Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 273: Nathalie’s Last Attempt

The chamber door creaked open, and Nathalie emerged, her presence instantly saturating the atmosphere with a stifling blend of dread and desire. Her long, dark hair cascaded in damp waves around her shoulders, shimmering under the dim, flickering illumination as though she had just exited a scorching shower. The air surrounding her was heavy with the aroma of soap and an additional scent—something raw and quivering, akin to fear materialized.

The delicate, translucent material of her nightie clung intimately to her form, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. The sheer black silk delineated the swell of her breasts, the taut buds of her nipples pressing urgently against the fine lace, as if pleading for notice.

The hem concluded mid-thigh, the outline of her thighs discernible beneath the fabric, which was so flimsy it could scarcely be considered more than a whisper. Her skin remained flushed from the water's warmth, her lips slightly parted, her breathing coming in shallow, irregular gasps as she registered the scene before her—Angela held securely in my embrace, my hands possessively encircling her waist, our lips still swollen from our shared kisses.

Tyler's voice shattered the stillness like a gunshot, his body straining against the hospital bed, his face contorted in anguish. "Mother... please..." His voice was raw, fragmented, his hands clawing at the sheets as though he could tear himself free from the unfolding nightmare.

"I’m willing to die... please don’t—" His words dissolved into a choked sob, his body convulsing under the immense weight of his helplessness.

Nathalie's gaze darted between us, her eyes wide with both humiliation and desperation. She swallowed audibly, her fingers intertwining before her, her voice barely registering as more than a trembling plea. "Can we not... can we not do this in front of our son... please."

Angela then pushed away from me, her lips curving into a slow, malevolent smile as she advanced closer to Nathalie. Her fingers delicately traced the strap of Nathalie’s nightie, her touch mockingly gentle.

"How can that be?" she murmured, her voice dripping with feigned sympathy. "I want your son to be grateful for his mother. How can he truly appreciate your sacrifice if he doesn’t get to see your efforts?" She tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. "Besides, Tyler needs to learn what it means to be powerless. Don’t you think so, Nathalie?"

The room was heavy with the suffocating burden of Tyler’s sobs, his voice cracking as he thrashed against the hospital bed, his body trembling violently. "Mother, please... don’t do this... don’t let him—" His words disintegrated into a ragged gasp, tears streaming down his face, his fingers clawing at the sheets as if he could emancipate himself from the nightmare unfolding before his very eyes.

Angela’s laughter sliced through the tension like a keen blade, sharp and derisive. She moved closer to Nathalie, her gaze raking over her with a cruel, calculating scrutiny. "What are you waiting for?" she sneered, her voice imbued with venom.

"Do you need me to peel those rags off you myself? Let’s see what Dexter thinks of that sagging, wrinkled body of yours. Maybe he’ll still want you, or maybe he’ll just laugh and walk away." She extended a hand, her fingers toying with the delicate strap of Nathalie’s nightie, her touch imbued with disdain.

Nathalie’s face flushed with humiliation, her hands trembling at her sides. She could feel Tyler’s eyes fixed upon her, his sobs tearing at her heart, yet she steadfastly refused to meet his gaze. Instead, she lifted her chin, her voice trembling but resolute. "I’m sorry, son," she whispered, her words almost inaudible amidst the sound of his cries.

Then, she pivoted towards Angela, her cheeks ablaze with shame and anger. "I... think it would be better if Master removes my clothes himself," she stated, her voice remarkably steady despite the tempest of emotions raging within her. She maintained her gaze locked on Angela, her expression inscrutable, but a flicker of something perilous was discernible in her eyes.

Angela’s smirk deepened, her fingers withdrawing from Nathalie’s nightie as she stepped back, her eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. "Oh, how considerate of you," she purred, her voice dripping with mock sweetness.

"Dexter, do you hear that? She’s offering herself to you like a good little whore. Isn’t that just precious?" She turned to me, her smile broadening. "Go on, then. Let’s see if she’s still worth the trouble."

I nodded, my gaze never straying from Nathalie. There was an unsettling quality to her tone, something overly controlled, too deliberate. I could sense the tension coiling within her body, the way her fingers twitched at her sides. She was concealing something.

Nathalie took a slow, deliberate step towards me, her movements measured, her breath coming in shallow gasps. As I reached out to seize her wrist, her body grew taut—and then, in a sudden burst of motion, she struck.

With a sudden, desperate cry, she forcefully yanked her arm back, revealing a small, glinting knife concealed within the sleeve of her nightie. Before I could react, she pressed the blade against my throat, her hand shaking but her grip unwavering.

"I won’t let you touch me!" she shrieked, her voice raw with fury and terror. "I won’t let you touch my son! I’d rather die than let you near him!"

Tyler’s voice sliced through the room, frantic and desperate. "Mother, no! He’s—not human! You don’t understand what he is! You can’t fight him like this!" His body strained against the bed, his eyes wide with terror as he observed the unfolding scene.

Angela’s smirk vanished, her expression contorting into something darker, more menacing. "You stupid, pathetic bitch," she hissed, her voice low and venomous.

"You think you can fight him? You think a little knife is going to save you?" She took a step closer, her eyes gleaming with malice. "Dexter isn’t just a man, Nathalie. He’s something far worse. And you’ve just signed your death warrant."

I remained motionless. The blade pressed against my skin, yet I merely smiled, my voice calm, almost amused. "Nathalie... you really should have thought this through." My fingers tightened around her wrist, not to withdraw, but to hold her firmly in place, my grip unyielding.

"You have no idea what you’re dealing with." My eyes darkened, my voice lowering to a whisper that sent a chill down her spine. "But you’re about to find out."

Nathalie’s breath came in ragged gasps, her body trembling as she pressed the knife harder against my throat, her knuckles white with the exertion. "I don’t care what you are," she spat, her voice trembling but fierce. "I won’t let you hurt my son. I won’t let you hurt anyone else!"

Angela emitted a cold, mocking laugh. "Oh, this is rich. The great Nathalie, the doting mother, finally grows a spine." She advanced even closer, her voice dripping with contempt. "But it’s too late, darling. You’ve already lost. And now? Now you’re just going to watch as Dexter makes you beg for death."

The room seemed to constrict around them, the air thick with tension and the unspoken promise of violence. Nathalie’s grip on the knife faltered for a mere second, her eyes flickering with uncertainty. But she did not retreat. She could not. Not when Tyler’s life hung in the balance.

I leaned in slightly, my lips brushing the shell of her ear, my voice a dark, velvety whisper. "You should have stayed on your knees, Nathalie." My free hand snaked around her waist, pulling her flush against me, the hardness of my body pressing into hers. "Now you’re going to learn what happens when you defy me."