Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks Chapter 436: The Price of Paradise

"Look at us! We’re skin and bones, covered in this shit-sand that never washes off. I haven’t slept more than four hours straight in weeks without dreaming of choking on dust. And you... You want to dangle it? Make us beg?"

I lifted a hand casually, halting her instantly, yet I refused to retreat. Allow her to sense the warmth pouring from my body, the deliberate drop of my stare to the sweat sliding down her neck into that dark cleavage, envisioning her salty, frantic taste in that spot.

"I didn’t say I wouldn’t share," I responded smoothly, my tone lowering, growing harsher, like stones crunching beneath footsteps.

"I said, why should I. There’s a difference, Officer. Out here, nothing comes without cost. Not water. Not food. Not a comfortable bed for screwing after enduring a tough day of mere survival. But I’m a fair guy. I’m proposing an exchange."

"Supplies. Food—canned meats, fresh fish cooked over flames. Medicine for Paul, sufficient to crush that fever completely. Clean outfits, baths in water so clear you could sip it during sex without fear of dysentery. A spot to relax that isn’t this blasted, gusty wasteland. In exchange..."

My gaze wandered over her once more—leisurely, admiring, pausing on the curve of her hips beneath the belt, the tension in her thighs inside those faded trousers, picturing them parted broadly, her officer’s determination shattering as I thrust my cock inside her deeply.

Megan’s expression contorted—fury blazing fiercely in her emerald eyes, face reddening beneath the grime as my statement struck like a blow. She advanced a short step, hands balled at her hips, the discarded duty belt draped across her shoulder like a prize she wasn’t prepared to relinquish.

"One has to be my slave..." I echoed, tone subdued and purposeful, allowing every word to penetrate. "This is my proposal. And it’s solely for the women. If accepted, join us. Eat. Rest. Fuck. Survive. If rejected... do as you please. Remain here. Starve. Hack up blood. See the children wither. Your decision, Officer."

Megan exhaled sharply, seething with rage. "How can you be so heartless...?" she whispered harshly, her voice breaking at the end.

"You stand there in your spotless attire with your leaking harem, waving paradise like a damn lure, and the cost is our self-respect? Our flesh? You believe that’s just? You figure that paints you as a rescuer or merely another tyrant craving dominance?"

I remained unmoved. Kept my voice steady.

"I’m not a philanthropist," I stated evenly, locking eyes with her unyielding stare. "I’ve said plenty."

Then I pivoted away from her—intentionally, scornfully—and headed right for Mira.

She huddled a bit, clutching Nicole firmly, one palm smoothing her child’s locks as the girl quivered against her bosom. Mira’s words were gentle, imploring, motherly, even with the hobble in her gait and the subtle shake in her legs from all I’d inflicted on her.

"Nicole... come with me," she murmured, cradling her daughter’s tear-soaked visage. "I will take care of you... Just trust Mom, okay? I know it’s been hell. I know I left. But I’m here now. I’ve got a place—safe, warm, food every day. You don’t have to be scared anymore. Please, baby girl... come with me."

Nicole’s bottom lip trembled, her eyes wide and misty—darting between her mom’s features and the others: Angela reclining against me with that indolent, content grin, Lisa observing the scene with shadowy, eager gazes, Megan rooted a short distance off, panting heavily.

Before Nicole could reply—before any "yes" or "no" could emerge—Jack whirled about.

He’d been staring at the ocean throughout, posture stiff, avoiding the sight of the woman he’d formerly named his spouse. Now his countenance was storm-dark, neck veins throbbing, eyes reddened with fury and a deeper ugliness—perhaps betrayal, or simply the creeping decay of a fellow who’d forfeited it all and faulted the incorrect individual.

"Bitch," he growled, tone deep and poisonous, advancing with gripped fists. "That’s enough. Get away from my family."

Mira rose straight—wrath sparking over her features like a bolt. "She is also my daughter," she retorted, volume increasing, keen and firm. "And I am just—"

Jack cut her off.

He charged—arm pulling back, flat palm already arcing in a savage swing targeted right at her face, just as he’d likely struck her previously, when she was still legally his.

I reacted swifter.

My grip extended—seizing his wrist during the swing with a snap of bone on bone. He uttered a startled grunt; I wrenched fiercely, yanking his limb downward, then slammed my opposite palm into his cheek with a savage, flat strike that rang out like a rifle shot across the shore.

The blow jerked his head sideways. Blood surged immediately at his mouth’s edge—vivid crimson on ashen flesh. His legs gave way; he collapsed heavily onto the sand, coughing red onto the particles.

The entire camp fell utterly quiet.

Bill dashed ahead—eyes bulging in alarm—seizing his father’s limb to pull him upright. "Dad...!"

Jack lurched to his feet—propped by his boy—blood dripping along his jaw, lip puffing already. He smeared it with his hand’s back, glaring at me as if eager to rip my throat apart.

I positioned myself between him and Mira—form blocking her and Nicole entirely.

"Why are you laying hands on my woman?" I inquired, voice hushed, nearly casual, yet each term laced with frost. "Listen closely. She is mine. You’ve already disrespected her. Divorced her. Discarded her like garbage. You don’t get to touch her anymore."

Jack’s torso rose and fell—breathing uneven, gaze frenzied. He hawked blood onto the sand, then peered beyond me to Nicole.

"Nicole," he commanded, tone splintering with urgency now. "Get back here. Stay away from her. She is not your mother anymore. She’s... she’s his whore. Look at her—limping, stinking of him, clad like some harlot. She chose him. She left us. Don’t you dare go with her."

Nicole recoiled—sharply—tears cascading down her cheeks in quiet rivulets. Her tiny fingers clenched harder in Mira’s coat, knuckles blanched. She gazed up at her mom—pleading, fearful—then at her dad, then at me.

The child shuddered so intensely it was visible from my position.