Lost Before Time
Copyright© 2026 by Xxxnango
Chapter 1
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A time-travel experiment strands Patrick, Clara, and their son in a brutal prehistoric world, where survival is only the beginning of their nightmare.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa NonConsensual Rape Cuckold Gang Bang Group Sex Anal Sex Double Penetration Voyeurism AI Generated
Patrick:
The lab was gone.
Trees surrounded us—trunks wide enough to drive a car through, bark carved with deep fissures like ancient scars. Overhead, a leafy roof tangled so dense, barely any light made it to the mossy ground. Giant ferns choked the space, dripping and steaming. Every inch alive, restless, wild.
The time machine had landed off-kilter in a pit of tangled roots and mud. I noticed right away—a stabilizer gone, snapped off and missing. The main housing scorched black along one flank, the metal twisted and warped, like something had tried to rip the thing apart. The heart of the machine still glowed, but the glow stuttered—sick and weak.
“Dad?” Sam’s voice was thin as thread. He hunched in his seat, pale and stunned. “This isn’t ... this isn’t the future.”
Clara unclipped her harness, efficient as ever. “Stay put,” she said quietly, the same tone she’d use if her coffee caught fire. I saw her eyes, though, darting around, throat tight. She was checking threats. Same drills as always, just different dangers.
I shoved the hatch open. The wet heat rolled over me. Big, lazy insects drifted by, fat and iridescent. Somewhere in the forest: a heavy snap, the wet shudder of something large moving through leaves. Not close—but not that far either.
I stepped out. The ground squished beneath my boots. I started sweating instantly. This place ... it felt wrong. Not ours. Not safe. Humans weren’t meant to walk here; not people used to LED lights and filtered air. This was raw, untouched, alive in a way our world never was.
Clara came after, lowering Sam out into the muggy air. He shook, pressing tight against her side, staring up at the trees as if they’d bend down and eat him.
“We missed,” I said. The words felt like lead. “Way off target. The field—something broke. This isn’t the era we aimed for.”
Clara shook her head. “Don’t jump ahead. We check, we get our facts. We fix it.” Her hand never left Sam’s shoulder.
From the trees came a sound—something big breathing, deep and rough. The undergrowth quivered. A flock burst from the canopy, screeching and scattering.
Sam flinched hard. “I want to go home.”
“We will.” Clara knelt, eye to eye with him, wiped the sweat from his brow. “First, we check the machine. Then we find cover. Okay?”
He nodded, biting his lip.
I scanned the clearing. The pit we’d landed in nestled up against the roots of a fallen giant—half buried, like a barricade. Nearby, a hollow under a web of roots, just tall enough for us to crouch out of sight. It wasn’t much, but it’d do, at least for now. The damaged outer shell of the machine sat low in the mud and roots, mostly screened by the fallen trunk and the dense undergrowth; from more than a few meters away it would be easy to miss entirely.
“There.” I pointed. “Under the roots. We drag the machine if we can, at least get the core under cover.”
Clara just nodded. Together we grabbed the diagnostic gear and toolkit. The main shell wouldn’t budge, but we managed to pop the gleaming core loose, awkward and heavy between us. We sweated through our clothes, nerves frayed tight. Every few seconds, I caught myself glancing over my shoulder, sure something was watching. I couldn’t shake that feeling. This place wasn’t empty. It was waiting.
We squeezed into the hollow, dragging the sputtering core after. Sam clung to the emergency beacon—a useless relic here, meant for a future we’d left behind. Clara fired up the diagnostics. The panels blinked with errors: power unstable, temporal locks dying, containment fields failing.
I dropped beside her, lungs burning from the thick, hot air. Another crack, closer now. That slow, heavy tread, something alive out there, moving.
Clara’s hand found mine—just for a beat. Cold and desperate.
Then she turned back to the screen. Sam pressed against my side. “Dad ... is something out there?”
I stared through those tangled roots, watched the green shadows stir, saw the light shift, full of eyes.
“Yeah,” I said, quiet and honest. “Something is.”
And as the ancient forest breathed around us—old and indifferent—we started the slow, terrifying work of figuring out just how thoroughly we’d wrecked time.
