Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 295: The Red Wax Seal

A sinister, thrilling laugh erupted from deep within my chest. "Fucking awesome," I croaked, my tone heavy with craving. My hands twitched with a life of their own, already visualizing the ways I could distort this situation and bend it to my desires. The potential was limitless, and a cold shiver of absolute power raced down my spine.

Everything could be mine.

There were no boundaries. No more rules. Only complete, undiluted self-indulgence.

My consciousness was flooded with images of the future—Ruth’s sharp intakes of breath, Ada’s soft cries, and the visceral way their frames would react to every depraved order I issued.

The mere mental image caused my cock to throb, my breathing accelerating as I envisioned the impending chaos, the ecstasy, and the total dominance.

I could already anticipate the cracking of Ruth’s voice when I forced her beyond her breaking point, and the trembling of Ada’s limbs as she struggled to remain submissive.

The sheer intensity of it triggered a surge of arousal, my cock pulsing with a near-painful rhythm at the thought of subjugating them both to my whims.

"Oh, this is going to be fun," I muttered under my breath, my words saturated with a dark, heavy promise. The stakes of the game had just been raised significantly.

I focused my attention on the initial choice—Pooping. It was the highest source of Pervert Points (PP), and I wasn't opposed to the idea.

After all, I had already experienced this with Vera. The recollection of her squirming, her features burning with the heat of humiliation as she submitted to my will, triggered a fresh wave of stimulation.

However, Ada represented a different challenge. She wasn't a mere toy; she held the title of Mother Ada, a status that carried significant weight. It introduced a layer of intricacy, requiring a precise equilibrium between raw dominance and traditional reverence.

Forcing her to defecate on command was impossible; her anatomy would only comply when she reached her limit, when she truly desired it. That was the essence of the thrill—the difficulty of dismantling her pride and making her yearn for the very act that brought her shame.

Still, that didn't prevent me from nudging her in that direction.

A smirk played on my lips as I began to craft a strategy. If the first choice was unavailable, I would settle for the alternative. My gaze shifted to Ruth, who remained on her knees next to Ada, her face displaying a blend of anxiety and rapt interest. Standing up, I spoke with a voice that was steady yet infused with command. "I’m going to get... something. You wait here."

Ruth gave a submissive nod, her fingers lightly grazing Ada’s shaking form. "Mother, please bear with it," she murmured, her touch as light as a feather as she traced the delicate skin surrounding Ada’s asshole. "Dexter is gonna heal you soon."

Ada released a faint, desperate moan, her spine arching slightly into Ruth’s palm. "Y-yes..." she whispered, her voice thick with a mixture of embarrassment and yearning.

I exited the chamber, my thoughts spinning with new tactics. I required a candle—a tool to intensify the atmosphere, adding a fresh dimension of physical sensation and mental duress.

I utilized the system’s supermarket store to purchase a candle and a box of matches. I returned gripping the red candle in one hand and the matchbox in the other, the deep blood-red color of the wax already vibrating with the promise of the coming scene.

The moment I re-entered, the dancing light of the struck match drew their focus first, followed quickly by their eyes snapping to the candle itself.

Ruth’s grip on Ada’s waist tightened, her breath catching as she watched the flame flicker atop the wick. Ada’s muscles locked, her thighs clamping together by instinct as her eyes darted between the flame and my expression, her gaze a swirling mess of terror, wonder, and a darker curiosity.

Neither woman had ever encountered such an object before.

Ruth’s voice shook as she gestured toward the fire, her words barely audible. "What... what is this? It looks like it’s carrying fire..."

I allowed a slow, arrogant smirk to spread across my face as I placed the matches on the bedside table. "This," I stated, my voice deep and calculated, "Is called a candle." I slanted it slightly, letting the glow dance across their flesh, the shadow of the fire twisting and elongating against their exposed bodies. "And it will help me in healing Mother Ada."

Ruth’s eyes grew wide, her hold on Ada becoming more desperate. "How...?" she whispered, her voice strained with a combination of fear and morbid fascination.

I offered no verbal reply.

Instead, I angled the candle further, allowing a heavy bead of molten wax to gather at the rim. It lingered there for a second, shining like liquid sin, before it broke free and descended in a slow, certain stream. PLINK.

Ada’s entire body spasmed as the wax hit her thigh, her breath leaving her in a sharp, jolting gasp. "Aaah! It burns!" she shrieked, her nails digging into the bedding beneath her, her hips lurching as she tried to flee the biting heat.

"Aaaaaah—!" The cry ripped from her throat, raw and panicked, yet beneath the agony, there was a different note—something more desperate that caused her legs to shudder and her breathing to become ragged and frantic.

Ruth let out a faint whimper, her own body responding instinctively to Ada’s distress. She pressed her hand to her mouth, her fingers shaking as she observed the wax solidifying against Ada’s reddened, trembling skin.

The display seemed to simultaneously repulse and captivate her, her own thighs squeezing together as if she could feel the temperature herself. "D-Dexter, that’s—!" she blurted out, her voice heavy with a mix of protest and a darker impulse—something that caused her breath to hitch.

I paid her no mind, my attention fixed entirely on Ada. My tone was steady, almost like a physician, as I forced her chin up to meet my eyes. "Mother Ada," I inquired, my fingers brushing the edge of the set wax on her leg, "is it still burning?"

Ada shook her head, her hands trembling as they hovered near the wax mark on her thigh. "N-no..." she stammered, her voice clouded with bewilderment. "It’s... it’s feeling a bit cool now... where it dripped..." Her brow furrowed, her face a mask of confusion and wonder.

She had anticipated a lingering burn that would consume her—but the pain had vanished, replaced by a peculiar, tingling coldness that made her skin crawl with sensation.

"How...?" she breathed softly, as if unable to grasp how something that had bitten so sharply could now feel almost... comforting.

I observed her reaction intently, my voice shifting into a tone of mock seriousness, laced with a hidden malice that made her body go rigid.

"Mother Ada," I began, my hand sliding down her abdomen, tracing the line of her hip before pausing dangerously near her asshole, "your asshole is carrying the sickness."

My touch was heavy and possessive, making her squirm as her breath hitched. "And I need to be very careful in healing it."

Ada’s eyes dilated, her muscles tensing as the weight of my words hit her. "S-sickness...?" she whispered, her voice shaking with fear.