Synopsis: Cave-Incel tries to dethrone Cave-Chad.
3691 word, tell me what you think.
Primordial rebellion
Chapter one: Introduction
Cold… he felt so damn cold. The icy rain has been pouring for the entire day, draining him of warmth, strength and will. It was not so bad earlier, when he moved through the forest, were the trees gave him shelter. But now he was crossing the mountains where nothing protected him from the water and the wind. The worn fur on his back made little difference, and it itched horribly. The events of the day and the weight he bore now had been tiring enough, but now he just wanted to sleep. But he could not sleep. He could not even take a break or he would get even colder, freezing to death like he had seen other do. And so he pushed forward, his bare, numb feet scraping against the rock, his thin trembling arms grabbing for support wherever they could. He had to reach the cave and deliver his catch …his tribute.
You see, he is a hunter, of sorts. Not the noble kind of hunter, who threw a spear with well-honed accuracy into the heart of his prey. He was not the clever kind of hunter either, who set elaborate traps. Those ideas where completely unknown to his people. No, his methods were way simpler than that. He just looked for prey and then pursued it relentlessly. Mostly walking, sometimes running, he followed his target to its exhaustion. After cracking its skull with a sharp stone he lifted the beast (a goat-thing of some sorts) and made for his home, trying to ignore the shit and blood oozing from the dead animal.
Now standing before the entrance of the cave, warm air touching his skin, he desperately wanted to enter. But just doing so would be a very bad idea. He needed permission first. So he strained his hoarse throat and numb lips to produce the sound that was commonly associated with “beast/food/hunt”. He did so for several agonizing minutes tying to drown out the howling wind and pattering rain, until, finally, the Chad stood before him.
His people do not have individual names, their vocabulary being way too limited for such a luxury. However, in recent years, one particular male has become so central to the social life of the group, that not having a way to refer to him would be highly impractical. Born as the first son of the late chieftain, the Chad, well fed and cared for, had grown quickly to astonishing size. From his first moment on he had something about him that seemingly made him the favourite of everyone who laid eyes on him, with women being especially affected by this spell. It may have been the resulting spoiling treatment he received that caused his domineering and irascible character. He took what he wanted, did what he wanted and, not without the threat of violence, made others do what he wanted.
And now, hopefully, he wanted the hunter’s tribute. If not, the Chad would simply wait in the entrance, daring the hunter to enter anyway. Doing so without permission would be perilous. The Chad was not only tall, but also built like a tree. Dressed in the freshest, thickest furs, there was more than a passing similarity to an upright bear. His favoured method of punishing disobedience was the breaking of teeth. With stones or fists or feet he would destroy his victim’s jaws, reducing the poor soul to a howling, starving wretch. At this point, his authority was without question.
If denied, the hunter would have to find shelter in one of the lesser caves where he had to chew the raw meat of his rejected prey. Making a fire of his own was out of the question. His numb, unskilled hands would not be able to turn the stick in a useful fashion. Also, every piece of wood, not in the main cave, was soaking wet…
Chapter two: Social dynamics
But this time he was lucky. The Chad smiled somewhat and retreated back into the cave, signalling the hunter to come in. He, relieved, followed, dragging his catch behind him. Finally in a warm environment, he removed his wet furs and warmed himself at the fire. The fireplace had been moved directly in front of the Chad, who had chosen the most comfortable place in the cave to settle down. With even more fur under them as carpets, he and (of course) his harem were always warm and cosy.
And what a harem it was: his women where truly a sight to behold. Young and fertile, they incited a fierce desire in every male who gazed at them. The Chad knew this and therefore did not like it at all when anyone looked at them for more than a second, several broken noses and thumb-crushed eyeballs attested to that. Therefore the hunter could only observe them in short glances. To have even one of those women for himself, he would gladly carry a thousand beasts through a thousand icy mountain paths.
He was busy rubbing the numbness from his hands when he noticed the aggressive looks and gestures from some of the other cave dwellers. Apparently he was closer to the fire than his social standing allowed. The Chad did not like him *that* much and only a literal inner circle of his closest servants had unrestricted access to warmth.
Ignored by the hunter, who was still occupied with not losing fingers to the cold, the others became louder and more aggressive. Before anything drastic could happen however, the Chad, annoyed by the ordeal, yelled at them all: “CUCK!”