We kept working until daylight started to fade. Time just slipped by while we crouched under that mess of roots. The diagnostic screen kept spitting out the same endless errors, no matter how many times I tried to reset the core matrix. Containment seals were cracked. The temporal field generator wasn’t doing much—just sending back broken signals. Clara moved fast, her hands steady and clinical on the interface as she mumbled calibration numbers I barely caught. I was elbow-deep in open panels and fried couplings, trying to ignore the sweat running into my eyes. The air—thick, heavy, sticky—made it impossible for anything to dry. Sam pressed himself against the far wall of roots, hugging his knees, hardly looking at us. His eyes were on the forest.
You could feel the forest watching back.
It started so small you’d almost miss it—a pair of yellow eyes reflecting the core’s sickly light for a second before melting away into the ferns. Some heavy animal shifting beyond the trunks: slow, on purpose, the ground going soft under its weight. And then, silence. The kind that makes your skin prickle. Bugs cut their noise. Birds stopped mid-call. Every little sound we made—metal scraping, a tool clicking—felt like we were shouting.
Clara shot me a look for half a second, then went back to work. No words, but we both got it. Something circled us, sizing us up from the edges. These weren’t the shy, herbivorous apes of our own time. Whatever lived here was larger, bolder, older—predators that had never learned to fear anything like us.
I kept my hands moving. Panic gets you killed. The machine was the only way out. Without it, we were three tired, exposed people dropped into a place that didn’t care if we lived or died. My hands shook as I fixed one last coupling. The core flickered, glowed bright for a split second, and then faded out again.
“Power’s unstable,” Clara said, voice almost a whisper. “If we jump now, we won’t survive it.”
Sam’s voice was tiny. “Are the animals coming closer?”
“We stay under the roots,” I told him. “Quiet. We’re almost—”
The forest broke its silence.
Not with sound—but with movement, a sudden wave of green exploding outward. We had all been locked on the diagnostics, the flickering screens, the failing seals. None of us heard the final approach until it was already inside the perimeter.
A massive figure tore through the ferns no more than ten meters away—huge, black-furred, eyes locked on us. Not a modern gorilla. Something bigger, heavier, older, built like a living battering ram. It filled the space between the trees like a storm. It crashed forward twice, quick as anything. Clara barely turned.
A single arm swept out. Fingers wrapped around her. She yelped—one short burst—then the creature dragged her up as if she weighed nothing. Tools went flying as I jumped after her, but it was too fast. The ape spun, crashed through the brush, Clara’s legs kicking, and vanished into the tangle.
It all happened in four seconds, maybe less.
I stood there, just gone, empty where she’d been. My brain refused the reality—she’d been right here, calm, steady, working beside me. Now she was gone. Stolen. Hauled off by something that belonged in a world we’d only guessed at.
First came the rage—blinding, useless. I shouted her name, dove after the thing, branches whipping my face, the air closing in darker and tighter with every step. I heard the ape ahead—branches snapping, earth thudding under its bulk. Clara’s voice flickered through the trees once, strained and faint, then vanished.
Terror crashed in, hard. The machine was still broken. Sam waited behind me, alone. Every step deeper was another second I left him for the forest to take, too. The creature was already pulling away, the trail of crushed vegetation stretching farther than I could close the gap on foot. I was losing ground with every stride.
I stopped. My lungs scraped for air. Blood trickled down my face—a thorn had caught me. I made myself turn and run back.
Sam stood up as I staggered in, his face white, eyes locked on the spot where the ape disappeared. When he saw me, he let out a wounded, scared sound.
“Mom—”
“I know,” I said, sinking to my knees and grabbing his shoulders. Too tight, but I couldn’t help it. “Listen. Stay right here. Go deeper—see that spot?” I pointed to a small, hidden patch behind the thickest roots, covered by moss and vines. “Don’t come out. For nothing. Not unless I say the word we practiced. Got it?”
He didn’t speak—just nodded, tears on his dirty cheeks.
Leaving him here was a terrible risk and I knew it. The forest was full of things that could find a child alone. But chasing the ape with Sam in tow would only get us both killed, and the core still needed someone to guard it. There was no good choice. Only this one.
I helped him crawl into the hollow, tucking the moss around him with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking. “I’ll come back. I swear. I’ll bring her back too. Just stay hidden. Stay quiet.”
He whispered, “Don’t leave.”
