Act 1
I stared at my reflection in the full-length mirror in my bedroom, a half-satisfied, half-weary smile on my lips. My tight red dress hugged my curves, its bold neckline ready to draw eyes, a scarlet flash screaming passion and confidence.
At twenty, I had plenty to make others jealous: popular at university, with Instagram selfies racking up hundreds of likes and TikTok videos where I danced like I owned the world.
My glossy black stilettos and floral-musk perfume completed my seductive armor. But tonight, like so often, I felt a void. Online compliments flattered me, sure, but they didn’t fill that hollow inside me, that craving for something more… primal. Something to make me throb, not just shine.
My parents were out for dinner. My room was a typical mix: childhood plushies on a shelf, faded Ariana Grande and BTS posters, but my desk overflowed with makeup palettes, sparkling jewelry, and a ring light for my livestreams. The pastel walls screamed teen, but my mirror and pink LEDs screamed TikToker.
I adjusted my stilettos, feeling their heels give me that little confidence boost. My dangling silver earrings sparkled with every move, my silver bangle slid on my right wrist, and a silver necklace framed my neckline. A simple look, but glamorous enough to turn heads.
Jake was coming to pick me up with his buddies to hit the club. Jake, my boyfriend, was the kind of guy every girl wanted: blond, tousled hair, piercing blue eyes, a body sculpted by years of college football. At twenty-one, he had that arrogant charisma that hooked me at first. He loved showing me off like a trophy, his “hot brunette” boosting his ego.
But his possessiveness weighed on me. He monitored my DMs, spammed my posts with overly eager hearts, and his jealous glares followed me in clubs like a shadow. Tonight, I knew how it’d go: I’d dance, drawing eyes, and Jake would ping-pong between pride (“That’s my girl”) and jealousy (“Why’s that guy staring?”). Thrilling at first. Now, it annoyed me.
His call came as I spritzed my perfume. “Babe, we’re running a bit late,” he said, voice casual. “The guys are slow, but I’m coming soon. You ready?” I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, as always”. He laughed, that confident chuckle reminding me why I picked him. But Jake was a paradox: proud of my beauty, he paraded me, but his jealousy suffocated me. Our nights were tender, too tender, and I was fed up. I wanted to be taken savagely, not cuddled like a doll.
I kicked off my stilettos, letting them drop by the bed, and settled in before opening Wattpad on my laptop. My little vice: smutty, kinky stories that set me on fire. I clicked the first one, a story about a girl gangbanged by satyrs, half-men, half-goats.
The words flew by: their horns grazing her skin, clawed hands pinning her down, thick cocks filling her mercilessly. Fuck, a treacherous heat flared between my thighs, my pulse racing. Those beasts took her like prey, and I squirmed, imagining their bestial growls, their raw strength dominating me.
The second story finished me off: a woman time-traveling, swept away by cavemen, their massive, hairy bodies fucking her one after another, filling her to ecstasy. I bit my lip, feeling my panties dampen. Those primal males, with their animal hunger, were everything Jake could never be. I wanted to be fucked like that, savagely, until I lost my mind. I needed it—to be taken, used, no bullshit.
Scrolling YouTube to cool off, an ad popped up for Pleistocena Pulse, a platformer where a sexy heroine ran through a wild savanna on a planet mimicking Earth’s Pleistocene. She dodged predators, gathered resources, and bartered with “australopithecines” (as they were called) for protection, trading nuts or tools. Nothing erotic on the surface, just a classic adventure game with vivid graphics and a glamorous heroine.
But those australopithecines… Their bulging muscles, primal stares, and rugged vibe made me shiver. Influenced by the caveman story, I instantly pictured them as savage lovers, their hard bodies against mine, taking me without restraint. My imagination ran wild, and I clicked the link.
The site offered a free version. I started a game to kill time. First try: my heroine got eaten by a saber-toothed cat. Shit.
After that failure, I sat up on my bed, slipped my stilettos back on to prep for Jake’s imminent arrival, and was ready to try again. I restarted, more focused. This time, I did better, trading nuts with the australopithecines. A big cat chased me, and I hid in a cave.
But as I clicked, the screen flickered, a low rumble vibrated from my laptop, and a weird heat radiated from it. My fingers trembled on the mouse. “What the hell is this?” I muttered, half-mocking, half-uneasy.
A dizzy spell hit me, like the floor was collapsing beneath me. My eyelids grew heavy, my vision blurred. Everything went black.
I woke up sprawled on a mound, head heavy, unsure how long I’d been out. My tight red dress clung to my skin, still intact, and my hair, miraculously, held its blowout. I was pretty clean, just some red dust on my arms. Guess I didn’t sleep long, I thought, running a hand through my hair. Fuck, I’m still hot, even here.
I stood, wobbly, my stilettos sinking into the red earth. Around me stretched a scorching savanna under a purple sky, tall grasses brushing my thighs, twisted trees in the distance. The humid air weighed on my skin. It was unreal, wild, like the game, but way more vivid.
Then, a movement caught my eye. In the distance, a massive beast with gleaming fangs and yellow eyes locked onto me. My heart raced. It charged, its paws pounding the ground. “Fuck!” I screamed, panicking, stumbling down the mound. My heels hindered me, sinking with each step, nearly tripping me.
Below, I saw stocky silhouettes—australopithecines, holding crude tools, just like in Pleistocena Pulse. Their burning gazes pierced me, and I realized, breathless: I was in Pleistocena.