“Cuck”, you must know, basically means “do this (for me)” and its meaning is heavily dependent on context. The context, in this case, was provided by none other than the Chad himself, who, by yelling, signalled the group to tone it down. He then pointed at the dead animal which the hunter left near the entrance and said again, this time more measured: “Cuck”, indicating that he wanted someone to prepare the meat for him. The hunter hesitated, torn between the fear of punishment and the warmth of the fire, he slowly made to rise. However, his previous aggressors, always eager to serve, were already all over the beast and set to work. Slowly the warmth returned to his body and with it the crushing feeling of exhaustion. He retreated from the fire and laid down on his proper, colder spot, falling to sleep immediately.
Chapter three: Defiant thoughts
Apparently not much later, he was woken hastily by one of his equals, meaning one of the other less favoured cave dwellers. His friend, if you can call it that, motioned him to follow him out of the cave. Confused and still tired, the hunter made to ignore the request, until his friend came close to his ear and whispered harshly: “chad”, implying that the Chad wants them to leave. Agitated by this notion the hunter conceded. Apparently everyone, except for the Chad and his women were required to leave. As you can imagine, the Chad does not like his fucking observed by anyone not directly involved.
And so the majority of the group took their furs and other belongings and made their way to the less adequate caves. The rain had fortunately lessened and the materials to make fire stayed dry. Soon they all were lying or sitting around a new fireplace. The hunter, on the uncomfortable ground and with his sleep-rhythm interrupted, had trouble returning to sleep, his thoughts wandering instead. This happened often when his mind was not otherwise occupied, on the return trip from a successful hunt for example. Then, he tried to imagine himself in a better situation, were he did not have to worry about his place near the fire, were he was in the favour of the Chad, where he could have one of the women…
The obvious solution was to perform better. He had to bring more and better beasts, fulfil the Chad´s desires even better than the Cuck-people. There was a problem however: He would be facing fierce competition, the cucks did not like to share the Chads favour and often sabotaged each other. He had to admit that it was kind of satisfying to see one of them fall from grace and getting their jaw crushed. Sometimes, when his frustration was greater than usual, the hunter conceived more questionable solutions. Steal some fire and find a cave of your own. Kidnap one of the women. Kill every cuck in their sleep who threatens his path to Chads favour. But all those plans where dangerous or against the rules.
Maybe “rules” is not the best way to describe it. Let’s just say that his entire people had an unspoken (duh) agreement to abide by two indisputable principles. First: Everything of value belongs to the Chad. This extends not only to tools, clothes and fire but also to less passive objects, like women and beasts. Second: You do what the Chad wants you to do, without question or hesitation. Disregard for those principles practically guaranteed pain and death and was therefore regarded as bad. The opposite behaviour leads (most of the time) to the opposite result and was therefore good. These simple guidelines comprise the entire “moral” framework of the hunter and were therefore hard to ignore.
It is probably for this very reason that he, until now, never conceived of the revolutionary idea that now entered his troubled mind: Could it, somehow, be possible to become the Chad himself? Obsessing over this possibility for long moments, the hunter imagined what it would be like. The power, the women, all the meat he wanted and, hardest to imagine, the absence of fear. But how would one do this? Killing the Chad was as ridiculous a notion as killing a mountain. He had to try however. If he continued his life like this, he would eventually die of cold, hunger or the Chads wrath. So how to kill him, this man who was so much like an upright bear? Well, bears could be killed, right? The hunter had seen other men, brave and strong men, do it, when he was younger. Being neither strong nor brave, the hunter tried to apply his known hunting technique: Certainly the Chad was easier to kill when he was exhausted, or even sleeping. It is rare however, for the Chad to be even close to exhaustion. Usually he shows signs of fatigue only after he pulped someone’s jaw or after… fucking. Even better: relaxing, and hopefully sleeping, after his orgy, the Chad would be without help or warning since even his cucks were not allowed to attend. This meant that in a few moments there would be the perfect opportunity.
