Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 342: Megan’s Difficult Position

Angela let out a chuckle, resting against the tree next to me, mischief sparkling in her gaze. "Oh, Megan..." she whispered, her voice laced with sugary derision, "you seem like you could really use a decent meal." She sipped from her beverage, the noise drawn out and provoking. "But slavery? That's way too high a cost for pizza."

Lisa snickered, spinning a slice between her fingertips. "Then again..." she whispered, her grin sharp and merciless, "you do appear desperate enough to think about it."

Megan's features contorted, her tone hushed and poisonous. "You're twisted." She advanced a step, her finger pointing sharply at me. "This isn't amusing."

I gave a casual shrug, undisturbed, as I chewed another mouthful. "I never claimed it was." My stare fixed on hers, icy and resolute. "But life isn't amusing either, Megan." I nodded toward the mushroom stew simmering on the flames, the survivors gripping their containers like precious anchors. "And at this moment, you're going hungry while I'm indulging." My grin curved wickedly. "So. What's your choice?"

Megan's fists balled up, her words quivering with fury. "I'd prefer to starve."

I burst into laughter, the tone shadowy and entertained. "As you wish." I bent forward, my whisper dropping low. "But keep in mind—pride won't satisfy a growling belly."

Tension crackled through the clearing, the atmosphere heavy with despair's odor and the subtle whiff of mushroom stew bubbling on the fire.

The survivors clustered near their crude supper, their cheeks streaked with grime, their stares fierce with craving and bitterness. They held their bowls as if they were saviors, yet their looks darted repeatedly to me, to the hot pizza and chilled beverages I clutched.

One fellow, a sturdy type with a ragged beard and frantic eyes, smashed his bowl against the earth, his cry hoarse with irritation. "I can't endure this any longer!" he growled, his palms knotted into balls. "We're famished over here, and this jerk is chowing down on pizza like it's no big deal!"

Another fellow, slimmer yet with matching frenzied eyes, rose to his feet, his words quiet and menacing. "We outnumber them!" he spat, his focus glued to the pizza. "We can simply seize it!"

A third fellow, taller and more massive, agreed with a nod, popping his knuckles. "Right!" he rumbled, his tone somber. "Let's charge! I want to watch how long this smug fool keeps grinning once we grab everything!"

The crowd started shifting, their footfalls weighty, resolute, ravenous. Their sights locked on the pizza, the beverages, and myself. A few moistened their lips, others gripped their hands tightly, their expressions warped by avarice and anger.

"Let's go!" one barked, moving ahead, his shout ragged. "We grab it, and we divide it! No more going hungry!"

"Yes!" another hollered, shoving past the others, his eyes manic. "I need a piece! I need a drink! I don't care what it takes!"

Megan remained rooted, her expression torn, her arms folded. She made no move to halt them. She was powerless to. The starvation in their stares was overwhelming, their need too intense. She observed their approach, her teeth gritted, her fingers curling into fists.

I savored another leisurely gulp of the icy beverage, the container shining under the moon's glow, my gaze steady on theirs. Then, with ease, I reached back.

With a smooth flick, I drew the enchanted device, shifting it into a firearm in an instant. The steel shone, frigid and lethal, as I lifted it ahead, my digit poised on the trigger.

"Come..." My tone was subdued, taunting, and perilous. "If you've got the nerve..."

The clearing went still.

The men halted abruptly, their complexions draining of color, their eyes bulging in astonishment. "What the hell!" one bellowed, staggering rearward, his arms lifting in submission.

"He's armed with a gun!" another cried, his pitch frantic and shrill. "This jerk actually has a gun!"

"Blast it!" a third muttered, retreating, his features contorted in dread. "How in the world does he still possess a gun?!"

The crowd dispersed in chaos, frantic, stumbling over one another in their rush to withdraw. Several tumbled down, clawing backward, their eyes enormous with fright. The rest stayed rigid, their limbs quaking, their faces ashen.

"You can't just brandish a gun at us!" one yelled, his voice wavering.

"Can't I?" I shot back, my words cutting, conclusive. "I can." My smirk warped, shadowy, threatening. "And I will."

Angela snickered, propped against the tree, delight twinkling in her eyes. "Seems the famished mutts retreated quick as lightning."

Lisa smirked, munching on pizza, her look icy, derisive. "Suppose they overlooked who's truly running things here."

The survivors lingered, rigid, shamed, broken. Their appetite lingered, tormenting them, but their ego had suffered a blow. And for the moment, that hurt worse than the pangs of hunger.

One of the men, prone on the soil, shot me a venomous glare, his tone rough with loathing. "You won't maintain this indefinitely!"

I dipped the gun slightly, enough to show I offered them an option. "Scram," I whispered, my tone hushed, ominous. "Before I reconsider."

They required no second warning.

The crowd fled, grumbling oaths, peeking back at me with dread, fury, impotence. Megan stayed put, her visage distorted, her fists tight, avoiding my eyes.

I enjoyed another swallow of the frosty drink, my grin unwavering.

"Pitiful," I whispered, my tone subdued, entertained.

Angela chortled, lifting her beverage in a false salute. "To that."

Lisa smirked, biting into more pizza, her eyes shining. "They'll return."

I shrugged, the gun still lax in my grasp, my words chilly, absolute. "Let them try."

Because before long, they'd grasp it.

Hope was an extravagance.

And I alone knew the reality.

Power meant domination.

It involved demonstrating precisely who wielded the weapon.

And at present?

That was me.

The men who had pressed forward now stood immobile, their skins blanched, their fingers shaking. Some remained stuck in place, while others had dropped to their knees, their gazes vast with horror.

One of the men, huddled low on the ground, gulped deeply, his words trembling. "Megan..." he summoned, his cry hoarse, pleading. "Officer Megan! You must act!" His digits clawed the earth, his joints blanched. "He's holding a gun! He can't aim it at us this way!"

Another man, his countenance warped by wrath and terror, advanced, his tone frenzied. "Officer Megan! Force him to lower it!" He waved erratically toward me, his hands quivering. "He's endangering us! He has no authority!"

A third man, his voice splintering, chimed in. "You're meant to shield us!" He scowled at Megan, his eyes aflame with blame. "You can't permit this!"