Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks

Chapter 405: Thumb in Her Ass

I smirked inwardly. Angela knew exactly what I was doing. Every impossible little display was another crack in Mira’s carefully built wall—the good mother, the faithful wife, the woman who never stepped out of line.

I wanted her to see, to want, to rationalize. I wanted her to find one more reason to finally give in... to betray everything she thought she believed in... and become mine.

I tapped the tip of Angela’s nose playfully, then reached into my pocket and pulled out the damp scrap of her original panties. "Here. Put these back on, too."

Angela glanced down at herself, then at me with a wry smile. "Your cum is still leaking out of me," she said quietly, almost teasing. "These panties are just going to get soaked again. The pants, too, probably."

I flicked my gaze sideways.

Mira hadn’t moved an inch. She stayed exactly where she was—half-shrouded behind the thick trunk of an old banyan, one hand braced against the bark as if it were the only thing keeping her upright.

The beam caught the glassy sheen in her eyes, the way her lips had parted just enough to let shallow, unsteady breaths slip out. She was staring, utterly transfixed, at the obscene dark stain spreading across the crotch of Angela’s brand-new pants.

The way Angela stood there so casually, thighs slightly parted, letting my cum continue to leak out of her in slow, viscous trickles that soaked deeper into the fabric with every tiny shift of her hips. At me—standing there with my cock still half-hard in my pants, smirking like I owned the whole damn night.

I stepped in close behind Angela again, letting her feel the heat of my body, the bulge pressing insistently against the cleft of her ass. Then I brought my hand down hard—CRACK—right across one full cheek. The sound echoed sharply and filthily through the trees.

Angela’s whole body jolted. "Aaaah—fuck!" she cried out, half-laugh, half-moan, arching her back so her tits thrust forward into the torchlight.

She twisted her head to look at me over her shoulder, eyes glittering with that perfect mix of bratty complaint and dripping arousal.

"Hmm... what the hell are you doing? You were so fucking rough earlier... my poor pussy’s gonna be swollen and sore first thing in the morning. I’ll be walking funny all day because of you, you bastard."

I slid both hands around her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh just above the waistband, pulling her back against me so she could grind that soaked crotch right over my thickening length.

I kept my voice low and rough, but loud enough—deliberately loud enough—that it would carry to the shadows where Mira lurked.

"Whose fault is that, huh?" I growled, lips brushing the shell of her ear.

"Who was the filthy little tease who squatted right over my cock and pissed all over it like she was marking her territory? Hot stream running down my cock, dripping off my balls while you moaned like a bitch in heat... how the fuck was I supposed to hold back after that?"

Angela let out a throaty, shameless laugh, rolling her hips in a slow, filthy circle so the wet fabric dragged over me with an audible squish. "Mmm... you loved it, though. You got so fucking hard the second I let go. Could feel your cock twitching, begging to slam back inside me while I was still dripping on you."

She reached down between her own thighs, cupping the sodden patch and rubbing shamelessly, fingers pressing the soaked material against her swollen clit. "Still can’t believe how much you came after that. Look at me—your thick load’s still pouring out. These pants are ruined already, and I’ve barely walked ten steps."

I smacked her ass again—harder this time—watching the flesh ripple and bloom pink even through the dark fabric.

She yelped, then moaned long and low, knees buckling slightly so she had to brace one hand against the nearest tree. The motion made another thick glob of cum squeeze out; I could see it darken the material further, a fresh wet line snaking down the inside of her thigh.

"Keep talking like that," I said, voice dropping to a dangerous purr while I ground my cock against her from behind, letting her feel every inch, "and I’m gonna bend you over right here and pump another load into that greedy cunt. Make sure it’s so full you’re leaking for days. Make sure every time you sit down tomorrow, you remember exactly who owns this pussy."

Angela whimpered, head tipping back against my shoulder. "God, yes... do it. Fuck me again. Let it all drip down my legs while I walk back to camp. Let everyone smell what you did to me."

She paused, then added in a breathy, teasing whisper that wasn’t really a whisper at all: "Bet Mira’s dying over there... imagining how it would feel if you pinned her against a tree and flooded her neglected little married cunt the same way."

I didn’t look toward Mira’s hiding spot. Didn’t need to. I could hear her now—the tiny, choked gasp she couldn’t quite stifle, the faint rustle of clothing as her thighs pressed together hard, probably trying to ease the throbbing ache between them. Her breathing had turned ragged, uneven, like she was fighting not to touch herself.

Mira wasn’t running. She wasn’t retreating.

She was rooted there behind that thick trunk, thighs trembling so hard I could almost hear the faint quiver of muscle under her jeans. Her thin cotton shirt—probably the same modest one she wore to tuck her kids in at night—did nothing to hide how stiff her nipples had become, poking sharp and desperate against the fabric like they were begging for attention she’d never dared ask for.

Her eyes stayed glued to Angela’s hand, the slow, shameless circles Angela was tracing over that dark, sodden patch at her crotch, rubbing my leaking cum deeper into the material until it glistened wetly in the torchlight.

I didn’t give Mira time to catch her breath.

With one rough yank, I hooked my fingers into the waistband of Angela’s torn original pants—the shredded ones still dangling uselessly around her ankles like battle flags—and ripped them the rest of the way off. The fabric tore with a satisfying rip, exposing the full curve of her ass, the creamy skin still flushed pink from earlier slaps. Angela yelped in surprise, stumbling forward a half-step before I caught her hips and steadied her.

I spread her cheeks wide with both hands, letting the cool night air kiss the cleft. Then I pressed the pad of my thumb right against her tight, puckered asshole—slow, deliberate, no warning.

Angela froze. Her whole body went rigid.