He would need help though. Like the brave and strong hunters who actually killed bears, our hunter likewise would need assistance. The Chad was well liked however, and the hunter knew exactly who not to ask for help. Only his “friends” remained. Those lower status males who were in a similar predicament as himself. Carefully and as inconspicuous as possible he gathered them and, in whisper and gesture, tried to induct them in his plot. Making sleep-gestures, swinging the stone around he used to crack beast-skulls with, holding it against his own head while uttering “chad” several times, it took a while until his fellows’ understood the novel concept of assassination. When they finally did, they were either disinterred or frightened by the idea. Frustrated by the spinelessness of his no-longer-equals and despite their attempts to dissuade him from his endeavour, the hunter resolved to act out alone.
Chapter four: Game changER
The rain had resumed its previous strength and after a handful of steps he was soaking wet and cold again. This time however, it was easy to ignore the chill and other vexations of his journey, for he was filled with a grim conviction and all his thoughts were focussed on the approaching challenge, undistracted by the weather. This conviction however, slowly turned to anxiety the closer he came to the main cave. Should he abort his mission? Should he return to his life of servitude and abuse? Now filled with doubt, the hunter stood before the entrance, catching his breath, inhaling through his nose. And here it was: the warm smell of fire, cocked meat and sex, turning his trepidations into jealous rage, practically pushing him inside.
The fire had dimmed, casting the cave in a weak flickering light. Circumventing the fireplace, the hunter had to pass through the group of sleeping women who surrounded his target like a wall of obscene flesh. Their bare body’s still glistened from exertion, making the hunter imagine what it would feel like to grab those fat asses and voluptuous tits. His fantasies soured by the involuntary thought of punishment, he stalked toward the Chad who now even snored like the animal he resembled so much. Kneeling by the head, the hunter raised the sharp stone with both trembling hands. Taking one last look at the women, quite possible the last pleasant experience of his live, he inhaled sharply and, one subjective eternity later, struck down.
It takes two, maybe three strikes to crack open the skull of even the larger beasts. The Chad however, needed a total of four blows just to return from sleep. Disoriented from surprise and blood in his eyes, he flailed around, trying to land a hit on his attacker. He roared like (you guessed it) a furious bear, waking the women who started shrieking immediately, fleeing to the cave walls. The hunter, in his desperate attempt to land another blow, was eventually hit hard, knocking the wind out of him. Surrendering to self-preservation, he slowly crawled away, looking back occasionally. Sensing no immediate danger, the Chad slowly rose. His left hand wiped the blood from his eyes, painting his already frightening face in hellish colours while the other hand felt for the stone.
Now standing upright, he needed only a few quick strides to reach and stand over his assassin. Hesitating, trying to comprehend how such a lowly creature could muster the gall to assault him, the Chad lifted the stone. His confusion added to his anger and with a furious scream he brought down the stone.
Well at least that is what the hunter expected to happen. What actually happened was the Chad being struck by the burning end of a branch from the fireplace. It was swung from the side, hitting him directly in the face, covering it with hot ash and glowing cinders. Apparently two of the hunter´s “friends” had found their backbone and decided to follow his example. The Chad, now wrathful to the point of insanity, threw the stone in their general direction, missed the pair however and struck the group of frightened women instead, reigniting the shrieking cacophony. Apparently blinded, he had a hard time of discerning the location of his new foes. The incessant noise and the acoustics of the cave didn’t help either and the Chad was reduced to a screaming maniac, clumsily lumbering around, striking for invisible opponents. The two, fearful at first, had no problem avoiding him. They even started to lure him with quick stabs of their burning sticks, turning the whole affair into some twisted game. He fell over lain out furs, stepped in the fireplace sometimes and one time even managed to grab someone to unload his frustration, not realizing that he had just crushed the soft throat of one of his women.
The hunter, despite his incapacitation, found the whole situation increasingly funny. Suppressing his still painful laughter, he avoided the attention of the blind berserker. When he had recovered enough, the hunter grabbed one of those remaining burning sticks and joined the game. Together they hounded the Chad to exhaustion. His mighty body, now covered with burns and stab wounds, was soon curled up on the cave floor. Reminded of his method of hunting, the hunter went for the stone and with a well-placed strike to the temple, the Chad´s skull broke open.