“I have to.” The words hurt. “I’ll be quick. I promise.”
I snatched the emergency knife from the kit—the only weapon we had—and forced myself to stand. Every step away felt like betrayal; the forest felt tighter, like it wanted to keep us all. Branches brushed my arms, things moved just outside my vision. The air buzzed with the sense that something old and clever had already claimed its prize.
Clara’s name burned in my throat.
I ran.
The green swallowed me. Ferns slapped my legs, roots caught at my boots. Uprooted earth and broken branches marked the ape’s trail ahead. Even in this humid, living forest the crushed vegetation stayed visible—stems snapped and left gleaming, mud gouged deep, the path of something that size hard to erase. I shoved after it, lungs screaming, heart hammering. The jungle closed behind me, erasing any path back to Sam. All I could see were those monstrous hands and the way they carried her into a part of the world that had never been meant for us.
I ran until my legs just couldn’t keep it up, and the forest forced me to slow down. At first, the ape’s trail was obvious—shattered trunks as thick as my arm, deep gouges in the earth, ferns smashed flat, still trying to stand back up. The air still carried a faint trace of Clara—her scent, the musk of the animal, and the sharp tang of fresh-cut plants. I followed all that, mind blank except for the next snapped branch, the next muddy footprint.
Time dragged out. The light barely changed. The canopy thickened so much that everything turned into this endless green twilight. I was soaked through with sweat. My clothes stuck to me, heavy as old rags. My legs just burned; breathing felt like hauling sand with my lungs. Thorns scratched up my arms and face until I stopped caring about the blood. Messy, sticky—after a while, I just felt less and less human, more like another creature in the undergrowth.
The place never got quiet. Somewhere out there, strange calls came and went—rough, guttural, sometimes weirdly musical, but nothing I recognized. Something big moved alongside me for a while, always hidden, its presence marked by the slow sway of ferns and the snap of wet branches. Once, above the trees, I heard those deep wingbeats—something circling up there, heavy, in no hurry. I kept my knife ready, tried not to look up.
No sign of Clara.
After a while, the clues got old and hard to read. At one point, the trail split around a monster of a root, and just my luck, I picked the wrong side, wasting minutes before I realized and turned back. That dark, crawling sense of losing—real despair—settled in, like the sticky heat, seeping right into my bones. Every quiet, empty clearing was a silent accusation. Maybe she was already lost. Or hurt—lying somewhere I’d never reach. Or the ape brought her somewhere no person could go.
Eventually, my body stopped me cold. I crouched down by the biggest tree I’d ever seen and fished out my emergency flask. The water was warm, tasted like old plastic, but it didn’t help the real thirst. My hands shook as I put the flask away. I couldn’t get the image of those huge black fingers around Clara’s body out of my head—the single cry she made, how the forest just closed over her.
Sam was still back there, hidden under roots, waiting for a father who might not come back. That thought almost finished me. I shoved it down and kept going.
As the day dragged on—if it even was day anymore—the green pressed closer. Less light made it through. The shadows between the trunks grew deeper, almost solid. My boots sank into soft ground. Twice, I startled little scaly things that darted off with dry, papery sounds. Another time, something big crashed off through the underbrush, musky smell lingering behind. I didn’t follow. Couldn’t.
The trail faded more. Hardly any broken branches. The ape’s prints softened and washed away, mixed in with the endless drip from the leaves above. Doubt crept in—the kind that just settles on you heavy and quiet. Not a single friendly sound out there. No voices, no machines, just the endless, indifferent hum of the forest. It felt older than anything we knew. It felt like it had been waiting for me.
So I moved on, mostly because stopping would admit I’d lost her.
Then—something changed in the silence ahead.
I froze, one foot still in the air. Instinct brought my knife up. Somewhere through that curtain of ferns and hanging moss, something was breathing.
Not some quick animal, not those distant voices. This was close. Slow, wet, heavy breaths, each one rattling as if air had to move past blood or thick saliva. It was steady, unhurried. Whatever it was, it knew this was its world.
My heart hammered behind my eyes. Sweat crawled down my spine. I stared into the wall of green, squinting for any shape—just more dense shadow, more restless leaves.
I needed a better view. Climbing offered the safest way to search for Clara without walking straight into whatever waited below. From height I could see farther, stay quieter, and still keep the knife ready.
