Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks-Chapter 446: Camilla’s Kneeling Apology

I looked at Drake—still alive but unconscious, his chest rising and falling in shallow, erratic gasps.

The stumps of his wrists were charred black where I’d sealed them with the glowing knife, blood no longer pumping in thick jets but still oozing sluggishly into the dark pool beneath him. His face was ashen, lips blue-tinged, shock and pain carving deep lines into his features even in oblivion.

I turned to Lisa—voice flat, final, carrying across the blood-scented cave.

"Throw him out," I said. "Somewhere deep in the jungle. Let the animals have what’s left of him."

Lisa nodded once—already stepping forward, muscles flexing as she bent to grab his ankles.

Camilla lunged—desperate, hysterical—throwing her half-naked body between us, bare tits bouncing wildly as she scrambled on her knees through the cooling blood.

Her massive Mexican tits—full, heavy, dark-nippled—swung pendulously with every frantic movement, nipples thick and erect from the cold air and lingering arousal, swaying like ripe fruit begging to be plucked.

Her thick thighs rubbed together, lace panties soaked dark at the crotch, clinging obscenely to her swollen pussy lips.

"Wait... don’t!" she cried, voice shattering, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks and dripping onto the upper swells of her heaving breasts. "He... he will die... please... save him... please, I beg you... I’ll do anything... anything!"

She dropped lower—forehead pressed to the bloody stone at my boots—massive tits squashing against her folded arms, nipples scraping the rough floor, leaving faint red trails in the mess.

Her fat Mexican ass—round, plush, still glowing with my handprints—jutted upward as she bowed, cheeks parted just enough to show the soaked gusset of her panties clinging to her dripping slit.

"Please, Master..." she sobbed, voice raw and broken. "I’m begging... don’t let him die... he’s my husband... please... I’ll be whatever you want... I’ll crawl... I’ll spread... I’ll choke on your cock every night... just save him..."

I shook my head—slow, cold, unyielding.

"I’m sorry," I said quietly. "Even if I can save him... I don’t want to. He shouldn’t have targeted my wife. He threatened to rape Angela. Lisa. Mira. Even looked at Nicole like she was meat. That crosses a line. Some lines you don’t come back from."

Camilla’s sobs turned frantic—desperate. She reached behind her back with shaking hands—unhooking her black lace bra in one frantic motion.

It fell away. Her enormous Mexican tits spilled free—heavy, pendulous, dark areolas wide and crinkled, thick nipples jutting out like ripe berries, swaying hypnotically with every heaving breath.

She shoved the dress the rest of the way down her wide hips—letting it pool at her knees—leaving her in nothing but the soaked black lace panties that clung transparently to her swollen, dripping cunt.

"I’m willing to be your slave..." she choked out, voice raw with grief and surrender. "Your sex slave... please... just save him... I’ll do anything... everything... every hole... every night... I’ll beg... I’ll crawl... I’ll let you fuck my fat Mexican ass until I can’t walk... I’ll suck you clean after every woman... please..."

Her massive tits jiggled with every sob—nipples brushing her forearms as she clutched herself—ass cheeks clenching and releasing, the red handprints glowing brighter against her warm brown skin.

I raised a hand.

"Stop," I said—firm, but not angry.

She froze—half-naked, trembling, tears dripping onto the tops of her bare breasts, rolling down the deep valley between them.

I looked at her—really looked—then at Drake’s pale, bleeding body.

"I can try to save him," I said quietly. "But this is it. Don’t forget what you promised. You belong to me now. Completely. No more games. No more betrayal. Or next time... I won’t stop at hands."

Camilla nodded—frantic, tear-soaked—crawling forward on her knees through the blood.

"Yes... Master... thank you... thank you..."

I stopped Lisa with a gesture—she released Drake’s ankles, stepping back.

I pulled the magical tool from my pocket—quick flick of my wrist—cube unfolding into the same razor-sharp knife.

Megan’s eyes widened—she and Camilla both stared, trying to track where it came from, but I moved too fast, palming it back into my sleeve as if it had never been there.

They could only guess I’d hidden it somewhere on my body.

I gathered dry wood from the small pile near the back wall—tossed it into a rough circle on the stone floor—then flicked a lighter from my pocket. Flames caught quickly—small, hot.

I held the knife in the fire—blade turning cherry-red in seconds.

Drake stirred—groaning—eyes fluttering open just as I pulled the glowing metal free.

I knelt—straddling his chest to pin him—then pressed the flat of the burning blade against one wrist stump.

The sizzle was immediate—flesh searing, blood hissing and popping.

Drake woke screaming—high, animalistic—body convulsing under me.

"AAAAAHHHH—FUCK—BURNING—STOP—!"

"Camilla—hold him!" I barked.

She scrambled over—still topless, massive tits swaying heavily—dropping to her knees beside his head. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders—pressing her bare, heavy breasts against his back—trying to keep him still while he thrashed and howled.

"Drake—stop—please—hold still—!" she sobbed, tears dripping onto his face, her fat nipples dragging across his shirt as she struggled to restrain him. "It’s for your own good—please—!"

The smell hit—burnt meat, coppery blood, charred skin—thick and choking, filling the cave.

Nicole whimpered, " You are so cruel... You..."

Mira whispered frantically—"Don’t look, baby... don’t look..."

I cauterized the second stump—faster this time—Drake’s scream peaking into a ragged, broken gurgle before his eyes rolled back and he went limp again—fainted from pain and blood loss.

I stood—knife cooling, blade black with char.

"Move out," I ordered—voice flat. "Everyone except Camilla. Give us space."

Lisa herded Megan and the others toward the back tunnel—Nicole clinging to Mira, Angela and Lisa flanking them protectively.

Only Camilla remained—kneeling in the blood, topless, massive Mexican tits heaving with every sob, nipples thick and dark against her brown skin, ass still marked red and swaying slightly as she rocked in grief.

I bought the medicine from the supermarket and took it out. I popped it open: two white capsules—painkiller and sedative—plus a small, faintly glowing green tablet. The healing pill. Cost me 1000 Pervert Points—expensive, but worth it.

Drake was useful alive.

A broken man with no hands? He could still watch. Still suffer. Still remind everyone what happened when you crossed me. And if I ever needed leverage over Camilla again... he was perfect.

I knelt, tilted his head back, and forced the pills down his throat with a splash of water from the basin. He coughed—weakly—then swallowed reflexively.