer hysteria.

"NO—no—it was all Drake’s idea! He forced me! I didn’t want to—I swear! I just... I just wanted to see Mom and Nicole! Please—don’t hurt me—please—!"

Nicole advanced, tiny yet raging, voice quaking with hurt.

"Didn’t you promise me?" she demanded, tears brimming. "You said you wouldn’t hurt them. You promised."

I laughed softly, entertained.

"I did say that," I confirmed. "But remember—I said I would never harm them personally. I didn’t say anything about Lisa... or Angela... or my soldiers."

Nicole’s features twisted in anguish, fresh tears streaming down.

"How can this be?" she breathed. "Mom... stop him... please..."

Mira moved up, pallid yet determined. She wedged between daughter and me, then faced me, gaze beseeching.

"Husband..." she murmured, voice shaky. "Spare his life... please..."

She trapped my arm amid her plush breasts, clamping them firm around my forearm as mute bargain, form hot and shuddering next to mine.

"Please..." she sighed once more. "He’s my son... he’s still just a boy..."

I glanced at her, then Nicole, then Bill’s frantic, drenched visage.

I exhaled lightly, near-dramatically.

"Okay... okay," I said. "I was just kidding."