To my left, a huge, rotting trunk stretched away—still wide enough to walk up if I was careful. Mushrooms and moss covered it, but when I tested with my foot, the wood felt solid enough. I slid my knife away, grabbed the bark, and started climbing.
Ahead, that breathing kept going. Steady. Close.
From my spot high in the tree, everything below was clear as day. The little clearing felt raw and exposed—nothing but bare earth, ringed by ferns broken in half and those huge, ancient trunks looming all around. Right in the middle, two massive shapes moved. Big, hulking apes. Their fur looked almost black, their arms thick and heavy—way bigger than any modern gorilla had a right to be.
Between them, stretched out in the dirt, was a woman. Her body looked so pale and soft against all that dark earth.
They were already having sex. One ape held her wrists pinned above her head—just one huge hand wrapped around both of them. The other one knelt between her legs, his hips working in this slow, relentless rhythm as he pushed into her. Then the first ape shifted closer, braced himself, and pressed the head of his cock right against her ass before driving in. They fucked her together—one inside her pussy, one inside her ass—moving almost perfectly in sync.
I’d never seen anything like that before, not even close.
Something about watching it felt like getting punched. Two thick cocks filling her at the same time, sliding in and out. Every thrust made her body wobble, made the air heavy with wet, filthy sounds. She didn’t fight at all anymore. Her legs flopped open, her hips rocked with every push, and the only noises out of her were these tired little moans—the kind that come at the very end, when someone finally gives up.
I stared for barely a heartbeat.
The light was lousy, and there wasn’t time to look close. Her face stayed hidden under a messy spill of dark hair. But her body—the long legs, the shape of her hips, the way her waist curved—looked just like Clara. My stomach knotted up hard, but honestly, I couldn’t say for sure. Maybe it was her, maybe it wasn’t. The shadows and the shock didn’t give me any real answer.
I couldn’t look away. The rhythm in the clearing continued—slow, heavy, wet. The pale shape moved only when the ape wanted it to move.
Soft, broken noises trickled up through the leaves.
My fingers were dead on the bark. All the parts of me screamed at me to climb down, run, act, and yet my body remained rooted, captured by the spectacle below and by the nausea-seething loop in my head that the woman could be Clara. I was so absorbed in the clearing that I stopped paying attention to my surroundings. The hard tip of stone pressed against the side of my neck. I locked up tighter.
Just the sharp edge of a crude spear was above my pulse point; it pushed in with great deliberation, not enough to hurt yet, but enough that a nervous flick might be my last.
Warm breath tickled the shell of my ear. Human breath. Intimately human.
I kept my head almost perfectly still, turning only the very, very slightest bit toward the angle of the face available in the corner of my eye. Skin streaked with crude ochre and white paint looked at me. A broad flat nose.
Dark eyes looked out from across the shaft of the spear—unreadable, flat, cool with assessment.
More than that I didn’t see. More than that there wasn’t there to see—just the presence of another body just behind me. They were balanced perfectly on the same trunk, perfectly silent till the point of the spear rested against my carotid. Below us the other sounds continued.
One of the apes made a grunting noise.
The pale body answered with another noise of utter exhaustion. The spear didn’t move. I remained completely frozen, my own heart hammering in my chest like it was trying to beat its way out, the clearing still etched onto the back of my retinas as the painted person put the stone point against my throat and waited for my decision.
...
The spear pressed harder into the skin behind my ear. I froze. Didn’t even breathe. Down below, the wet groans and slaps kept going—those small broken sounds that maybe, maybe were Clara’s. My vision tunneled to a pinprick.
A rough hand grabbed my shoulder and pulled. I slipped on the slick trunk and half-fell, half-slid all the way down. Three more waited at the bottom. Human, but only just. Thick bodies, muscles wrapped under skin painted jagged with ochre and ash. They’d turned their own faces into masks. One showed a jagged tooth in a permanent sneer. Another wore a necklace strung with yellow teeth. Their weapons were basic but brutal—stone-tipped spears, heavy clubs, a hand-axe that looked like it could split a skull without much trouble. They reeked of grease, smoke, and something wild. Not one spoke.
