Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks

Chapter 353: Mira’s Bra Pops, Tits Spill Free

I turned toward her just enough for the fire to illuminate me fully—cock already thick and rigid, jutting upward in shameless salute, the head flushed dark and glistening faintly in the glow.

"I’m not getting bitten there," I growled, voice rough with mock urgency and very real lust. "Who knows what kind of ants these are? They could be fucking poisonous for all I know."

Her protest died on her lips.

Mira’s wide hazel eyes dropped—locked—on my erection. For several pounding heartbeats, she simply stared, lips parted, breath coming in shallow, uneven sips.

The flush that had started on her cheeks now spilled down her throat and across the tops of her breasts, turning her skin a dusky rose. Her arms, still crossed protectively over her chest, loosened slightly; one hand drifted unconsciously downward until her fingertips brushed the waistband of her pants, trembling.

"Put... put that thing away," she managed, but the words came out soft, fractured, almost a plea rather than a command. Her gaze never lifted from my cock; if anything, it grew hungrier, pupils blown wide in the firelight.

Mira’s voice cracked again, softer this time, the blush burning from her cheeks down to the swell of her breasts.

"Turn... turn around, you pervert..."

But even as she said it, her arms stayed loosely crossed—not quite covering, not quite shielding anymore. Her thighs remained pressed tight together, small unconscious shifts betraying the restless ants still teasing the slick, swollen seam of her sex beneath the ruined panties.

I didn’t turn.

"No," I answered, low and rough. "I need to shake these fucking ants off before they get anywhere worse."

I stepped closer to the fire instead, letting the heat lick up the front of my thighs, painting my skin in shifting amber and shadow. My cock—already painfully hard, veins standing thick under the taut skin—jutted forward, the flushed head glistening faintly with pre-cum that caught the firelight like molten gold.

I let my hand fall away from my cock, the thick length bobbing heavily once before settling, still rigid and glistening in the firelight like it was begging for her touch.

I kept my back to her, shoulders squared, every muscle taut with anticipation, the cool night air teasing my bare skin while the fire’s heat licked at my front.

My balls ached, heavy and full, and I could feel another bead of pre-cum welling at the tip, sliding slowly and sticky down the underside of my cock. God, the thought of her eyes on me—even if I couldn’t see her—had me throbbing harder than ever.

Behind me, Mira’s breathing had turned ragged—short, sharp inhales that spoke of panic warring with something far more primal, a filthy heat that was twisting her insides into knots.

I knew those damn ants were still at it, their tiny legs skittering over her most sensitive spots like little electric shocks, but now it wasn’t just torment; it was turning into something wicked, something she couldn’t ignore.

Her nipples, freed from that lacy prison, must have been rock-hard, puckered tight in the night air, begging for a pinch or a suck. And lower—fuck—her pussy lips swollen and slick, clit peeking out, pulsing with every accidental brush from those insects or her own trembling fingers.

"Bastard... are you done?" she hissed, voice tight with urgency, but there was a husky edge to it now, like she was fighting not to moan. "Turn around now... and don’t you dare look behind. I’ll kill you."

Oh, but the way she said "kill you" came out breathy, almost playful, like she was daring me to test her. I could hear the blush in her words, picture her cheeks flaming red while her body betrayed her, thighs slick with arousal that had nothing to do with fear anymore.

I didn’t move an inch. Instead, I tilted my head slightly, just enough to let my voice carry back to her, low and edged with mock concern that dripped with naughty intent. "Do you also have those ants crawling inside?" I asked, letting the words hang heavy, teasing.

"Are you crazy? Quickly shake them off—what the hell are you waiting for? You don’t want them biting that pretty little pussy of yours, do you? Or maybe... You do?" I added that last bit with a smirk she couldn’t see, my cock jumping at the filthy image—her squirming, those ants teasing her clit until she was dripping, desperate.

Her only answer was a choked, furious "Bastard..." but it melted into a soft gasp, as she’d just felt another crawl right over her aching nub.

The shame was burning her up, I could tell—too proud to strip in front of me, too horny to stop the fire building between her legs. She shifted, and I heard the faint squelch of wet skin on skin, her thighs rubbing together uselessly, only making it worse.

Then came the sounds—sweet, sinful music to my ears.

First, the soft metallic snap of her bra clasp releasing, even though she’d already started earlier; maybe she was double-checking, or maybe her hands were shaking too badly to get it right the first time.

A quick, frantic rustle of lace as she yanked the straps down her arms, the fabric whispering against her sweat-slicked skin.

I could picture it perfectly: the black cups peeling away from her heaving breasts, those full, heavy tits spilling free with a soft bounce, nipples already painfully peaked, dark and erect from the ants’ relentless teasing and the filthy heat pooling low in her belly.

A few hurried swipes of her hands, brushing the insects away, but I bet her fingers lingered—circling those stiff peaks, pinching just a little too hard, sending jolts straight to her core. Followed by the faint patter of tiny bodies hitting the dirt and a muffled whimper that she tried to swallow.

Next—her pants rasping down, slow at first, then frantic. The whisper of fabric sliding down her curvy thighs, pooling at her feet with a soft thud. She stepped out of it clumsily, and I heard her kick it aside, the motion probably making her ass jiggle just right.

Then the unmistakable sound of cotton and lace being dragged off in one desperate, naughty motion: her soaked panties peeled away from where they’d clung obscenely to her swollen folds, the fabric sticking for a second before releasing with a wet smack.

A small, involuntary gasp escaped her as the cool night air hit her newly bared sex—hot, slick, and throbbing, her pussy lips puffy and glistening, clit standing out like a little button begging to be flicked.

I heard her shaking the garments out violently, little thuds and swishes as she tried to dislodge the last of the ants, her breathing louder now, almost panting, each exhale trembling with the cocktail of shame, relief, and the undeniable ache the crawling had left behind.