Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 334: A Monster Among Sheep

That guy—a reckless, insignificant fool—advanced toward me, his features contorted in fury, his finger pointing accusingly. "Hey, boy," he snarled, his tone a menacing rumble. "Hand over your lighter. Don't make us snatch it from you."

I stayed put. I didn't waver. Instead, I grinned, my stare icy, my words laced with derisive humor. "I'm not handing it over." I edged closer, my inflection a sinister dare. "What will you do about it?"

The guy's expression grew stormier, his body tensing like a coiled wire about to break. "You punk—" He surged ahead, his grip aiming for my shirt, his digits scratching toward me.

I held off. At least initially.

Rather, I lifted my voice, feigning alarm as I shouted to the cop. "Officer! Assistance! They're bothering me!"

The attractive officer appeared right away, positioning herself as a barrier between us, her command sharp as a lash. "What's going on?!" she snapped, her palm on the pistol at her side, her glare fierce. "Are you attempting to steal from folks?!"

The guy paused, his eyes darting from me to the cop's weapons. Yet his ego kept him from retreating. "Ma'am... why won't this jerk assist us?" he pleaded, his pitch whiny and frantic. "I'm not demanding he give it away... merely loan it, and we'll give it back!"

The officer shifted her attention to me, her gaze sharpening. But I had more to say.

I taunted, my tone thick with haughty spite. "Is that so?" I laughed, my look scanning the group, pausing on the guy's visage.

"Why not have all of you offer me your spouses then?" My grin widened, my eyes flashing with wickedness. "Once I'm finished with them... I'll send them back as well."

The onlookers erupted.

"Son of a BITCH!"

"Take down this scum!"

"I'll tear out his windpipe!"

The guy snapped. With a bellow, he rushed me once more, his palms balled into hammers, his countenance warped in unbridled wrath. "You worthless trash—!"

This round, I didn't restrain myself.

His punch arced at my head, yet I moved quicker.

I seized his forearm, my grasp clamping like iron. With a fierce rotation, the crack echoed—his limb folding oddly, the bone fracturing from the force. His cry came immediately, shrill, a guttural shriek of torment.

"AAAAAAAAA—! DAMN IT! " He crumpled to the ground, his uninjured arm cradling the damaged one, his features twisted in suffering.

Yet I continued.

Before he could respond, I clutched his upper arm, pulling him in—then drove my knee into his features. His skull jerked rearward, crimson spurting from his nostrils. Next, without pause, I crushed my foot down on his joint—fiercely.

The snap rang out, decisive, akin to a limb giving way. His lower limb gave out, contorting unnaturally. His yell pierced the air, a cry of utter misery. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAA—! RELEASE ME! RELEASE ME!"

The group inhaled sharply, recoiling in dread. A few hid their faces, while others averted their sight, unwilling to witness. The guy's partner—a lady with frantic, horror-filled eyes—dashed up, kneeling by him. "TOMMY!" she wailed, her fingers shaking as she held his mangled form.

The officer dashed in, her expression blending astonishment and fury. "CEASE! CEASE!" she shouted, her words slicing the turmoil.

I withdrew, panting heavily, my focus fixed on the howling figure. His limb hung at a grotesque tilt, his joint puffing up, turning purple already. He swayed side to side, weeping, "Damn... damn... mercy..."

The officer seized my shirtfront, hauling me away, her countenance close, her snarl intense. "How could you be so BRUTAL?!"

I didn't recoil. I drew nearer, breathing in her scent—floral notes, sugary allure, out of sync with this nightmare. "Who provoked them to bother me?" I whispered, my tone shadowy, without regret.

She snorted, pushing me off in revulsion. "Medic!" she called, whirling toward the throng. "Any doctor or medic around?!"

The earlier self-appointed head—the father with the child—approached, his look somber. "I'm a physician," he stated, his words strained as he crouched by the injured man. He inspected the limb, the joint, his movements expert and steady. Then, he raised his eyes, his complexion ashen.

"It's... severe," he uttered, his voice empty. "His forearm bones are fractured. His patella is in pieces." He gulped, denying with a shake. "He'll be immobile for months— if he regains normal movement ever."

The group drew in breath, their stares bulging with terror as they fixed on me. I remained indifferent. I sneered, my words chill and conclusive. "I warned you..." I declared, my view roving across them, halting on every expression. "Don't provoke me." I lifted my shoulders, my grin jeering. "This is the result of provoking me."

The officer advanced furiously, her face etched with anger and incredulity. "You—" she began, but I interrupted with a sinister laugh.

"What? Were you hoping for politeness?" I opened my arms, my smile provoking. "I gave him fair warning."

She balled her hands, her tone a rumble. "You're twisted."

I chuckled, deep and ominous, while the group aided the moaning man off, his spouse weeping at his side, the physician tending to secure his damaged parts.

"And you're innocent," I whispered, observing her.

The group shot glares my way, their eyes alight with blended loathing, dread, and a deeper urge—as if they yearned to dismantle me bare-handed. I disregarded them, drawing Angela nearer and reclaiming my seat by the blaze, my limb over her back. The fire's glow danced on my skin, but the true intensity stemmed from the charged atmosphere.

The officer—Megan—lingered a bit more, her stare pinned on me as if debating execution or cuffs. At last, she breathed out roughly, her words taut as she addressed the group. "Return to your spots. I'll watch him."

The group wavered, whispering to each other, but gradually scattered, throwing a final scowl my way before heading to their improvised spots. Megan observed their departure, then—unexpectedly—she settled nearby, maintaining a wary gap, her palm on her firearm.

I faced her, my grin gradual and intentional, my gaze following her features—the firmness of her chin, how her attire clung to her form. "Stunner," I said, my voice silky, "what's your name?"

She tensed, her eyes slitting at the term, but soon replied, her tone curt. "Megan."

"So, Officer Megan," I breathed, reclining, my arm still encircling Angela. "I'm Dexter." I nodded toward the lady next to me. "This is my spouse, Angela. And our companion, Lisa."

Megan's look shifted among us, evaluating, judging. She stayed alert, yet didn't draw her weapon. "Count yourself fortunate I'm not cuffing you now," she warned, her voice hushed, threatening.