Within seconds, the painkillers hit—his body relaxing, breathing evening out. The sedative dulled the shock. The healing pill stopped the infection, stabilized blood loss, and kept him alive long enough to regret everything.
His eyes fluttered open—groggy, unfocused—then sharpened as the reality hit.
He looked down at the charred, sealed stumps where his hands used to be.
Then, at Camilla—kneeling topless beside him, massive tits bare and swaying, blood and tears streaking her face and dripping onto her dark nipples.
Then at .
He tried to speak—voice raw, broken.
"It’s... all because of you... you... motherfucker..."
I grabbed Camilla by the waist—yanked her up against —her naked, heavy tits crushing to my chest, fat nipples scraping my shirt.
I kissed her hard—claiming, brutal—tongue forcing past her lips while my hand slid down to grope her thick xican ass again, squeezing the marked cheek so hard she whimpered into my mouth, hips bucking forward against my thigh.
Drake tried to lunge—screaming—but with no hands, he couldn’t even push himself up. He collapsed sideways—stumps flailing uselessly—howling in rage and helplessness.
"LET HER GO—! YOU BASTARD—LET HER GO—!"
I broke the kiss—Camilla gasping, lips swollen and shining, eyes glassy with tears and lingering arousal.
I looked down at him, smiling slowly and coldly.
"Camilla sold herself to ," I said clearly. "In order to save you. You should thank her. She begged on her knees—offered every hole, every night, her whole body—just so I’d keep you breathing. So thank her, Drake. Thank your wife for becoming my sex slave... for you."
Drake’s scream choked off into a sob—broken, defeated.
Camilla trembled against —tears falling fresh and hot down her flushed cheeks—but she didn’t pull away.
Instead, she pressed closer, her massive xican tits flattening heavily against my chest, soft and warm, dark nipples scraping my shirt with every shaky breath.
Her hips rocked once—slow, involuntary—grinding her soaked cunt against my thigh through the thin, blood-streaked lace of her panties. Her fat xican ass clenched hard under my groping hand, the red handprints glowing brighter as my fingers dug deeper into the plush flesh.
"I’m sorry..." she whispered—to Drake, to the blood-soaked cave, to no one and everyone—voice cracking like thin glass.
Drake—still slumped on his side, stumps seared black and oozing—finally collapsed fully onto his back. His chest heaved in shallow, ragged gasps. His eyes—wild, glassy with shock and pain—locked onto mine. Then, in a broken, hoarse rasp that barely sounded human:
"Kill ... please..." he begged, voice wet with tears and blood. "I don’t wanna live like this... no hands... no... nothing... just end it... please..."
I chuckled—low, dark, almost gentle.
"You should have thought of the consequences from the beginning," I said, voice calm, almost conversational.
"Threatening to rape my won. Looking at Nicole like she was next. You crossed a line, Drake. Lines like that... they don’t forgive. They don’t forget. And they don’t let you walk away whole."
I licked my lips—slow, deliberate—eyes sliding down to Camilla’s trembling body pressed against .
My free hand slid between her thick thighs—fingers brushing the soaked lace of her panties before slipping underneath. I pressed one finger along her swollen slit—drawing a long, broken moan from deep in her throat.
"Aaaaaaaaah...!"
Her hips bucked—ass clenching harder in my other hand—massive tits jiggling against my chest as she tried and failed to stifle the sound.
I pulled my finger free—slowly—holding it up between us, glistening with her thick, clear pussy juices that stretched in sticky strands between my digits.
I brought it right in front of Drake’s face—close enough that he could sll her arousal, sharp and musky, cutting through the coppery reek of blood.
"Look," I said softly, almost kindly. "Your wife is just acting. She’s such a slut... I bet she’s even more excited than I right now. Dripping like a faucet while her husband bleeds out on the floor."
Camilla’s breath hitched—eyes wide, horrified.
"I... I don’t..." she stamred, voice shaking, cheeks burning crimson.
I held my wet finger closer, twisting it so the light caught the shiny coating.
"Then what is this?" I asked, voice low and mocking.
Camilla stared at the glistening finger—then at Drake—then back at . Her blush deepened, spreading down her throat to the tops of her bare, heaving tits.
"It’s... it’s sweat..." she whispered, voice cracking, desperate. "Yeah... it’s sweat... because of the heat... the cave... the fire..."
I smiled—slow, cruel—twirling my finger so the sticky strands stretched and snapped.
"Really."
Camilla nodded frantically—tears spilling faster.
I leaned in—lips brushing her ear.
"You don’t need to convince ," I murmured. "You should talk to your husband."
Drake’s eyes—already glassy with pain and shock—widened further. His voice ca out raw, broken, furious.
"You slut..." he rasped, stumps twitching uselessly. "You... fucking... slut... moaning for him... dripping like a whore... while I bleed... ..."
Camilla flinched—hard—like he’d slapped her.
"No..." she whispered, voice cracking. "Drake... I... I had to... for you..."
Drake laughed—wet, bitter, coughing blood.
"? You sold your cunt to him... begged to be his slave... let him slap your ass red... let him finger you right in front of ... and now you say ’for us’? You’re not my wife anymore. You’re his cum-dump. His filthy xican whore."
Camilla sobbed—loud, shattered—dropping her forehead to the bloody stone again.
"I’m sorry..." she choked out. "I’m so sorry... I didn’t want... I just wanted to save you... Save your life."
I stepped back—watching them both.
Camilla—topless, massive tits heaving with every sob, dark nipples thick and erect, fat xican ass still marked red and quivering.
Drake—handless, broken, bleeding, staring at his wife like she was a stranger.
The cave was silent except for Camilla’s soft crying and Drake’s ragged breathing.
I crouched—eye-level with Camilla—lifting her chin gently with two fingers.
"You made your choice," I said quietly. "You begged. You offered everything. And I accepted. Now live with it."
She looked up at —eyes red, glassy, defeated.
"Yes... Master..." she whispered.
I stood, turning to the others.
Lisa still held gan—gun now tucked into her waistband.
Angela watched with dark, satisfied eyes.
Mira held Nicole close—shielding her from the worst of it.
I looked at Drake one last ti.
"You’re alive because she begged for you," I said. "Rember that. Every ti you look at those stumps. Every ti you see her on her knees for . Rember who saved you... and who owns her now."
Drake’s sob was broken—wordless—head dropping back to the stone.
I turned to Camilla.
"Clean yourself up," I said. "Then co to . On your knees. Show your husband how grateful you are that I let him live."
Camilla nodded—slow, trembling—tears still falling onto her bare, heavy tits.
"Yes... Master..."
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