Not entirely convinced, the hunter landed additional hits, splattering the floor with brain matter. But with each blow, he realized more and more what he had just accomplished. When the Chad´s head was nothing more than a bloody ruin, the hunter joined the victorious howling of his friends. The women, now silent with fear, watched in horror as the three males danced around the corpse, delirious with joy. They kicked and spat at it occasionally, venting years of accumulated hatred. Therefore it took a while until they noticed the confused and horrified faces of the handful of Cucks, hiding in the shadow of the entrance. With angry shouts and aggressive movements the three got rid of the uninvited guests, who removed themselves with appeasing gestures and sounds of submission. Their Privacy restored, the three resumed their celebration, hugging and congratulating each other. They were about to leave the cave, proclaiming their victory to the entire tribe, were it not for a single silent whimper from the far wall.
The women, who until now had tried to stay as inconspicuous as possible, suddenly became the focus of the three males. With the Chad dead, the hunter and his friends had no reservations grabbing and feeling the women to their hearts content, inciting yelps and cries here and there. The soft, jiggling female flesh excited the males more and more and it was only a matter of time (and soft violence) until the most fertile looking women were bend over on the floor, or against the wall, in one case. Lacking hands on experience, the three fumbled around for a while, but eventually instinct took control and each of them was pounding away, balls deep in their well-earned trophies. Cries of pain and discomfort slowly turned to moans of pleasure, as the women grew accustomed to their new owners…
Chapter five: Enforced monogamy
These were good memories. Even now, several years later, the hunter enjoyed to look back at this moment. Every trouble or danger that came after this held no threat for him, for he had conquered fear and had pulped its head with a sharp stone. The stone, now dull and cracked, was still in his possession. He could not just part with it, responsible as it was for his new life. He wanted to raise from his soft fur carpet, but quickly noted that one of his women, his favourite one, had snuck up to him while he was sleeping and now lay besides him, her head resting on his shoulder. Waking from his movements, she slowly pressed her arm on his chest, not wanting to let him go. Her swollen belly pressed against his side, this would be his sixth or seventh child (he was not exactly sure). His own belly was far less filled and since he could not go about it himself he called for assistance. “Cuck!” he shouted, making the women flinch somewhat. Only a short moment later one of his servants entered the cave, bringing a thoroughly cooked beast-leg with him. Grabbing it by the bone, the hunter took a bite from the warm meat. Almost as much as fucking, he had learned to enjoy the privilege of eating whenever he wanted, his now impressive physique attested to that. He took a second bite and watched as the Cuck reignited the fireplace, anticipating his new master’s wishes as he did to the old one.
He did not like to be reminded of the Chad, but in those serene moments, when his thoughts could run freely, he eventually came to the conclusion that he was, in fact, the new Chad. Not wanting to admit to be what he hated, he reminded himself that he was far better than the long dead bear-man. After all, he had never crushed someone’s jaw, and he did not mind being watched when fucking, and, most importantly, he shares what he owns (with an obvious preference for his two best friends). But he also had to admit that there were certain similarities. HIS women, HIS privileges, HIS servants. Without doubt the others saw in him what he had seen in the old Chad. And, also without doubt, they would grow jealous, as he did, all those years ago.
A light paranoia overcame the hunter. Would he, some day, also become the victim of some envious assassin? He had not paid it any attention until now, but he noted how some of the males occasionally leered at his women with barely hidden erections. He reprimanded them harshly when they put even so much as a finger on his harem, but he could absolutely understand their frustration. Should he use this newfound empathy to identify and kill his most likely would-be-murderer from time to time? Naa, this would just accelerate his eventual demise.
The idea came to him when he was on the way back from a successful hunt. He and his friend carried chunks of an especially large beast back to the cave. He remembered, back then, how gladly he would have carried even the heaviest beasts over the coldest mountain if he could have just one of the Chads women. One woman, this would be his solution: Every male gets one woman. Euphoric about this epiphany, he laughed to himself, prompting a nervous look from his companion. He would soon understand. Not having access to every woman the hunter desired would be difficult to getting used to, but it was preferable to years of paranoia and a violent death. Anyway, he would keep his favourite though, the mother of his sixth child (or seventh, or eight, you know how it is). The Cucks would get beast shit however. Pathetically harmless as they were, they did not need female attention to placate their violent impulses since there were no such impulses to speak of.
