Pervert In Stone Age: Breaking Cavewomen with Modern Kinks

Chapter 418: Mira’s Crying Confession

In one fluid, desperate motion, Mira reached back, her small hand wrapping around the thick base of my cock still lodged inside her. She hissed through clenched teeth as she slowly—agonizingly—pulled me free.

The drag was torturous: her asshole clung to every veined inch like it didn’t want to let go, the puffy, abused rim stretching obscenely one last time before the fat head popped out with a lewd, wet suck.

A thick string of spit, precum, and her own slick connected us for a heartbeat before it snapped. Her hole gaped slightly—pink and glistening, winking in the cool air—before slowly starting to close, the abused ring twitching like it was still feeling me inside.

She turned then, rolling onto her side to face me fully on the narrow bed. Her chest heaved with ragged pants, tits rising and falling under the thin tank top, nipples stabbing against the fabric like bullets.

Sweat plastered dark strands of hair to her forehead and neck; tears had carved shiny tracks down her cheeks. Her thighs were slick and trembling, pussy lips swollen and dark with arousal, a glistening trail of her juices smeared all the way down to her knees.

For a long second, we just stared at each other—breathing hard, the air between us electric and filthy.

Then Mira lunged.

Her hand shot up and clamped over my mouth—firm, trembling fingers pressing my lips shut. Her palm tasted of salt and her own tears. Her eyes were wide, wild, pupils blown black with panic and something darker—something hungry.

"Shhh," she whispered, voice hoarse and shaking, barely audible over the distant crash of waves outside. "Don’t... don’t say anything. They’ll hear."

Her other hand stayed low, fingers curling loosely around my still-throbbing cock—coated in her ass-slick and spit—like she couldn’t decide whether to push me away or pull me closer. She was shaking so hard I could feel it through every point of contact: her palm on my mouth, her grip on my shaft, the way her bare thigh pressed against mine.

I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just let my eyes flick down to where her hand held me—my cock jerking in her fist, leaking fresh precum that dribbled over her knuckles—then back up to her face.

She swallowed hard, throat working visibly. Her breathing was shallow, erratic. The hand over my mouth trembled, but she didn’t pull it away.

I grabbed Mira’s trembling hand, my fingers closing around hers with gentle but firm insistence, feeling the slick residue of our earlier mess still clinging to her skin. "Come with me..." I whispered, voice low and husky, barely disturbing the thick silence inside the cave where Angela and Lisa lay pretending to sleep.

I quickly tucked my still-throbbing cock back into my pants, the fabric straining painfully against the unrelenting hardness, the zipper catching slightly on the slick precum that had smeared everywhere.

Mira fumbled awkwardly for a second—her hands shaking like leaves in a storm as she snatched up the soaked panties she’d spat out earlier, the fabric dark and glistening with saliva and tears.

She crammed them hastily into her pocket like a guilty secret, wincing as the motion pulled at her sore ass cheeks. Then she tugged her lowered pants back up over her hips, the waistband scraping roughly against the raw, handprint-marked skin where I’d slapped her so many times.

She bit her lip to stifle a whimper, her thighs still slick and sticky from her own arousal dripping down like a traitor’s confession. She followed me out barefoot, steps hesitant but obedient, the cool night air hitting us both like a sharp slap as we stepped past the jagged cave mouth, the sand cool and gritty under our feet.

Outside, the moon had risen higher, casting a silvery glow over the black waves that crashed rhythmically against the rocks, like the ocean itself was mocking our frantic breaths.

The air was crisp, salted with the sea’s breath, carrying away the humid stink of sweat and sex from the cave. I turned to face her, letting my cheeks flush with the pretense of shame I wore like a well-fitted mask, my eyes dropping to the sand between us as if I couldn’t bear to meet her gaze.

"That... I’m sorry..." I said, rubbing the back of my neck awkwardly, my voice laced with feigned embarrassment. "I thought you were Angela. When I went out to piss, Angela was lying there, right where you ended up, and when I came back... I just assumed it was her. The light was so dim, and you two switched... fuck, Mira, I didn’t mean to..."

Mira’s face flushed a deep crimson, her eyes darting away like scared birds, hugging her arms tightly around herself as if to hold in the shame bubbling up inside. Her voice came out small, shy, embarrassed, cracking on the edges like thin ice.

"It’s... Sister Angela... she wanted to lie between us. So we switched places while you were gone. She said it would be warmer that way... closer to the wall or something. I didn’t think... I mean, I didn’t expect you to..."

I let my brows knit together in exaggerated confusion, stepping a half-pace closer, the scent of her arousal still clinging to her like perfume. "Why didn’t you say anything? The moment I touched you... You could’ve stopped me."

Her eyes snapped up to mine—suddenly flashing with a mix of anger and humiliation, though the tears still shimmered at the corners, threatening to spill.

"How could I?! You... you stuffed that thing—those panties—in my mouth before I could even breathe, let alone speak! I tried to shake my head, to push you away, but you just... "

"You kept going, whispering all those things about Angela, and I... I was too shocked, too scared to make noise!"

I winced theatrically, shoulders slumping as the weight of the world had just dropped on them. "I’m sorry, Mira... I really didn’t know. Please... don’t tell Angela about it. I don’t know what she’ll think... or do... if she finds out I mistook you for her and... god, the things I did. She might think I wanted this, that I planned it. It could ruin everything."

Mira’s lower lip quivered violently, her chest heaving with shallow breaths. Her voice cracked into a soft, crying tone, tears finally breaking free and tracing fresh paths down her flushed cheeks. "Do you... Do you hate me...? After all that... after what happened... do you think I’m dirty now? Ruined?"

The question hit like a punch to the gut, but I played it perfectly, stepping closer with a voice thick with fake anxiety. "Why are you saying that? Hate you? Mira, no..."