Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks

Chapter 410: Jetpack Ride: Mira’s Shock

Angela’s eyes lit up like Christmas. She leaned back against the cool wall, one hand absently pressing low on her abdomen—right over where my cum was still slowly leaking out of her.

"I want a thick, juicy ribeye steak—medium rare, edges charred just right, drowning in garlic herb butter. And a big glass of red wine—something bold, velvety, the kind that stains your lips. Make it fancy, husband. Spoil me."

Lisa clapped her hands together. "Hamburger! Double cheese, extra crispy bacon, pickles, onions, the works. Golden fries—salty and hot. And a chocolate milkshake so thick I need a spoon. Extra whipped cream on top."

Mira stayed quiet for a long beat, eyes flicking between Angela and me. The hunger in her gaze wasn’t just for food. It was the same wide-eyed craving she’d had last night when the pants appeared—raw curiosity mixed with something hotter, deeper. She wanted to see it again. Wanted proof. Wanted to watch the impossible happen right in front of her.

But we played the game anyway—pretending this was still something we were "hiding" from her.

Angela caught the look immediately. She stepped closer to me, sliding an arm around my waist, fingers splaying possessively over my abs. "Dexter... I think we can trust Mira now. Really trust her. You don’t have to keep hiding it from her anymore."

Lisa nodded enthusiastically, already licking her lips in anticipation. "Yeah. She’s seen enough weird shit already. Might as well let her in on the fun."

I met Mira’s eyes, feigning a touch of reluctance. "I know... but it’s difficult. Explaining something like this... it changes everything. People don’t usually handle it well."

Angela’s smile turned wicked—playful, almost predatory. She leaned in, voice dropping to that sultry whisper she used when she wanted to tease. "Husband... let me tell her. It’s so exciting~ I’ve been dying to see her face when she finally admits what she already knows."

Mira tilted her head, putting on an Oscar-worthy confused expression. "What... what are you guys talking about?"

Angela chuckled, stepping right up to Mira like she was sharing the juiciest gossip in the world. "Mira... weren’t you curious how Dexter pulled that pizza out of nowhere last night? Fresh, hot, cheese still bubbling? And those beers—ice-cold, condensation dripping down the bottles? You kept staring at them like they were magic tricks. Because they were."

Mira was a shockingly good actor. She furrowed her brow, lips pursing in perfect faux confusion. "Wasn’t that just... a trick? He probably found some frozen pizza in an abandoned camp, heated it over the fire... right? And the beers could’ve been in a cool stream or something. I mean... it was clever, but..."

Angela laughed outright—rich, throaty, delighted—knowing full well Mira was bullshitting. She played along flawlessly, eyes twinkling. "Okay, okay... fine. Just tell my husband what you want to eat. And make it really difficult for him this time. Something complicated. Something that can’t be faked with campfire tricks."

Mira hesitated—only half a heartbeat—then met my eyes directly. Curiosity burned there, bright and hungry. "I want... sushi. Fresh salmon nigiri, bluefin tuna rolls with avocado, wasabi on the side. And a big bowl of tonkotsu ramen—creamy pork broth, extra soft-boiled eggs with jammy yolks, nori sheets, green onions, bamboo shoots... the works."

Angela clapped once, delighted. "Perfect. Now—everyone—take a good look at my husband. Don’t blink. Don’t even breathe too loud."

I nodded, letting a slow, lazy smile spread across my face. With a casual mental command, I bought everything and summoned everything from System Storage.

The air shimmered faintly.

First: Angela’s ribeye appeared on a flat stone ledge—thick cut, seared crust glistening, garlic butter melting into golden pools, steam rising in fragrant curls. Beside it: a heavy crystal glass of deep cabernet, swirling lazily, catching the light like blood.

Lisa’s double cheeseburger materialized next—bun toasted dark gold, cheese oozing over crispy bacon, pickles peeking out, fries piled high and crisp, salt crystals sparkling. The chocolate milkshake stood tall in a frosted glass—thick enough that the straw stood straight up, whipped cream swirled high.

Mira’s tray came last: an elegant wooden board of sushi—salmon nigiri gleaming translucent pink, tuna rolls tightly wrapped and perfect—next to a steaming bowl of tonkotsu ramen, broth creamy white, eggs halved to show jammy orange yolks, green onions scattered like confetti.

The aromas hit all at once—grilled meat, soy, pork bone, chocolate, wine—flooding the cave as a restaurant had just opened inside.

Mira’s chopsticks slipped from her fingers and clattered to the stone.

"H-how...?" Her voice cracked—small, trembling. "How is this possible? This... this isn’t... the sushi is fresh. The fish—it’s glistening like it was just cut. The ramen... It’s still steaming. The eggs... they’re perfect. This can’t be real. This can’t—"

Angela stepped closer to me, pressing her body flush against my side, one hand sliding up my chest possessively while she looked at Mira with proud, almost smug affection.

"My husband is a god, Mira."

Mira’s head snapped up. "What?"

Angela nudged me gently, eyes sparkling. "Husband... look at her. She’s not believing it yet. She’s trying so hard to rationalize it. Why don’t you show her something really magical? Something she can’t explain away with ’frozen food and a clever campfire’."

I smirked, reached into System Storage, and pulled out the Magical Tool—the sleek obsidian wand humming with faint blue energy.

I pointed it at a fist-sized rock on the ground.

The rock shimmered, stretched, reformed—into a gleaming black sports car, engine purring low and dangerous.

Mira gasped, stumbling back a step. "No... no way..."

I waved the wand again. The car collapsed inward, metal folding like paper, reshaping into a matte-black assault rifle—safety off, barrel gleaming.

Mira’s hand flew to her mouth. "That’s... that’s impossible..."

One more flick. The rifle dissolved and became a sleek jetpack—straps unfolding, thrusters igniting with a soft blue glow.

Mira’s knees buckled slightly. "Dexter... what are you?"

Before she could process further, I stepped forward, wrapped one arm securely around her waist—firm, possessive, pulling her flush against me—and activated the jetpack.

We lifted off the ground in a smooth, silent rush. Mira screamed—high, startled, pure shock—clinging to me instantly. Her arms locked around my neck, legs wrapping my waist in a desperate vise, thighs squeezing my hips so tight I could feel the frantic heat between her legs even through layers of denim.