Back at the cave, the hunter had much communicative work to do. After all, it was time for a new rule…
3691 word, tell me what you think.
Primordial rebellion
Chapter one: Introduction
Cold… he felt so damn cold. The icy rain has been pouring for the entire day, draining him of warmth, strength and will. It was not so bad earlier, when he moved through the forest, were the trees gave him shelter. But now he was crossing the mountains where nothing protected him from the water and the wind. The worn fur on his back made little difference, and it itched horribly. The events of the day and the weight he bore now had been tiring enough, but now he just wanted to sleep. But he could not sleep. He could not even take a break or he would get even colder, freezing to death like he had seen other do. And so he pushed forward, his bare, numb feet scraping against the rock, his thin trembling arms grabbing for support wherever they could. He had to reach the cave and deliver his catch …his tribute.
You see, he is a hunter, of sorts. Not the noble kind of hunter, who threw a spear with well-honed accuracy into the heart of his prey. He was not the clever kind of hunter either, who set elaborate traps. Those ideas where completely unknown to his people. No, his methods were way simpler than that. He just looked for prey and then pursued it relentlessly. Mostly walking, sometimes running, he followed his target to its exhaustion. After cracking its skull with a sharp stone he lifted the beast (a goat-thing of some sorts) and made for his home, trying to ignore the shit and blood oozing from the dead animal.
Now standing before the entrance of the cave, warm air touching his skin, he desperately wanted to enter. But just doing so would be a very bad idea. He needed permission first. So he strained his hoarse throat and numb lips to produce the sound that was commonly associated with “beast/food/hunt”. He did so for several agonizing minutes tying to drown out the howling wind and pattering rain, until, finally, the Chad stood before him.
His people do not have individual names, their vocabulary being way too limited for such a luxury. However, in recent years, one particular male has become so central to the social life of the group, that not having a way to refer to him would be highly impractical. Born as the first son of the late chieftain, the Chad, well fed and cared for, had grown quickly to astonishing size. From his first moment on he had something about him that seemingly made him the favourite of everyone who laid eyes on him, with women being especially affected by this spell. It may have been the resulting spoiling treatment he received that caused his domineering and irascible character. He took what he wanted, did what he wanted and, not without the threat of violence, made others do what he wanted.
And now, hopefully, he wanted the hunter’s tribute. If not, the Chad would simply wait in the entrance, daring the hunter to enter anyway. Doing so without permission would be perilous. The Chad was not only tall, but also built like a tree. Dressed in the freshest, thickest furs, there was more than a passing similarity to an upright bear. His favoured method of punishing disobedience was the breaking of teeth. With stones or fists or feet he would destroy his victim’s jaws, reducing the poor soul to a howling, starving wretch. At this point, his authority was without question.
If denied, the hunter would have to find shelter in one of the lesser caves where he had to chew the raw meat of his rejected prey. Making a fire of his own was out of the question. His numb, unskilled hands would not be able to turn the stick in a useful fashion. Also, every piece of wood, not in the main cave, was soaking wet…
Chapter two: Social dynamics
But this time he was lucky. The Chad smiled somewhat and retreated back into the cave, signalling the hunter to come in. He, relieved, followed, dragging his catch behind him. Finally in a warm environment, he removed his wet furs and warmed himself at the fire. The fireplace had been moved directly in front of the Chad, who had chosen the most comfortable place in the cave to settle down. With even more fur under them as carpets, he and (of course) his harem were always warm and cosy.
And what a harem it was: his women where truly a sight to behold. Young and fertile, they incited a fierce desire in every male who gazed at them. The Chad knew this and therefore did not like it at all when anyone looked at them for more than a second, several broken noses and thumb-crushed eyeballs attested to that. Therefore the hunter could only observe them in short glances. To have even one of those women for himself, he would gladly carry a thousand beasts through a thousand icy mountain paths.
He was busy rubbing the numbness from his hands when he noticed the aggressive looks and gestures from some of the other cave dwellers. Apparently he was closer to the fire than his social standing allowed. The Chad did not like him *that* much and only a literal inner circle of his closest servants had unrestricted access to warmth.
Ignored by the hunter, who was still occupied with not losing fingers to the cold, the others became louder and more aggressive. Before anything drastic could happen however, the Chad, annoyed by the ordeal, yelled at them all: “CUCK!”
