Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks

Chapter 398: Angela Clamps My Cock While Pissing

Before I could nod—before I could growl yes and drag her behind the tree myself—the torchlight swung back toward us, bright and accusing.

Mira and Lisa emerged from the shadows, pants back in place but faces still flushed, breaths quick.

Mira’s eyes flicked immediately to my crotch—widening at the blatant wet spot, the thick ridge straining like it was about to tear the zipper—then darted away, cheeks burning hotter than before. She thrust the torch toward Angela with trembling fingers.

"Here... you go," she murmured, voice small and breathless. "I will keep an eye on him..."

Angela took the torch for half a second—then, with deliberate slowness, pressed it into my hand instead, her fingers lingering on mine, thumb stroking the back of my knuckles in a way that made my cock jump.

"Mira..." she said softly, turning to face her with that same wicked, knowing smile. "Dexter is my husband. Why do I need to hide from him?" Her voice dropped lower, laced with double meaning that hung thick in the air.

"He’ll show me the light... help me squat... hold me steady if I get shaky. And honestly, I’m scared to go there alone in the dark. You understand, right? A wife needs her husband’s... protection."

Mira froze. The words hit her like a slow, warm wave.

Yeah... he’s her husband. She doesn’t need to be shy about being seen like that—piss streaming, pussy exposed, ass spread—because it’s normal for a husband to watch his wife relieve herself. To hold the light. To stare. To get hard from it.

But still...

Mira’s gaze flicked back to my cock—lingering this time—then to Angela’s smug expression, then to the torch now glowing in my grip. Her thighs pressed together again, a tiny, unconscious rub that betrayed the fresh ache blooming between her legs. She swallowed hard, lips parting on a silent breath, nipples stiff against her bra in the cool air.

Angela stepped closer to me, pressing her body along my side so Mira could see—her hand sliding down to cup my balls through the jeans, giving them a gentle, possessive squeeze.

"Come on, husband," she purred, loud enough for Mira to hear every filthy syllable. "Light the way for your wife. Let’s give her something to keep an eye on."

She turned toward the tree again, hips swaying, already tugging at the waistband of her pants. The torch beam trembled slightly in my hand—not from nerves, but from the raw, pounding need surging through me.

Mira stayed rooted—blushing, breathing fast, eyes locked on us.

She didn’t move away. She didn’t look away.

She watched.

And in that moment, the web pulled tighter still.

Angela and I slipped behind the massive oak trunk, the rough bark scraping my back as I yanked her against me, her heavy tits crushing into my chest, nipples scraping like hard little bullets through her top.

The torch was already propped on that low root—harsh white beam slicing across our waists, turning every curve, every wet spot, into stark, pornographic clarity.

Mira was still out there—twenty paces away, rooted, breathing fast, eyes glued to the shadows where we’d vanished. She didn’t move. She didn’t look away. She fucking watched.

The air reeked of sex and piss already—Mira and Lisa’s sharp, tangy streams still lingering on the ground, mixing with pine and damp earth.

My cock was a steel rod, leaking pre-cum in thick, steady drops that soaked my pants dark at the tip.

Angela didn’t hesitate. She shoved her pants down hard—fabric whispering over thick thighs, ass cheeks jiggling as she kicked them aside.

Just those black lace panties now—crotch soaked through, dark wet patch spreading like spilled cum, her swollen pussy lips outlined perfectly, fat and puffy, pressing outward against the thin mesh like they were trying to burst free.

She started to squat—legs spreading, ass cheeks parting to show that tight, rosy asshole winking in the torchlight—but I grabbed her under the arms, hauling her back up.

"Not yet, you filthy piss-slut," I growled, dropping to my knees.

I gripped her thighs—soft, warm flesh yielding under my fingers—and forced them wide apart. Her panty-covered cunt was inches from my face, heat radiating off it like a furnace.

I buried my nose right into the drenched lace, inhaling deep—fuck, the smell hit like a drug: thick, musky cunt-juice, tangy arousal, the sharp, held-back promise of piss.

Her pussy lips were engorged, dark pink and glistening through the sheer fabric, inner folds visible and slick, clit a hard, protruding pearl throbbing visibly against the wet mesh.

Stray pubic hairs curled through the lace, matted with her juices. I dragged my tongue flat across the crotch—tasting salt, musk, the faint bitterness of pre-piss—making her moan low and filthy.

"Aah... Dexter... you nasty fucker, sniffing my dripping cunt like a dog..." Angela hissed, fingers fisting my hair, hips bucking forward to grind her soaked slit against my mouth and nose.

"Smell how wet you make me... my pussy’s fucking leaking for your cock..."

I stood slowly, dragging my tongue up her belly, between her tits, tasting sweat and skin, until I towered over her.

Zipper down—cock sprang free, thick and veined, head swollen purple and slick with pre-cum, a fat bead dripping from the slit.

I gripped the base and thrust forward, sliding the rigid length right between her thighs—the hot underside nestling snug against her panty-covered pussy lips.

"Clench those thighs, you greedy whore," I ordered, voice rough. "Squeeze my fat cock like the cock-hungry slut you are. Trap it tight against your dripping cunt. Now piss—flood my dick with that hot, nasty stream while I grind your clit raw."

Angela’s eyes rolled back, a pornographic whimper escaping before she bit her lip hard. "Oh fuck... yes, Dexter... rub that big, thick cock all over my soaked pussy... make me piss on it like a dirty bitch..." She slammed her thighs together—soft, plush flesh clamping down like a velvet fist around my cock, trapping it in warm, wet pressure.

The lace rasped against my sensitive skin, her swollen labia parting around the girth through the thin barrier, hugging my cock like a second skin.

My tip nudged right up against her clit—pressing the slit directly into that hard, throbbing nub, grinding slow circles as she shifted.

Then she let go.

A scorching, forceful gush exploded from her cunt—golden piss bursting through the lace in a messy, hissing jet that drenched my cock instantly.