They dragged me the last stretch. I twisted up, trying to see the clearing. The two black shapes—still there, moving over the pale body. One of the hunters shoved my head aside, forcing me to look away. Another jabbed the spear in between my shoulder blades. March. We walked. Fast. Spears always hovering close.
I looked back until the ferns closed tight and the clearing disappeared. My heart just hammered. If that was Clara back there—if. Sam was deeper in, tucked under the roots with a dying core and no idea where his parents had vanished to. With each step, I got farther from both. The hunters didn’t care. They moved like they owned the woods, silent except for the soft step of bare feet or the little clicks and huffs of their signals. The one with the broken tooth kept his spear right at my spine, just enough pressure to promise I’d regret any mistake.
We went until the trees sucked the light away. My boots got tangled in roots. Vines hit my face. Once I stumbled and the nearest man yanked me back upright, and on we went, never a word, never any show of pity, just the forward surge.
Finally the trees opened up again, a little clearing where the canopy thinned. They stopped. One pointed ahead with his spear, then cut his free hand down, sharp and final. Stay put. Stop. Give in. Whatever it meant, I knew we were heading somewhere on purpose—not just wandering. My heart lurched.
I dropped to one knee, hands out, palms up. “Sam,” I said, loud, clear, hoping the name itself would mean something. I pointed back, then held my hand low—child height. “Boy. Son. Small.” I mimed a child at my side, pointed to my own chest, then back into the woods. “I have to go back. Please.”
One of them cocked his head, curiosity sparking. Broken-tooth stepped closer, spear at my gut, looking ready to lash out. I repeated the gestures slower. Point to self. Point low. Point behind. Arms cradling. I made a high, shaky child’s cry.
Everything went tense. The one with the tooth necklace muttered something rough. Someone else barked back. I really thought they’d club me and be done. But then—the painted face hunter, the one who’d first put the spear to my neck, he raised his hand. Silence snapped down. They waited as he studied me—wary, calculating. Finally he jerked his chin the way I’d pointed. Go. Show us.
They let me lead. But the weapons never dropped. The painted one pressed close enough for me to feel his heat. Broken-tooth just behind, and I caught the sharp click he gave to warn the others: no tricks. If this was a trap, I wouldn’t live to regret it—and they’d leave the boy.
Finding that hollow again was like fighting through water. In the dusk, landmarks shifted. I missed the fallen tree twice, but the third time I spotted the twist of roots and the faint metal shine of the core. Relief crashed through me. I started forward—
And stopped at a flat hand on my chest. The painted hunter held me firm. He and the others fanned out, spears aimed not just at me, but at the glowing metal. He circled in, jabbed the core with his spear tip. Metal rang, a flat, dead sound. He jerked back, then forced himself to press two fingers to its surface. He hissed at the strange warmth and yanked his hand away, spitting something dark and guttural. The youngest—scarred across the cheek—leaned close, almost wanted to touch, then stopped. They passed uncertainty between them in spitfire clicks and rough growls. Finally, decision: the painted one signed quickly. Retrieve the boy. Now.
I dropped, whispered, “Sam. It’s me. The word—say the word.”
A small form crumpled out from the moss and dark. Sam’s face—dirty, stained, eyes wide with tears. He shot himself into my arms so hard I nearly toppled. I hugged him back, felt the shakes running through his body.
Leaving the core felt almost like ripping out my last anchor, but I had no choice. They hurried us with a short bark from the leader and another sharp gesture—move.
We marched again, Sam’s sweaty hand welded to mine. The hunters closed in, tighter than before, weapons always in reach. One kept throwing short glances at Sam, maybe pitying him. Another only stared at me, cold-eyed. Sam kept whispering—Where’s Mama? Why don’t they talk? Are the big animals coming?—voice thin and panicked. I just squeezed his hand and walked.
Their camp barely counted as a camp. Low spot, ringed with thorns and a few lopsided frames draped with hides. Fire smoldering in a ring of rocks. Four more hunters sat waiting—all painted, all hard-faced, all watching in dead silence. They straightened when we arrived, eyes tracking us like we were prey.
No greetings. No comfort. Still, the message was clear when one shoved us toward a stone by the fire and tossed down chunks of tough meat and stringy roots. Eat. Stay. One older hunter watched us like we were a question he wasn’t sure was worth asking.