“Cuck”, you must know, basically means “do this (for me)” and its meaning is heavily dependent on context. The context, in this case, was provided by none other than the Chad himself, who, by yelling, signalled the group to tone it down. He then pointed at the dead animal which the hunter left near the entrance and said again, this time more measured: “Cuck”, indicating that he wanted someone to prepare the meat for him. The hunter hesitated, torn between the fear of punishment and the warmth of the fire, he slowly made to rise. However, his previous aggressors, always eager to serve, were already all over the beast and set to work. Slowly the warmth returned to his body and with it the crushing feeling of exhaustion. He retreated from the fire and laid down on his proper, colder spot, falling to sleep immediately.
Chapter three: Defiant thoughts
Apparently not much later, he was woken hastily by one of his equals, meaning one of the other less favoured cave dwellers. His friend, if you can call it that, motioned him to follow him out of the cave. Confused and still tired, the hunter made to ignore the request, until his friend came close to his ear and whispered harshly: “chad”, implying that the Chad wants them to leave. Agitated by this notion the hunter conceded. Apparently everyone, except for the Chad and his women were required to leave. As you can imagine, the Chad does not like his fucking observed by anyone not directly involved.
And so the majority of the group took their furs and other belongings and made their way to the less adequate caves. The rain had fortunately lessened and the materials to make fire stayed dry. Soon they all were lying or sitting around a new fireplace. The hunter, on the uncomfortable ground and with his sleep-rhythm interrupted, had trouble returning to sleep, his thoughts wandering instead. This happened often when his mind was not otherwise occupied, on the return trip from a successful hunt for example. Then, he tried to imagine himself in a better situation, were he did not have to worry about his place near the fire, were he was in the favour of the Chad, where he could have one of the women…
The obvious solution was to perform better. He had to bring more and better beasts, fulfil the Chad´s desires even better than the Cuck-people. There was a problem however: He would be facing fierce competition, the cucks did not like to share the Chads favour and often sabotaged each other. He had to admit that it was kind of satisfying to see one of them fall from grace and getting their jaw crushed. Sometimes, when his frustration was greater than usual, the hunter conceived more questionable solutions. Steal some fire and find a cave of your own. Kidnap one of the women. Kill every cuck in their sleep who threatens his path to Chads favour. But all those plans where dangerous or against the rules.
Maybe “rules” is not the best way to describe it. Let’s just say that his entire people had an unspoken (duh) agreement to abide by two indisputable principles. First: Everything of value belongs to the Chad. This extends not only to tools, clothes and fire but also to less passive objects, like women and beasts. Second: You do what the Chad wants you to do, without question or hesitation. Disregard for those principles practically guaranteed pain and death and was therefore regarded as bad. The opposite behaviour leads (most of the time) to the opposite result and was therefore good. These simple guidelines comprise the entire “moral” framework of the hunter and were therefore hard to ignore.
It is probably for this very reason that he, until now, never conceived of the revolutionary idea that now entered his troubled mind: Could it, somehow, be possible to become the Chad himself? Obsessing over this possibility for long moments, the hunter imagined what it would be like. The power, the women, all the meat he wanted and, hardest to imagine, the absence of fear. But how would one do this? Killing the Chad was as ridiculous a notion as killing a mountain. He had to try however. If he continued his life like this, he would eventually die of cold, hunger or the Chads wrath. So how to kill him, this man who was so much like an upright bear? Well, bears could be killed, right? The hunter had seen other men, brave and strong men, do it, when he was younger. Being neither strong nor brave, the hunter tried to apply his known hunting technique: Certainly the Chad was easier to kill when he was exhausted, or even sleeping. It is rare however, for the Chad to be even close to exhaustion. Usually he shows signs of fatigue only after he pulped someone’s jaw or after… fucking. Even better: relaxing, and hopefully sleeping, after his orgy, the Chad would be without help or warning since even his cucks were not allowed to attend. This meant that in a few moments there would be the perfect opportunity.
