Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks-Chapter 441: Camilla’s Cleavage as Master’s Pillow

Camilla blinked—startled. Her status hit her all over again: slave. No rights. No say. Just whatever I gave her. She swallowed hard—cheeks flushing darker—then lowered her eyes.

"Anything... Master gives me..." she whispered, voice trembling with the thrill of surrender.

I tilted her chin up—forced her to meet my gaze.

"It’s okay," I said, softer now, almost gentle. "You can tell me. What do you want?"

Camilla hesitated—then licked her lips, voice small but honest.

"Master... I would also like chicken fries..."

I nodded—slow, satisfied—and winked at Angela, Mira, and Lisa.

"Okay," I said. "I’ll go and get the things. You guys stay here. Keep Nicole company. Rest. I’ll be back soon."

I started to step away—already turning toward the cave mouth.

Camilla’s hand shot out—catching my wrist gently but firmly.

"Master..." she said quickly, eyes glinting with something cunning, something hungry. "Let me come with you... to help you carry things. As a slave... this is what I should do. Please."

I paused.

Looked down at her—saw the calculation behind the submission. She wanted to follow. Wanted to see. Wanted to know where the hell the food came from—how I could pull chicken fries and cheese pizza out of thin air when the rest of the survivors couldn’t even find clean water or raw meat that wasn’t half-rotten.

I understood instantly.

She was still Drake’s wife—still tied to whatever plan they’d hatched. She wanted intel. Location of the stash. Proof. Leverage.

I almost scolded her—almost reminded her that slaves don’t ask, they obey.

But then I remembered.

Drake and Megan—still hidden just outside, behind those trees. Markers pulsing on my world map overlay. Close. Too close. Whispering. Planning.

An idea sparked—sharp, wicked.

I smiled—slow, predatory—and leaned down so only she could hear.

"Okay," I murmured against her ear. "Follow me then, slave. Keep up. And don’t make me drag you by that fat ass if you fall behind."

Camilla shivered—eyes flashing with triumph, she thought, I didn’t see.

"Yes, Master," she breathed, already falling into step beside me.

We walked toward the cave mouth—her heels clicking awkwardly on stone, dress still hiked up, ass cheeks marked red and jiggling with every step.

Behind us:

Mira glanced up—eyes meeting mine for a heartbeat. She saw the look on my face. Understood. Gave the tiniest nod—trusting, silent—then turned back to Nicole, pulling her daughter closer under the blanket.

Angela smirked—dark, knowing—already reaching for a spare blanket to drape over Lisa’s lap like they were settling in for a show.

Lisa licked her lips—eyes on Camilla’s swaying hips.

"Bring back extra fries," she called after us. "We’re gonna need energy for later."

I didn’t answer.

I stepped out into the fading daylight—Camilla pressed tight to my side, her thick thigh brushing mine with every step, like she was afraid of getting lost in the unfamiliar terrain. Her massive tits squashed against my arm, nipples scraping through the thin red fabric every time she breathed. The dress was still hiked up from earlier—barely covering the lower curve of her ass—and I could feel the heat radiating from her cunt where it pressed against my hip.

Behind the nearest cluster of wind-bent pines, two shadows shifted—barely visible, but unmistakable on my overlay.

Drake—behind the thick trunk to our left now, body low, suit jacket blending with the bark.

Megan was next to the tree where Drake was hiding.

Perfect.

I slowed deliberately—guiding Camilla until we were standing just inches from the tree trunk, close enough that a single deep breath would carry the scent of her arousal straight to them.

Camilla’s tits bumped hard into my back when I stopped suddenly. She let out a soft, throaty "Ahmm..."—half moan, half surprised whimper—her nipples scraping my shoulder blades through my shirt.

I turned around slowly—facing her fully now, blocking her view of the tree, but making sure the angle let Drake and Megan see everything.

I lifted her chin with two fingers—forcing those dark, glassy eyes up to mine.

"Camilla..." I murmured, voice low and rough, just loud enough to carry. "Master is having a hard time holding back now. Why don’t you help Master... right here? If I’m satisfied... I might even reward you... with something good."

Her pupils blew wide—breath hitching so hard her massive tits rose and fell like waves. She didn’t know they were there—didn’t know her husband was less than three feet away, watching through the branches. Her mind was racing; I could see it in the way her lips parted, the way her thighs clenched together.

Sacrifice her body right here in the open?

Or find some excuse—delay, distract, buy time to see where the supplies really came from?

Before she could decide, I moved.

My hands dropped to her hips—gripping hard—then slid up, rough and possessive, cupping both massive tits through the dress. I squeezed—hard—thumbs dragging over her fat, pebbled nipples until they stood out like bullets against the red fabric.

Camilla gasped—"Mas... Master..."

I didn’t answer.

I buried my face between her tits—nose pressed deep into the soft, warm valley of her cleavage, inhaling the musky, salty scent of her skin mixed with faint perfume from whatever party she’d been headed to before the world ended.

She jolted—back arching, hands flying to my shoulders like she didn’t know whether to push me away or pull me closer.

"M-Master...!" she whimpered, voice cracking, thighs rubbing together frantically. "Here...? Out... outside...?"

I growled against her skin—teeth grazing the upper swell of one breast.

"Here," I said, loud enough for the hidden watchers to hear every word. "Right fucking here. On your knees, slave. Suck your Master’s cock until I’m dripping down your throat. Show me how grateful you are for the food, the bed, the safety. Show me you’re worth keeping."

Camilla’s knees buckled slightly—she caught herself on my shoulders, trembling violently. Her cunt was so wet I could smell it—thick, feminine musk rising between us.

I didn’t look over at the tree.

I didn’t need to.

I could already imagine Drake:

Face twisted in fury—jaw clenched so hard his teeth must ache—fists balled at his sides, suit jacket stretched tight across his shoulders as he fought the urge to lunge out and drag her back.

Watching his wife—his once-proud, party-ready wife—moaning like a whore, tits spilling out of her dress, nipples hard and begging, thighs slick with her own arousal as she prepared to drop to her knees for another man.

And Megan—right beside him—breathing hard, shirt gaping open, nipples stabbing against black lace, thighs pressed together as she hated herself for getting wet watching it.

I slid one hand down Camilla’s back—cupped her ass again—squeezed until she moaned louder, hips bucking forward.