Strangely, nobody bothered to search me. My knife stayed where it was, tucked under my shirt. Maybe they didn’t notice. Maybe they just didn’t care, so long as they could see me.
Sam pressed close to my side, mumbling between chews—Is Mama coming? Will the apes find us? But he was fading from fear as much as hunger. I gnawed a piece of meat, forced it down, gave him another. Around us, the hunters sat in a loose ring, sharing words in low broken syllables, voices rolling like thunder far off. All clicks and huffs and grunts. No sense in any of it for me.
I kept my arm around Sam, watching their faces flicker in the fire. Clara would have known how to read their eyes. All I could see—anger and suspicion from broken-tooth, something like curiosity in the youngest, calculation in the painted leader. Somewhere behind us, the forest still kept the clearing, the apes, the pale body that might have been Clara. Farther still, the dead machine we’d never fix.
The hunters talked, hands waving in the smoke. Sam’s whispers died down as sleep started to win. I stared into the flames, waiting.
The fire had burned lower when the painted hunter—the first one—crouched across from me, holding a stick. Without a word, he drew a big circle in the dirt, then jabbed a line of little marks inside. People. His people. He pointed to himself, to the others, then back at the marks. Us.
Then he sketched bigger shapes outside the circle. Broad shoulders, long arms almost dragging. Made them big, blunt, ugly. Then he jabbed the stick toward the black woods and let out a throaty growl. The rest answered, same growl, bitter and deep.
I just watched. Sam leaned in, eyes wide.
The hunter smudged one side of the circle and drew those big figures pressing in. Knocked over his own people, one by one. He met my eyes, repeated the growl. Fighting. Losing.
He was only showing me tonight’s reality. No offer of friendship. No trust. Just this: we both had the apes as an enemy, and he might have a reason to keep me around.
I nodded. Maybe he saw doubt, because for a second I wondered if they were playing up their losses to scare me into staying. If this was truth or just another cage. Either way, when the painted leader called for silence, nobody spoke.
He went on. This time, he crowded the dirt with those ape-marks, tight and deep in the forest. More and more until it looked packed. Then he pointed to the deep woods, shook his head, flexed his arm. Not enough. His people were outnumbered.
Another hunter joined in, drew a single massive mark set apart from the rest, pressed the stick down hard, like that figure mattered more than all the others. Then two taps to the earth, and a forceful huff, a warning. The whole camp quieted, fire flickering.
I stared at the big mark. Their leader. Stronger than the rest—someone they both respected and feared. The man who drew it caught my gaze. Sharp shake of the head. Don’t go there.
My mouth was all dried up. I pointed the way we’d come, mimed a woman with a gesture—hips, long hair—pointed to my chest, to Sam, then spread my hands, asking. Clara. Where.
The hunters traded glances. The painted one scraped new lines: the apes surrounding a smaller figure, carrying it deeper into the forest. He spread his hands, helpless. Gone. Taken. Then he traced that big mark again, farther back, warning me.
Understanding hit heavy—it wasn’t chaos out there. The apes were organized. They controlled the forest. They took what they wanted. Deeper in, something stronger kept them together—so strong these men barely dared whisper about it.
Sam’s fingers dug into my arm. I tried to hold my face steady, but underneath, terror gnawed away. Finding Clara had always been a wish. Now it felt impossible. These hunters lived here, they saw it all, smelled it all, tracked the apes—and still, they lost. Still, their own people fell, and the enemy only multiplied.
One last try. I pointed at the big mark, myself, then walked my fingers and lifted my eyebrows. Could I reach it?
Instant reaction. Three heads shook no. The painted hunter dragged a harsh line in the dirt—a wall, a warning. Barrier. Death. He finished with a stiff gesture back toward the fire and his people’s circle. Stay. Survive. That’s all he offered, and only because I might be useful, or because something in their code kept them from killing a stranger who’d come in peace—and brought a child.
Night closed in fully. The fire was banked low, thick shadows wrapping the camp. Some hunters lay back on hides, some stayed upright, spears across their knees, eyes on the dark. Voices dropped to murmurs. One man slowly sharpened his blade. Someone else checked the thorns. I didn’t know what would come next. I just waited, listening to Sam’s breath and the fire’s slow crackle, awake and hollowed with fear.