He would need help though. Like the brave and strong hunters who actually killed bears, our hunter likewise would need assistance. The Chad was well liked however, and the hunter knew exactly who not to ask for help. Only his “friends” remained. Those lower status males who were in a similar predicament as himself. Carefully and as inconspicuous as possible he gathered them and, in whisper and gesture, tried to induct them in his plot. Making sleep-gestures, swinging the stone around he used to crack beast-skulls with, holding it against his own head while uttering “chad” several times, it took a while until his fellows’ understood the novel concept of assassination. When they finally did, they were either disinterred or frightened by the idea. Frustrated by the spinelessness of his no-longer-equals and despite their attempts to dissuade him from his endeavour, the hunter resolved to act out alone.
Chapter four: Game changER
The rain had resumed its previous strength and after a handful of steps he was soaking wet and cold again. This time however, it was easy to ignore the chill and other vexations of his journey, for he was filled with a grim conviction and all his thoughts were focussed on the approaching challenge, undistracted by the weather. This conviction however, slowly turned to anxiety the closer he came to the main cave. Should he abort his mission? Should he return to his life of servitude and abuse? Now filled with doubt, the hunter stood before the entrance, catching his breath, inhaling through his nose. And here it was: the warm smell of fire, cocked meat and sex, turning his trepidations into jealous rage, practically pushing him inside.
The fire had dimmed, casting the cave in a weak flickering light. Circumventing the fireplace, the hunter had to pass through the group of sleeping women who surrounded his target like a wall of obscene flesh. Their bare body’s still glistened from exertion, making the hunter imagine what it would feel like to grab those fat asses and voluptuous tits. His fantasies soured by the involuntary thought of punishment, he stalked toward the Chad who now even snored like the animal he resembled so much. Kneeling by the head, the hunter raised the sharp stone with both trembling hands. Taking one last look at the women, quite possible the last pleasant experience of his live, he inhaled sharply and, one subjective eternity later, struck down.
It takes two, maybe three strikes to crack open the skull of even the larger beasts. The Chad however, needed a total of four blows just to return from sleep. Disoriented from surprise and blood in his eyes, he flailed around, trying to land a hit on his attacker. He roared like (you guessed it) a furious bear, waking the women who started shrieking immediately, fleeing to the cave walls. The hunter, in his desperate attempt to land another blow, was eventually hit hard, knocking the wind out of him. Surrendering to self-preservation, he slowly crawled away, looking back occasionally. Sensing no immediate danger, the Chad slowly rose. His left hand wiped the blood from his eyes, painting his already frightening face in hellish colours while the other hand felt for the stone.
Now standing upright, he needed only a few quick strides to reach and stand over his assassin. Hesitating, trying to comprehend how such a lowly creature could muster the gall to assault him, the Chad lifted the stone. His confusion added to his anger and with a furious scream he brought down the stone.
Well at least that is what the hunter expected to happen. What actually happened was the Chad being struck by the burning end of a branch from the fireplace. It was swung from the side, hitting him directly in the face, covering it with hot ash and glowing cinders. Apparently two of the hunter´s “friends” had found their backbone and decided to follow his example. The Chad, now wrathful to the point of insanity, threw the stone in their general direction, missed the pair however and struck the group of frightened women instead, reigniting the shrieking cacophony. Apparently blinded, he had a hard time of discerning the location of his new foes. The incessant noise and the acoustics of the cave didn’t help either and the Chad was reduced to a screaming maniac, clumsily lumbering around, striking for invisible opponents. The two, fearful at first, had no problem avoiding him. They even started to lure him with quick stabs of their burning sticks, turning the whole affair into some twisted game. He fell over lain out furs, stepped in the fireplace sometimes and one time even managed to grab someone to unload his frustration, not realizing that he had just crushed the soft throat of one of his women.
The hunter, despite his incapacitation, found the whole situation increasingly funny. Suppressing his still painful laughter, he avoided the attention of the blind berserker. When he had recovered enough, the hunter grabbed one of those remaining burning sticks and joined the game. Together they hounded the Chad to exhaustion. His mighty body, now covered with burns and stab wounds, was soon curled up on the cave floor. Reminded of his method of hunting, the hunter went for the stone and with a well-placed strike to the temple, the Chad´s skull broke open.
