Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 269: Tyler’s Hot Mother

As soon as he caught sight of me, his respiration faltered, and his frame began to jerk as the sharp odor of urine filled the surrounding air. "Don’t—don’t—" he whimpered, his plea dissolving into a shrill, piercing wail. "Get me away from him! Please, take me away! AAAAAAAA—!"

A low, sinister chuckle escaped my lips, the sound slithering through the atmosphere like a dark omen. My eyes shifted toward Max, who was standing there breathless, his chest rising and falling from the exertion. "What is your name?" I questioned, keeping my tone level and nearly casual.

"S-Sir," he replied with a stutter, his voice vibrating with nerves. "My name is Max."

"You performed well, Max," I remarked, my words carrying the heavy gravity of a solemn vow.

Max’s eyes stretched wide as he accepted the blade, his fingers trembling as they gripped the hilt. "T-Thank you, sir," he choked out, his voice thick with a sense of profound awe.

I shifted my focus back to Tyler, who continued to shriek, his body twitching as though he were desperate to escape his own skin. "Look at you," I said, my voice laced with mockery as I closed the distance to the bed.

"Just like your father. Soaking yourself in pure terror." I knelt down until our faces were level, my smile as sharp as a razor. "Did you truly believe you could escape the consequences of your actions? Did you think there would be no price to pay?"

Tyler’s breathing became ragged gasps, his eyes darting wildly in their sockets. "P-Please—" he implored, his voice cracking under the strain. "I didn’t know— I didn’t mean to—"

"You didn’t mean to?" I echoed, my voice a smooth, velvet purr. "That contradicts Angela's account." I cast a glance over my shoulder at her; she stood by my side, her face an unreadable mask. "Isn’t that so, Angela?"

She moved forward, her voice as freezing as ice. "He was fully aware of what he was doing," she declared, her gaze fixed on Tyler, who had devolved into uncontrollable sobbing. "He stole my husband from me. He robbed my daughter of her father. And he had a laugh while doing it."

Tyler’s body buckled, his fingernails digging into the bedsheets. "No—no, I didn’t."

I stood up suddenly, silencing him with a sharp flick of my hand. "Orders," I spat, my voice heavy with contempt. "Is that your pathetic excuse?" I loomed over him, my shadow completely engulfing his form.

As I reached toward him, Tyler’s raw, desperate scream pierced the air. However, I didn’t end him. Not yet. "Max," I commanded calmly, "take him inside. Secure him in the room with chains. I want him forced to watch as we strip away everything his family ever possessed."

Max gave a nod, seizing the bed and hauling it toward the mansion’s entrance. Tyler’s cries rang out through the courtyard, the sound of absolute, unadulterated fear.

Angela approached my side, her voice low yet firm. "What do you intend to do with him?"

I looked at her, my expression remaining neutral. "I am going to ensure he understands the true cost of his choices," I replied, my voice a dark, looming promise. "And afterward? I will let you determine his ultimate fate."

She met my eyes, her own burning with a thirst for vengeance and a darkness that mirrored the tempest within me. "I want him to suffer," she hissed, her voice shaking with rage. "Just as I suffered. Just as my daughters suffered."

I reached out, cradling Angela’s face in my hand, my thumb tracing her cheekbone with a possessive sort of gentleness. "Then he shall," I vowed, my voice a dark caress. "And when he is nothing more than a shattered, pleading shell of a man, you will be the one to finish him."

Angela did not flinch or turn away. She simply gave a nod, her jaw tight with resolve, her eyes alight with a fire that matched my own. "Good," she whispered, her voice trembling with suppressed fury. "Because I am far from finished with him."

The surrounding soldiers—men who once served Walter—remained paralyzed, their faces drained of color as they stared at Walter’s decapitated head and Tyler’s miserable, shaking form.

A wave of terror surged through them like an electric current, their breathing shallow and their hands unsteady. I turned toward them, my voice a booming command that shattered the silence.

"From this moment on, you will follow Angela’s every order," I snarled, my gaze cutting through them like a sword. "If there is even a hint of betrayal, I will execute you all. It will be slow. It will be agonizing. And I will ensure you beg for the mercy of death before I finally grant it."

The mansion's security personnel were left with no alternative. The gates groaned open, and the massive doors swung wide as we made our entrance. The air inside was heavy with the scent of opulence—the smell of polished wood, pricy leather, and a faint trace of cigar smoke. But beneath those scents lingered something else. Something carnal.

A woman stood in the center of the magnificent foyer, her arms folded and her hips swaying slightly as she observed us with a blend of curiosity and defiance. Though she was in her fifties, she certainly didn't show it. Her body was a masterpiece of sin, the kind that could make a man lose his mind. Her curves were provocative—full, heavy breasts straining against the fabric of her thin silk blouse, which clung to her like a second skin.

The buttons were left undone just enough to be a tease, the swell of her cleavage on display, while her nipples pressed against the material in a way that commanded attention. Her waist was slim, contrasting with wide, lush hips and a rear so round and firm it made my fingers itch to seize it. The constricting black pencil skirt she wore traced every inch of her lower body, the fit so tight it left nothing to the imagination.

And then there were those legs—damn. They were long and toned, wrapped in sheer black stockings that vanished beneath her skirt's hem. Her heels were high and sharp, the sort that could leave lasting marks. Her hair was a waterfall of blonde waves, thick and shining, draping over her shoulders like molten gold. She was the embodiment of temptation—a woman who was fully aware of her effect on men and relished it.

"Who are you people?" she purred, her voice husky and her lips coated in a deep, lethal red. She unfolded her arms, resting her hands on her hips to push her chest out further, clearly knowing the impact she was having.

Max cleared his throat, his face turning red as he looked away. "S-Sir," he stammered, "this is Walter’s wife."