Not entirely convinced, the hunter landed additional hits, splattering the floor with brain matter. But with each blow, he realized more and more what he had just accomplished. When the Chad´s head was nothing more than a bloody ruin, the hunter joined the victorious howling of his friends. The women, now silent with fear, watched in horror as the three males danced around the corpse, delirious with joy. They kicked and spat at it occasionally, venting years of accumulated hatred. Therefore it took a while until they noticed the confused and horrified faces of the handful of Cucks, hiding in the shadow of the entrance. With angry shouts and aggressive movements the three got rid of the uninvited guests, who removed themselves with appeasing gestures and sounds of submission. Their Privacy restored, the three resumed their celebration, hugging and congratulating each other. They were about to leave the cave, proclaiming their victory to the entire tribe, were it not for a single silent whimper from the far wall.
The women, who until now had tried to stay as inconspicuous as possible, suddenly became the focus of the three males. With the Chad dead, the hunter and his friends had no reservations grabbing and feeling the women to their hearts content, inciting yelps and cries here and there. The soft, jiggling female flesh excited the males more and more and it was only a matter of time (and soft violence) until the most fertile looking women were bend over on the floor, or against the wall, in one case. Lacking hands on experience, the three fumbled around for a while, but eventually instinct took control and each of them was pounding away, balls deep in their well-earned trophies. Cries of pain and discomfort slowly turned to moans of pleasure, as the women grew accustomed to their new owners…
Chapter five: Enforced monogamy
These were good memories. Even now, several years later, the hunter enjoyed to look back at this moment. Every trouble or danger that came after this held no threat for him, for he had conquered fear and had pulped its head with a sharp stone. The stone, now dull and cracked, was still in his possession. He could not just part with it, responsible as it was for his new life. He wanted to raise from his soft fur carpet, but quickly noted that one of his women, his favourite one, had snuck up to him while he was sleeping and now lay besides him, her head resting on his shoulder. Waking from his movements, she slowly pressed her arm on his chest, not wanting to let him go. Her swollen belly pressed against his side, this would be his sixth or seventh child (he was not exactly sure). His own belly was far less filled and since he could not go about it himself he called for assistance. “Cuck!” he shouted, making the women flinch somewhat. Only a short moment later one of his servants entered the cave, bringing a thoroughly cooked beast-leg with him. Grabbing it by the bone, the hunter took a bite from the warm meat. Almost as much as fucking, he had learned to enjoy the privilege of eating whenever he wanted, his now impressive physique attested to that. He took a second bite and watched as the Cuck reignited the fireplace, anticipating his new master’s wishes as he did to the old one.
He did not like to be reminded of the Chad, but in those serene moments, when his thoughts could run freely, he eventually came to the conclusion that he was, in fact, the new Chad. Not wanting to admit to be what he hated, he reminded himself that he was far better than the long dead bear-man. After all, he had never crushed someone’s jaw, and he did not mind being watched when fucking, and, most importantly, he shares what he owns (with an obvious preference for his two best friends). But he also had to admit that there were certain similarities. HIS women, HIS privileges, HIS servants. Without doubt the others saw in him what he had seen in the old Chad. And, also without doubt, they would grow jealous, as he did, all those years ago.
A light paranoia overcame the hunter. Would he, some day, also become the victim of some envious assassin? He had not paid it any attention until now, but he noted how some of the males occasionally leered at his women with barely hidden erections. He reprimanded them harshly when they put even so much as a finger on his harem, but he could absolutely understand their frustration. Should he use this newfound empathy to identify and kill his most likely would-be-murderer from time to time? Naa, this would just accelerate his eventual demise.
The idea came to him when he was on the way back from a successful hunt. He and his friend carried chunks of an especially large beast back to the cave. He remembered, back then, how gladly he would have carried even the heaviest beasts over the coldest mountain if he could have just one of the Chads women. One woman, this would be his solution: Every male gets one woman. Euphoric about this epiphany, he laughed to himself, prompting a nervous look from his companion. He would soon understand. Not having access to every woman the hunter desired would be difficult to getting used to, but it was preferable to years of paranoia and a violent death. Anyway, he would keep his favourite though, the mother of his sixth child (or seventh, or eight, you know how it is). The Cucks would get beast shit however. Pathetically harmless as they were, they did not need female attention to placate their violent impulses since there were no such impulses to speak of.
Back at the cave, the hunter had much communicative work to do. After all, it was time for a new rule…
